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 \=\\\ 
 
 THIS BOOK IS THE GIFT OF 
 
 Henry Pelouze de Forest 
 
 Class of 1884 
 
Jf 8 "P 
 
 ^^'^ ^2rm3'^ p 
 
 Cornell University Library 
 PQ 2603.O41C9 1911 
 
 Missing finger; 
 
 3 1924 027 334 477 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027334477 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 A Story of Mystery 
 
 BY 
 
 ALBERT BOISSIERE 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 MARY J. SAFFORD 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 
 DODD, 
 
 MEAD AND 
 
 COMPANY 
 
 
 IQII 
 
 
 
 tOtvlH:L 
 
 i- 
 
 
 UUIVUKI-I 
 
 riY 
 
aU^^^(c^ 
 
 Published in France under the title of 
 "Uh Csiue a irt Cohuis" 
 
 Copyright, 191 i, by 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
 Published September, 191 1 
 
TO 
 
 PAUL AND VICTOR MARGUERITTE 
 
 WITH AFFECTIONATE REGARDS 
 
 A.B. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I In Which, Perhaps, Everything Which Is 
 TO Follow Depends upon a Letter from 
 the Artist, Albert Lebourg .... i 
 II How It Was Excusable to Mistake Otto 
 
 for Franz and Franz for Otto ... 9 
 HI In Which Franz Repeats, Word for Word, 
 What Otto Had Told Me the Evening 
 
 Before 18 
 
 IV The Disclosures of Pauline Steurs . . 25 
 V Pauline, Pauline, and Pauline • ■ • 35 
 VI The People Who Laugh and the Dog 
 
 That Barks 47 
 
 VII The Sailor Shoepen 59 
 
 VIII She 70 
 
 IX What Happened 78 
 
 X In Which an Examining Magistrate Un- 
 dertakes to Show Me That I Am Not 
 
 THE Victim 86 
 
 XI The Utility of a Lawyer for the De- 
 fence 95 
 
 XII In the Presence of the Corpse . . .107 
 
 XIII My Accomplice 117 
 
 XIV What Awaited Us in the Rue TferE-DE- 
 
 BcEUF 125 
 
 XV Monsieur Marathon's Romance . . 135 
 
 XVI To Follow the Precedent . . . .154 
 
 XVII An Unexpected Event 168 
 
 vii 
 
vJii CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PACK 
 
 XVIII What Otto van Brymans Stated That He 
 
 Knew of the Drama 182 
 
 XIX In Which the Prosecuting Attorney Re- 
 quests My Assistance 194 
 
 XX SouvEiNiRS OF Dieppe 205 
 
 XXI Under What Circumstances MaItre Croule- 
 BARBE Introduces Me to a Gentleman 
 
 WITH Light Eyes 216 
 
 XXII The Woman, the Child, and the Dog . 235 
 
 XXIII Is It Franz Who Is Weeping? Is It Otto 
 
 Who Is Talking? 245 
 
 XXIV In Which the Gentleman with the Light 
 
 Eyes Comes Too Late to Exercise His 
 
 Real Profession 256 
 
 XXV Epilogue 268 
 
IN WHICH, PERHAPS, EVERYTHING WHICH IS TO 
 
 FOLLOW DEPENDS UPON A LETTER FROM 
 
 THE ARTIST ALBERT LEBOURG 
 
 I WAS born at la Varenne-Saint-Hilaire, on the 
 17th of June of I don't know what year. It 
 was on a 17th of a month I no longer remem- 
 ber that the civil court pronounced the divorce 
 between Maxime Aubry, artist, and Pauline 
 Mutel, his wife. It was again upon a 17th, 
 the 17th of October, 1907, that I was found 
 murdered by an unknown hand, in the city of 
 Dieppe, at the end of the Quay Henri IV. And 
 once more, by a providential chance, it was 
 on the 17th of last month that I again gave 
 my name to Pauline Mutel, my divorced 
 wifel 
 
 Superstitious minds are at liberty to assign to 
 this fateful number 17 an importance In the 
 occurrences which I do not recognise! I shall 
 
2 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 have enough to do in explaining the extraor- 
 dinary incidents with which I have been mixed 
 up, without adding to them any useless mystery. 
 
 In fact, my divorce and my second marriage 
 are connected with the terrible story only as 
 incidental circumstances which, to a certain de- 
 gree, are independent of it. 
 
 Nevertheless, it is plausible to suppose that, 
 but for it, the mysterious affair of the van 
 Brymans brothers would never have happened, 
 or, if so, it would not have been in the same 
 way. Nor is it rash to add that, but for the 
 van Brymans affair, I should probably never 
 have been led to marry a second time my first 
 wife, Pauline Mutel. 
 
 Moreover, it is easy to make a calculation 
 whose solution we possess. People do it gen- 
 erally and stupidly for the most trivial actions 
 in life. We say: "I lost an opportunity to- 
 day which I shall not recover, the chance of 
 going to such a place, of transacting that busi- 
 ness ; and this merely because the doctor ordered 
 me to stay in my room. I was forced to keep 
 my room, because I caught cold three days be- 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 3 
 
 fore while loitering at the corner of the Rue La 
 Boetie, for instance, watching some trifling ac- 
 cident — an auto which had run into the front of 
 a pastry-cook's shop — ^when it was bitterly cold, 
 with a wind blowing keen enough to cut one 
 in two! Now, if the auto had not dashed so 
 noisily Into the front of the shop, I should not 
 have delayed at the corner of the Rue La 
 Boetie, — etc., etc. 
 
 So we reach the conclusion, unreasonably, that, 
 if autos had not been invented, we should not 
 have to stay in our rooms, by order of the 
 Faculty. And again . . . the series of conse- 
 quences ! 
 
 Evidently, all this is very specious. It is less 
 so to refer the whole to chance and bow before 
 bronchitis. And, above all. It is more logical 
 to look after the disease when In its grasp than 
 to discuss endlessly the conditions under which 
 you caught it! 
 
 In the same way I might say that the terrible 
 adventure which befell me began with the 
 friendly letter from the landscape artist, Albert 
 Lebourg, which would be very nearly veracious 
 
4 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 — for I am not absolutely sure that it might not 
 have occurred in any case. 
 
 However, let us take the matter from the com- 
 mencement or, more precisely, from the dis- 
 tance, and satisfy ourselves with explaining the 
 facts. Facts, I have every reason to believe, 
 will speak better than I could do. 
 
 Oh, zounds 1 If I were a writer, I would 
 plunge at once into the terrible portion! But 
 I am only an artist — and so far as the horror 
 of the story is concerned, whether I desire it 
 or not, the reader will lose nothing by waiting 1 
 
 I had been settled a month at Treport, en- 
 gaged in painting the lighter sides of seashore 
 life, which is usually nothing but telling a story, 
 and was not much delighted with my work. 
 True, I had found nothing very special, but 
 had accumulated a quantity of amusing notes, 
 when I received a letter from Lebourg, saying in 
 substance : 
 
 If you go as far as Dieppe, don't fail to 
 visit the suburb of Pollet. To be sure, since 
 the decline of the port and the abandonment 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 5 
 
 of the Newfoundland fisheries, it has no longer 
 the colour nor the picturesqueness it possessed 
 when I lived there; but you mil certainly still 
 find original bits that will please you. 
 
 Nothing more was necessary to induce me to 
 change my quarters to another point of the Nor- 
 man coast; and I can still remember the lamen- 
 tations of my worthy landlady, Mother Vin- 
 cent, who lived back of the Musoir, when she 
 saw me packing my trunks. 
 
 It was the latter part of September, and I 
 intended to spend a portion of the winter in 
 this locality ; I wanted to find here some tragical 
 scene for my painting for the National. . . . 
 That is why I formed the plan of going on foot 
 along the road from Treport to Dieppe, my box 
 of colours on my back, my cane in my hand, my 
 pipe in my mouth, pondering over my idea and 
 halting at the various stopping-places. 
 
 My landlady said to me : 
 
 " If you want me to tell you of a house where 
 you will be comfortable. Monsieur Aubry, go 
 to the Rue Tete-de-Boeuf. She is a cousin 
 
6 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 of my departed husband — he died on board the 
 Sainte-Marie-aux-Anges. He was a whaler! 
 Her name is Hurteaux — and you do not know 
 Dieppe, from what I see ! " 
 
 " I'll go to the Rue Tete-de-Boeuf, and your 
 cousin Hurteaux I " I assented. 
 
 So the good woman had my trunks carried 
 to the station, and wrote a letter four pages 
 long, undoubtedly eulogistic, to her cousin, to 
 inform her of my coming. 
 
 We shall see, later, that Madame Hurteaux 
 was obliged to wait a long time for the arrival 
 of a person thus recommended who, in the end, 
 gave her more trouble than profit. 
 
 I had planned my itinerary and divided the 
 Eu road into four stopping-places, because it 
 runs along the coast at a sufficiently good dis- 
 tance from the clifis, and I counted the time I 
 should lose in visiting the little homes of the 
 fishermen. Those I saw, starting from Criel, 
 did not interest me long, certainly, for that very 
 evening, somewhat against my will, I found my- 
 self at the end of the second stage of my jour- 
 ney, which was a little market-town on the main 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 7 
 
 road, with two rows of houses, called Biville- 
 sur-Mer — doubtless because the sea was two 
 kilometers away. 
 
 I saw a wrought-iron sign, on which some 
 untrained hand had daubed a magpie holding in 
 its beak a five-franc piece — a defaced sketch, 
 explained by the rude legend: 
 
 AT THE THIEVING MAGPIE 
 
 ENTERTAINMENT FOR MAN AND 
 
 BEAST 
 
 HOTEL KEPT BY THE VAN BRYMANS 
 
 BROTHERS 
 
 All this seemed to me quite an amusing com- 
 bination. 
 
 Before the door stood the wagon of a carter, 
 who was feeding his horses with oats in big 
 wooden troughs, while a dozen hens were pick- 
 ing up the scattered grain among the hoofs of 
 the unbridled animals. A pleasant-looking 
 woman, standing on the threshold, was wiping 
 her mouth with the corner of her blue apron. 
 
 And, just as the seven o'clock Angelus 
 
8 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 sounded from the village church, I entered The 
 Thieving Magpie, to my misfortune — or, to 
 speak more accurately, to the misfortune of the 
 people who lived there, gathered beneath this 
 roof in community, in one family, and appar- 
 ently in harmony. 
 
II 
 
 HOW IT WAS EXCUSABLE TO MISTAKE OTTO FOR FRANZ 
 AND FRANZ FOR OTTO 
 
 I SAW Immediately by the woman's embarrassed 
 manner that, speaking seriously, the sign was 
 meant only for the front of the house. The in- 
 vitation, discreetly worded, Entertainment for 
 man and beast, could not regularly draw many 
 customers to the van Brymans brothers for, at 
 my request, she exclaimed : 
 
 " Dinner? Night's lodging? I'll ask Otto I " 
 
 And she went into the living-room, which in 
 
 winter was lighted by a single kerosene lamp 
 
 hung from the beams, but now wrapped with 
 
 yellow gauze to protect it from the flies. 
 
 In this room the country blacksmith, his day's 
 work done, was playing a game of dominoes 
 with a man who must be Otto. The former held 
 two dominoes put together in the hand clenched 
 upon his leather apron — and his partner seemed 
 absorbed in a difficult combination. 
 
 9 
 
lo THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 The woman passed her arm coaxingly around 
 the man's shoulders and whispered: 
 
 " Otto ! This gentleman wants a bedroom 
 and dinner ! " 
 
 Otto, without letting himself be interrupted 
 in his calculation, answered: 
 
 "Presently!" 
 
 And he said to the blacksmith: 
 
 " Fours 1 It's all or nothing, Pere Fran- 
 gois!" 
 
 " It's nothing for you, Brymans ! " jeered Pere 
 Frangois, spreading on the white marble the 
 two dominoes he had held in his calloused hand. 
 
 And Otto owned that he was beaten. Turn- 
 ing suddenly, he seemed to scan me from head 
 to foot and, doubtless satisfied with his inspec- 
 tion, scratched his forehead before answering : 
 
 " Well, yes !— I don't say — but, this isn't con- 
 sidered exactly a hotel ! There's the end room ! 
 — ^And, as for the food, the gentleman cer- 
 tainly won't find the cooking to his taste." 
 
 Then the unskilful merchant, as if he wanted 
 to discourage or get rid of me, added : 
 
 " You'll find everything you -want at Dieppe, 
 
THE MISSING FINGER ii 
 
 four leagues from here. — ^And Franz is just 
 starting for the fish." 
 
 I came to the innkeeper's assistance. His em- 
 barrassment, following his wife's confusion, 
 amused me. I told him, in a few words, my in- 
 tention of visiting the coast the next morning, 
 my few requirements, and the pleasure I should 
 take in " eating just as they did." 
 
 The woman had not removed her arm from 
 her husband's shoulders. Resting her pleasant 
 face, so round and rosy, upon her bare arm, she 
 whispered into his ear words I could not hear. 
 He nodded and rose. — She turned toward me, 
 saying : 
 
 " If you would like to look, I'll show you 
 your room ! " 
 
 The blacksmith interposed cordially: 
 
 " Perhaps the gentleman would take a little 
 something with us . . . since it's Otto's turn." 
 
 The jollity of the invitation pleased me. I 
 was thirsty — and accepted. 
 
 Otto had gone out. Through the win- 
 dow opening upon the apple orchard came the 
 squawking of poultry whose necks were being 
 
12 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 cut, and I understood that they were going to 
 be roasted in my honour in the Norman fashion. 
 
 As I turned on my stool to protest, though 
 flattered by the compliment, Otto was unhook- 
 ing his jacket from the peg. I said to him, as if 
 he had really been an old boon companion of 
 mine as well as the blacksmith's: 
 
 " Come, Monsieur Otto, don't go to any ex- 
 pense." 
 
 The man answered : 
 
 " I'm not Otto. I am Franz ! " 
 
 The blacksmith burst into a roar of laughter 
 and beat his hands upon his leather apron. The 
 woman, too, behind the row of bottles on the 
 bar, laughed heartily. The blacksmith said to 
 her: 
 
 " Explain the matter to the gentleman at 
 once." 
 
 The man had put on his jacket and gone out. 
 
 He had scarcely left the room when Otto 
 returned and joined in the laughter of the 
 others. 
 
 " You made a mistake, like everybody else 1 
 But I assure you that Franz did not do it to 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 13 
 
 make sport! He is going to the shore for the 
 fish." 
 
 And he called: 
 
 " Franz 1 Will you have a drink? " 
 
 And Franz returned. Side by side, I saw 
 Franz and Otto van Brymans, twin brothers, 
 whose resemblance to each other was so per- 
 fect, so absolute, that it seemed to me from the 
 first, without knowing why, actually torturing. 
 
 But the brief and incomprehensible impres- 
 sion of pain made upon me by this meeting with 
 the van Brymans was not felt at all by the 
 blacksmith, for he began to laugh again and 
 addressed a coarse jest to Otto's wife. 
 
 " How have you managed never to make a 
 mistake? " 
 
 The joke must have been a familiar one. It 
 made both the twins laugh in precisely the same 
 way, a mechanical laugh, as if worn out by 
 too frequent use. The woman, shrugging her 
 shoulders, retorted in the s^me tone: 
 
 " You know that I have a mark, Pere 
 Francois 1 " 
 
 " Oh, yes ... on his little finger I " laughed 
 
14 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 the blacksmith, winking his eye, with the am- 
 biguous meaning which peasants put into 
 their answers when they want to add a little 
 spice. 
 
 Otto instantly laid his hand flat upon the 
 table. His brother Franz placed his beside it. 
 The two were bewildering in their resemblance, 
 with the same short fingers and bitten nails. 
 The two thumbs showed a similar defect, the 
 nail split lengthwise, with the same white spot 
 on each. . . . Nature had taken pleasure in 
 repeating, with perplexing diligence, the slight- 
 est peculiarities of these two individuals ! 
 
 Otto showed me a silver ring on his little 
 finger, which he had worn from early child- 
 hood. It seemed sunk in the swollen flesh that 
 formed a cushion and could not have been re- 
 moved without breaking it. 
 
 " There is scarcely anything except that to 
 distinguish us," he said. " When we were little 
 fellows my mother put a red band on one and 
 a blue one on the other to mark us. Now, if 
 the poor old lady were still alive, she would lose 
 her Fleming — as the saying goes! " 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 15 
 
 " That is true! " Franz assented, in the same 
 slow, monotonous voice, a voice whose tone was 
 so precisely similar that it seemed like an echo 
 of the other or its faithful continuation. . . . 
 " That is true ! And people who have known 
 us for years are deceived every day ! " 
 
 " So am I ! " added Otto's wife. " It hap- 
 pens more often than there are fast days in the 
 weekl" 
 
 " Then," I remarked, " like all twins, you 
 help the resemblance still more by dressing in 
 the same way 1 " 
 
 " That is a custom we have always followed," 
 said Otto. " We renew our clothes twice a 
 year. One tries on the garments for the 
 other." 
 
 "Your shoes? Your linen? Your hats?" 
 
 "Everything! Everything!" said Franz. 
 " There are doctors who have seen us as 
 naked as we were born — and aside from the 
 ring ..." 
 
 The blacksmith began to jest again, the 
 woman to shrug her shoulders, and the ever- 
 lasting stories about twins, the tale of the bar- 
 
i6 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 ber who had shaved Otto five minutes before 
 when Franz entered his shop with a beard a 
 week old— others, all sorts, began to appear in 
 procession. I hoped to cut them short by 
 relating the anecdote in the history of the 
 " Chevaux de Lorraine."— My pedantry bore 
 no fruit, 
 
 "We don't know," Otto responded very 
 pleasantly. " What we do know is that these 
 things happened to us as they have happened to 
 all twins, probably . . . and worse ones may 
 occur I " 
 
 " I don't mind such things at all I " said 
 Franz. " But I must be at Dieppe before eight 
 o'clock to attend to my work. Good-night, 
 sir." 
 
 He held out his hand to me. 
 
 "The fowl is roasted," said Otto's wife; 
 " we can go to the table." 
 
 The blacksmith rose in his turn, as if some- 
 what reluctant. And I went into the kitchen 
 of the inn, where a pretty, fair-haired boy about 
 ten years old, as tall as the table, was awkwardly 
 setting the dishes upon the white cloth. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 17 
 
 *' Where are you going to put the gentleman, 
 Fritz?" asked the mother. 
 
 " Close to me," replied the child of the van 
 Brymans couple. 
 
 I kissed the little lad for his expression of 
 sympathetic feeling. 
 
 " Good I " said Otto, when I had taken my 
 seat. " You are going to be well framed." 
 
 Then he added: 
 
 "Go out, Dick!" 
 
 But, at my left, a big spaniel was pressing his 
 warm muzzle against my thigh. I was as much 
 flattered by the friendliness of the dog as by 
 the child's, and I patted Dick, which was an 
 excellent way of not getting rid of him again. 
 
Ill 
 
 IN WHICH FRANZ REPEATS, WORD FOR WORD, WHAT 
 OTTO HAD TOLD ME THE EVENING BEFORE 
 
 It was Franz who took me, the following day, 
 to the little creek of Biville. 
 
 After my tiresome tramp of the afternoon 
 and my pleasant supper with Otto and his wife, 
 I had had a good night's rest at the inn of The 
 Thieving Magpie. Without exactly knowing 
 why, I felt that I was in a sympathetic atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 The morning was cool and sunshiny; every- 
 thing made one feel that life was worth living. 
 The spaniel at the inn had followed me; I 
 counted one friend more in my existence. Franz 
 walked at my side, leading by the bridle his 
 horse, harnessed into the cart heaped with empty 
 baskets, in which he was going to put mussels. 
 
 He explained the mechanism of his business, 
 which consisted in taking the catch of the fish- 
 
 l8 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 19 
 
 women of the three or four neighbouring villages 
 and carrying it to Dieppe. He realised an ex- 
 cellent profit from this, but did not boast of it, 
 with the prudence of the peasant, who is always 
 complaining of Providence and the rest. . . . 
 
 He was called the fish-dealer, though he at- 
 tended exclusively to the shipment of mussels, 
 shrimps, and also crabs, at the season of the 
 equinoxes. 
 
 Now his brother had told me all this the 
 night before while we were dining. It was not 
 Franz's little talk that interested me, since I had 
 already heard the story from the lips of Otto, 
 but it was his voice, so like Otto's, his voice with 
 the same sing-song, flexible intonations, his way 
 of expressing himself, so exactly similar to his 
 brother's that I recognised the local terms and 
 the Identical words. This greatly amused me! 
 
 Franz, when once started to talk, was diffi- 
 cult to stop. He told me how they had hap- 
 pened to settle in the country, he and his brother, 
 entirely as if it were a matter of chance. They 
 were originally from Antwerp, and their first 
 profession was that of sailors. When very 
 
20 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 young, they fished along the coast. Otto had 
 married Pauline Steurs, who lived at Borgerhout, 
 on the Tumhourt road, and he, Franz, had re- 
 mained a bachelor. The Steurs girl did not 
 possess much money to set up housekeeping, but 
 people have plenty of courage when they are 
 young ! They would probably always have lived 
 in their native country, if a little inheritance 
 had not come to change their lives. It was an 
 uncle of Pauline Steurs, one Leopold Steurs, 
 whom they had not seen for years in Brabant, 
 his native region. He had gone to France as a 
 farm labourer, had prospered there, then settled 
 at Biville, etc., etc. 
 
 I no longer even heard Franz. 
 
 It seemed as if I was listening to the repeti- 
 tion, word for word, — ^yes, word for word, I am 
 not exaggerating, — of the story of the night be- 
 fore, related by Otto : the journey of the couple 
 to Normandy to receive the legacy of Uncle 
 Steurs, ex-innkeeper of The Thieving Magpie, 
 then how Franz had joined Otto and his wife, 
 as if they really could not live apart 1 
 
 There was certainly nothing extraordinary in 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 21 
 
 the settlement of these two Belgians on the Nor- 
 man coast, and I attached no importance to it. 
 My interest was still aroused only by the mar- 
 vellous resemblance between the twins, and my 
 mind was taking delight in a thousand notes of 
 a thousand details — the voice, sentences, words 
 — which seemed as if they really could come only 
 from the same lips, be the expression only of the 
 same soul! 
 
 We reached the bay. The descent was by a 
 sort of corkscrew staircase, cut in the cliff it- 
 self. 
 
 The horizon' of the Norman coast stretched 
 perpendicularly, waste and desolate, at the left 
 to the fort of Ailly, beyond the roadstead of 
 Dieppe, which Franz pointed out. The sea was 
 calm and magnificent in its placidity. . . . 
 The fishing-boats in the offing, hauled into the 
 wind, were passing each other on their way to 
 their ports. Gulls were fluttering, white spots 
 quivering against the emerald of the rolling 
 waves. In the dull roar of the ebbing tide 
 voices from below pierced with special resonance, 
 ff^hey were those of the mussel-pickers, whose 
 
22 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 outlines moved as they went from rock to rock. 
 From the top of the perpendicular cliff the figures 
 seemed reduced to miniature size, yet standing 
 forth on the fine sand as If on the edge of a mir- 
 ror with a distinctness very curious to observe. 
 
 The artist in me rejoiced to see a bare-legged 
 little girl run along the beach at the edge of the 
 shore, casting a shadow upon the luminosity of 
 the water. 
 
 Franz had fastened his horse to a stake driven 
 into the earth. 
 
 " It's a mare — a vicious beast," he said. 
 " I bought her for thirty pistoles, and she is cer- 
 tainly worth more I " 
 
 He pointed with outstretched hand to the fal- 
 low fields which stretched to the edge of the 
 cliff. 
 
 "All this is Otto's 1" 
 
 At the edge of the plain, I distinguished a 
 labourer turning his plough at the end of a 
 furrow. Franz added: 
 
 " That is Otto 1 " 
 
 It was still precisely the tone of Otto van 
 Brymans' slow, monochord voice, when the even- 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 23 
 
 ing before he had showed me the stables, the 
 baskets for fish, the fish-dealer's cart, while say- 
 ing in exactly the same way : 
 
 " All this is Franz's." 
 
 It was again his voice when he had returned 
 to the room where I was sitting opposite to the 
 blacksmith, and had told me on my arrival : 
 
 " That is Franz ! " 
 
 Then, in my mind, I mingled, quite at my 
 ease, the various objects, the animals, the people, 
 the work horses, and the mare for the cart, and 
 made the two brothers only one person, or at 
 least tried to do so, by laughing and repeating: 
 
 " Yes, yes, all this is Otto's and Franz's — 
 and they are the van Brymans brothers ! " 
 
 But the spaniel, Dick, must have been far 
 more clever than I ; for, having scented his mas- 
 ter in the middle of the field, he left us to run 
 toward the labourer. 
 
 We had gone down to the tragic strand Ca- 
 doudal illustrated, and I could admire a wild and 
 picturesque scene, well suited to attract my brush. 
 . . . Women in rags carried their full baskets 
 on their backs, bending their spines and stum- 
 
24 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 bllng on the shingle. Children, supplied with 
 pails in which crabs were swarming, ran in every 
 direction at once. The men, soaked with water, 
 their nets on their shoulders, came along in their 
 turn. 
 
 The people of the beach are somewhat the 
 pariahs among seafaring folk; they live along 
 the margin like waifs. I could not help thinking 
 of the drawings of Raffaeli, the evocation of 
 his rag-pickers of Saint-Ouen, of the whole hu- 
 man herd of which I had a heart-rending replica 
 before my eyes. I set about the duty of trying a 
 few sketches, strongly interested in a local colour 
 so striking and so new to me — and until noon, 
 I may say that I forgot Otto who so strangely 
 resembled Franz, and Franz who looked so ex- 
 actly like Otto! 
 
IV 
 
 THE DISCLOSURES OF PAULINE STEURS 
 
 To-day, with the recoil after the terrible tragedy 
 with which I was associated, if I should again 
 question myself and ask for what secret reasons 
 independent of my will I remained in that inn, 
 instead of passing through the stopping-place to 
 settle in Dieppe, I should find few imperative 
 causes, and I would hesitate among the plausible 
 motives that I might have been able to give to 
 myself I 
 
 Obviously there might be a very romantic 
 one, which the sequence of events would justify. 
 This would be to confess that my fate was 
 appointed there ; that I was obeying my destiny 
 and could not, in any manner whatever, escape 
 it. But all that is literature and, I repeat, 
 I am only an artist — that is, a painter whose 
 trade is not to be satisfied with words, and 
 to represent visible things! This is why 
 
 25 
 
26 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 I still prefer to believe what I believed the 
 day after my arrival at Biville-sur-Mer, to know 
 that my curiosity as an artist was the only rea- 
 son that detained me, to the misfortune of every 
 one, in The Thieving Maggie. When I told the 
 van Brymans couple that I should prolong my 
 stay with them because the people of the coast 
 interested me so much, the wife could not con- 
 trol her joy and I saw her flush crimson with 
 pleasure. I could scarcely attribute her satis- 
 faction to the account of mere lucre. But the 
 equal gratification of her husband, accompanied 
 by an earnest shake of the hand and the assur- 
 ance that everything would be done for my com- 
 fort, confirmed me in the idea that the interest 
 I felt for these worthy people was cordially 
 returned. 
 
 Little Fritz, too, who was continually at my 
 heels, made himself an echo of the pleasure 
 which my decision afforded 'his parents, and I am 
 •not certain that Dick, if he had understood, 
 would not also have manifested some joy. 
 
 Franz van Brymans, the fish-dealer, alone re- 
 mained indifferent. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 27 
 
 I ought to mention it now. It seemed to me 
 that I had found a way of no longer confounding 
 those bewildering twins — like everybody else, like 
 the blacksmith, like those who had known them 
 for years, like Pauline Steurs herself if one was 
 to put confidence in her statements I My touch- 
 stone was fragile, my reasoning specious. Per- 
 haps this is again literature. But here is my 
 criterion, such as it is. 
 
 When I found myself with Otto, his conver- 
 sation was extremely pleasant to me. When the 
 same conversation, on the same subject, with the 
 identical remarks, took place between myself and 
 Franz, the whole charm was broken, and I no 
 longer found anything agreeable in it I 
 
 This was assuredly a matter of feeling, and I 
 am the first to recognise that to trust to so super- 
 ficial an impression is reasoning haphazard. 
 
 Nevertheless . . . 
 
 The next day but one I begged Franz to do 
 me a favour when he went to Dieppe. I re- 
 quested him to go to the Rue Tete-de-Boeuf, to 
 which Mere Vincent had despatched my bag- 
 gage from Treport, and bring me the two valises 
 
28 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 that contained my underclothing. I told him to 
 ask the landlady to keep a room for me until the 
 day when I should determine to leave Biville, 
 which I was not then able to fix. 
 
 He brought my valises the same evening and 
 said to me: 
 
 " The Hurteaux woman, who is the cousin of 
 Mere Vincent of Treport, was already worried 
 about you. I relieved her mind ! " 
 
 Pauhne van Brymans was listening uneasily. 
 
 Franz went out to join his brother Otto, who 
 was going to put some beets in silos in the fields 
 before night closed in. 
 
 My first impulse was to follow him ; but I was 
 tired; it was late; the evening promised to be 
 cold; the landlady had just flung a faggot upon 
 the hearth, and I thought it would be much bet- 
 ter to warm myself quietly before the fire-place 
 while smoking a good pipe, with Dick, the span- 
 iel, at my right hand, and Fritz, the child, at my 
 left. 
 
 The woman was attending to household 
 duties. She moved to and fro, changing the 
 places of utensils without apparent motive, as 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 29 
 
 if actually embarrassed. Suddenly she said to 
 me: 
 
 " One might suppose, tell me, sir, that Franz 
 did not like to see you here ! " 
 
 I turned toward Otto's wife. Her face, il- 
 lumined by the flames on the hearth, was thought- 
 ful, with a line of anxiety that divided her fore- 
 head from the roots of her hair to the bone of 
 the nose. I had no time to answer. She had 
 sat down near me and was making a screen of 
 both hands in front of her face, on account of 
 the intense heat. She went on : 
 
 "Ah! he is very queer! ... If you 
 knew!" 
 
 " Yes ! " I said. " It is no use for them to 
 resemble each other till they mingle like two 
 drops of water. All the same, they are different 
 in disposition." 
 
 " No, that is not so," she replied quickly. 
 " On the contrary, I can say that they have 
 precisely the same reserved temperament . . . 
 and if there were a difference, I should be the 
 only person in the world to detect it — Ah I Yes I 
 I will answer for that ! " 
 
30 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 I tapped the bowl of my pipe against my 
 thumb-nail, and replied : 
 
 " Come now ! You say that because you 
 are Otto's wife I If you were the wife of 
 Franz, perhaps you would say precisely the 
 opposite." 
 
 " Do you think so? " she said slyly. " I know 
 what I can depend upon, I suppose! Otto is 
 good — and Franz is not good I That's all! 
 Otto is good because he is happy, with me and 
 his little Fritz, and Franz — he, is not happy! 
 Do you understand? " 
 
 And, while saying this, she had drawn her 
 little Fritz to her and embraced him distractedly, 
 as if she would fain have saved him from some 
 future misfortune! 
 
 " Besides," she went on without a pause — 
 and she appeared to be glad to pour out her 
 thoughts — "to you, sir, I can tell everything! 
 I can say fully what I have never uttered to any 
 human being ! We have entire confidence in you. 
 Franz is jealous." 
 
 "Jealous?" 
 
 " Jealous of everything in life ! He is jealous 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 31 
 
 of everything and everybody. And it is en- 
 tirely his own fault, too ! " 
 
 "Ahl— Why his fault?" 
 
 " Because he has behaved dishonourably to- 
 ward Pauline." 
 
 "Is not your name Pauline?" 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 " Yes 1 My name is Pauline, too — Pauline 
 Steurs ! I was born in Borgerhout on the Turn- 
 hourt road I But I don't want to talk about 
 myself! and yet, on the whole, perhaps it is be- 
 cause of having acted unskilfully with me that he 
 feels so much rancour against the whole world! 
 
 " I am going to tell you everything, com- 
 mencing at the beginning ! I was living at home 
 with my parents, who were weavers, when I met 
 the van Brymans, good fellows who were very 
 highly respected on the quays, where they were 
 famous on account of their resemblance and the 
 pranks they already played ! .They came to the 
 ball of the Place de Meir, and were met at the 
 fairs with other young men and girls. My 
 parents, from choice, would not have wanted me 
 to marry a sailor, but one doesn't always have a 
 
32 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 chance to choose when one has no dowry. I 
 had danced several times with Franz and with 
 Otto, but it was Franz who was most attentive ! 
 ... I was really laughed at a little among 
 the groups, and it was frequently said : ' The 
 Steurs girl won't know where she is — she 
 wouldn't be able to tell the man she loves, they 
 are so much alike I ' And there was some truth 
 in it I But one evening when Franz accompanied 
 me to the Turnhourt road and repeated, in a 
 sneering way, the remarks of the people, I an- 
 swered : ' You need only come to my parents' 
 house to offer yourself next Sunday after vespers, 
 and you shall see whether I can recognise the man 
 who loves me ! ' He burst into a roar of laugh- 
 ter, and answered : ' For my part I want to be 
 free, and shall never marry, unless it is a woman 
 with money ! ' The laugh and these spiteful 
 words caused me so much vexation that, from 
 that day, I no longer danced at the fairs except 
 with Otto van Brymans — which made people 
 laugh at me still more." 
 
 " Ah ha ! " I interrupted—" and it was Otto 
 who came to see your parents one Sunday after 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 33 
 
 vespers, at Borgerhout ! It was Otto whom you 
 married, and you were both rewarded, since your 
 uncle Steurs left you his property, and Heaven 
 filled up the measure of your happiness by giving 
 you a little son, as pretty as a Cupid! But — 
 how can all this make Franz unhappy? I don't 
 exactly see ..." 
 
 " You don't see because you are not in a posi- 
 tion to do it I You can't imagine how jealous 
 Franz is of Otto, — without Otto's noticing it I 
 Otto's comfortable life, uncle Leopold's prop- 
 erty, my darling little Fritz . . . Franz might 
 have had all this! He envies it all! He 
 has let everything escape by his own fault! 
 This means that his life is a failure — and he is 
 suffering from it." 
 
 "He loves you, perhaps!" 
 
 " Oh no ! not that ! I should have perceived 
 it, you know, during the ten years we have lived 
 side by side." 
 
 " And in those ten years, has he never made 
 an allusion to the marriage which might have 
 taken place, if he had gone to ask for your hand 
 before Otto?" 
 
34 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 Pauline van Brymans' face resumed its stern, 
 thoughtful expression. The same line marked 
 her forehead between the eyes, whose hazel 
 colour deepened suddenly. I saw her bosom 
 heave beneath the gown. She uttered a sigh, 
 lowered her lids over eyes that had again be- 
 come troubled, and replied : 
 
 " Yes — Once he asked me : 'In case Otto 
 should die, Pauline, would you take me for a 
 husband ? ' I was so unprepared for so unex- 
 pected a question that I answered furiously, 
 'You? Oh! That! Never!' And I wanted 
 to spit in his face for asking so revolting a ques- 
 tion. That was three years ago ! " 
 
 She removed her fingers, and the fire illumined 
 her calm, honest face. 
 
 "And since?" 
 
 " Since ? — He has never opened his lips for 
 such a supposition ! — Since ? — He is always there, 
 around me, near his brother Otto, near our little 
 Fritz. He is always there, among us all! And 
 there is not a single human being in the whole 
 world, except myself, to divine that he is not 
 happy I " 
 
PAULINE, PAULINE, AND PAULINE 
 
 Pauline Steurs' loquacity had only emphasised 
 my sympathy for Otto and my distrust of Franz. 
 
 One afternoon, when Otto was going to the 
 fields to give the last turn to the dressing, I went 
 with him. He had carried his gun and gave me 
 a shot at a fall of young partridges. Otto was 
 little more talkative than Franz. It was the 
 same close-shaven, reserved face, the same com- 
 pression of the lips which allowed words to slip 
 through rarely, as if with regret. 
 
 On this day, however, he was in one of his 
 good moods, and more garrulous than usual. I 
 don't know how we happened to speak of his 
 brother. 
 
 "Oh, he! " he said to me, "he is perfectly 
 happy I He makes what he wants in his busi- 
 ness. He has none of the worries of farming, 
 
 35 
 
36 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 the fear of hail, the fear of drought, he hasn't 
 the care of a family with anxiety about a child 
 to be established later! Ah yes! Franz is 
 happy! . . . that can be said ! " 
 
 I compared these words, uttered with cer- 
 tainty, and the anxious remarks made by Otto's 
 wife the evening before, and discovered what a 
 gulf separated the opinions of the married 
 couple. 
 
 Otto, in a confidential vein, continued: 
 
 " He might have married . . . as we did ! 
 We fully expected it, last year! He was con- 
 tinually going to see a woman in the city who 
 keeps a little shop back from the coast, where 
 she sells ivories and shells — ^what are called 
 ' souvenirs of Dieppe ' ! Then he suddenly 
 changed his mind! He still visits her — but he 
 says he is very well off as he is, and sticks to it. 
 On account of people's gossip we would rather 
 have had them get married! It would have 
 been more proper ! But, after all, it's their busi- 
 ness and not ours ! Isn't that so ? " 
 
 I remembered, opportunely, the words of 
 Otto's wife : " He treated Pauline dishonour- 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 37 
 
 ably ! " and to draw forth an additional con- 
 fidence, I added: 
 
 " I know. He has not been absolutely fair 
 with Pauline I " 
 
 Otto van Brymans instantly resumed his usual 
 reserved manner, and I fully believed I had been 
 guilty of some bit of awkwardness, that is, that 
 I was going to know nothing more. Neverthe- 
 less, after a short silence, he replied: 
 
 "Ah! so you knew? It was my wife who 
 told you? Fie! Fair? We can't say! We 
 don't know her ! All that we know comes from 
 him I And you are aware that he thinks about 
 things more than he talks — that he is as miserly 
 with his words as with his pennies! But she 
 isn't a woman of no reputation — since he prom- 
 ised her marriage! She is a very good sort of 
 woman, who has met with misfortunes! Be- 
 tween ourselves, she does not belong to the same 
 class in society as Franz, who, like me, is a 
 man without education I And her name is Pau- 
 line — like my wife's ! " 
 
 This coincidence made him laugh. He called 
 to Dick, who was chasing the hens at the en- 
 
38 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 trance of the village, and took up a question 
 which must have disturbed him in his summary 
 disclosures. 
 
 " And you, sir, are you married, like myself, 
 or a bachelor, like Franz ? I am not asking you 
 this from curiosity. It's for the sake of saying 
 something — from politeness ! " 
 
 " I am neither a married man, like you, my 
 good Otto, nor a bachelor, like Franz." 
 
 "I don't understand!" 
 
 " I have been married, like yourself, and now 
 I am free, like your brother — I am divorced! 
 And my wife's name was Pauline, like yours — 
 and like Franz's sweetheart's." 
 
 " Yes, that is extraordinary f " remarked Otto 
 seriously. 
 
 "Why extraordinary? In a city of twenty- 
 five thousand inhabitants, like Dieppe, there are 
 certainly half a score of women who are named 
 Pauline. You have only to gather their hus- 
 bands ; they will not be astonished to have each 
 a wife who bears the same Christian name ! " 
 
 " That is true," said Otto. " That is true 1 
 It's an accident ! " 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 39 
 
 It was certainly an accident. 
 
 There could be no bond between Pauline 
 Mutel, my divorced wife, and Pauline Steurs 
 of Borgerhout — any more than there surely was 
 none between the woman who sold " souvenirs 
 of Dieppe " and Pauline Mutel. 
 
 But this conversation revived in me some- 
 thing akin to a retrospective vision and, all the 
 afternoon, I was beset by the remembrance of 
 my wife, to whom, for a long time, I had given 
 few thoughts. 
 
 I recalled, with a certain exactitude, the last 
 recollection I had of her. It went back more 
 than two years ! I was not then the well-known 
 artist I am now. It was some time after the 
 decree was pronounced, a very impartial and 
 very foolish decree, based upon the mutual 
 wrongs of the husband and wife. 
 
 As to wrongs, neither of us had many to 
 complain of, unless it was that I passionately 
 loved my profession, she did not understand it 
 in the least I — At the end of a year, there was 
 an irritating lack of harmony every instant, an 
 increasing constraint which made us both per- 
 
40 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 celve that we had married blindly without, per- 
 haps, taking into account that possibly we were 
 not suited to each other. 
 
 She had a small dowry which her parents had 
 given her to launch her into life, as if into a 
 misty dream, with the false idea that life is only 
 a dream ! And she took advantage of the dowry 
 to expect me, undoubtedly, to become famous 
 the very day after our marriage and to believe 
 that I should bring to her all the honours of 
 renown ! She was not constituted to struggle, 
 and I soon felt that she would be a useless com- 
 panion in the one upon which I had entered! 
 From this condition were born all sorts of in- 
 compatibilities which, swiftly and logically, had 
 ended in our disunion. 
 
 Aside from this, I had nothing with which to 
 reproach her — and I now saw her again across 
 the past years, not ill-natured, pretty enough, 
 rather neutral ! I saw her again as I had seen 
 her the last time, more than two years ago — 
 after the divorce — in a millinery shop which 
 she had opened, on the Rue BatignoUes, to sup- 
 port herself by her work; for her family. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 41 
 
 strenuous supporters of morality, would not 
 hear her name mentioned! 
 
 And all the rest of the day, I did nothing but 
 think of Pauline Mutel! 
 
 I was imbued with unaffected melancholy. A 
 remnant of old affection vaguely stirred in the 
 depths of my soul and created a dulness with- 
 out my being able to understand the cause. I 
 now grew interested and asked myself: " What 
 has she become? " I compared with the course 
 of our grey life of former days, the routine 
 of my present one. Fame had come to me; 
 my success had not given me, perhaps, the 
 pride that we always expect from it, but some- 
 thing more profoundly human: peaceful satis- 
 faction with my task led to a worthy end. 
 
 Perhaps — who knows — if fame and fortune 
 had come sooner, perhaps she might have been a 
 sweet and charming companion in triumph! 
 And everything which had happened would not 
 have occurred! And I felt alone, very much 
 alone, for the first time in long months I 
 
 While waiting for the dinner hour, I had 
 taken my pencils and was amusing myself in the 
 
42 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 sitting-room, deserted at this time, by mak- 
 ing sketches, my mind elsewhere, my attention 
 absent. 
 
 It was a corner of the tavern : the old clock, 
 with its copper pendulum . . . then, with a 
 sharpi bold stroke, the silhouette of little Fritz, 
 who had come to steal some sugar from the bar. 
 After that, my hand wandered haphazard, my 
 hand was the accomplice of my roving imagina- 
 tion — and I was surprised to have cleverly re- 
 constituted a face — the face — exact, perfect In 
 its resemblance — of Pauline Mutel, my wife ! 
 
 And the artist, regaining the upper hand, mar- 
 velled solely at the accurate drawing he had just 
 created, thanks to some unknown magic — the fin- 
 est work which, until now, I had ever put upon 
 a piece of paper! 
 
 I was holding the sheet of paper in my right 
 hand and was, without vanity, my own enthusi- 
 astic admirer, when Franz, the fish-dealer, en- 
 tered the room and bid me good-day. He had 
 returned from Dieppe at four o'clock, and was 
 also waiting for the dinner hour while wander- 
 ing from place to place. Leaning with both 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 43 
 
 hands on the table, he gazed at my drawing. 
 Carried away by the secret pleasure I felt I 
 innocently asked him, as if he were a person 
 who would know : 
 
 "Well! How is that?" 
 
 I raised my eyes to his, to question him pleas- 
 antly. He had fixed them upon the sheet of 
 paper. His brow wrinkled, as if under some 
 mental effort, and he said in a hollow tone : 
 
 "Who is this?" 
 
 I answered quietly : 
 
 " It is Pauline, my wife." 
 
 I certainly attached no special meaning to my 
 reply, thinking no more of Otto van Brymans' 
 recent confidence than of that of Pauline Steurs 1 
 Franz remained silent. Raising himself slowly 
 from the table, he went with a heavy step to the 
 kitchen. Otto entered a short time after, then 
 his wife, then Fritz, then Dick, the most joyous 
 of the party. 
 
 " Dinner is ready I " said the landlady, as 
 usual. 
 
 Franz came back too. 
 
 " There is something which you have for- 
 
44 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 gotten, since Monsieur has been here," he said 
 in a perfectly natural tone, addressing his sister- 
 in-law, " and if the gendarmes pass, it might 
 cause you to be charged with offending against 
 the regulations of the police I You haven't en- 
 tered this gentleman's name on the travellers' 
 register ! " 
 
 The woman burst into a shout of laughter. 
 
 " That's true I To us he is always Monsieur 
 Maxime, as he is to little Fritz." 
 
 " That is true I " I urged. " You don't even 
 know my name — and yet I am almost your 
 friend! What if I should be a murderer? " 
 
 " Oh 1 " said Otto, laughing in his turn. 
 " You haven't the right face for that ! " 
 
 Franz was the only person who did not join in 
 the merriment. 
 
 He had taken from the bar a book in a grey 
 binding in which the passing customers wrote 
 their various callings. This he placed before me, 
 drawing forward a miserable inkstand and a 
 penholder. And I wrote in the register of the 
 tavern of The Thieving Magpie: 
 
 Maxime Aubry, artist. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 45 
 
 Coming from: Treport. 
 
 Going to : Dieppe. 
 
 Residing in : Paris, Rue Campagne-Premiere. 
 
 Franz van Brymans had resumed his position, 
 both fists resting on the marble top of the table, 
 following with his eyes my hand running over the 
 paper. 
 
 I raised my head, as I had done just before, 
 and looked at him. 
 
 He had grown pale. But his pallor could 
 have had no meaning, he kept his usual placidity 
 so completely. Closing the register with no 
 sign of haste, he said, with no apparent emotion 
 in his voice: 
 
 " There, that's more correct ! " 
 
 Pauline invited every one to dinner, 
 
 " Come, let us all go to the table I " 
 
 It was at this moment that Franz firmly, in 
 a very decided tone, as if he was resolved to be 
 obstinate, said: 
 
 " I shall not dine here this evening 1 I must 
 go back to Dieppe 1 I was going to do a fine 
 thing! I was on the point of forgetting that 
 I have an appointment with Simon of the Place 
 
46 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 Duquesne, about the gobe I am going to lease 
 from him." 
 
 The van Brymans looked at each other in be- 
 wilderment. I asked what a gobe was. Otto 
 explained that it was the name given to cavities 
 in the cliffs used by dealers for store-houses. 
 
 Franz had turned on his heel, and gone to the 
 stable. 
 
 "What ails Franz again to-day?" asked 
 Pauline Steurs. "That errand is a humbug! 
 He wasn't thinking of going to the city ten 
 minutes ago! " 
 
 Otto, with an evasive gesture of his two arms 
 bent back along his body, answered : 
 
 "How do I know? I'm not in his skin." 
 
 The landlady plunged the ladle into the smok- 
 ing tureen, and said scornfully : 
 
 " With Franz, one never knows what is going 
 on. 
 
VI 
 
 THE PEOPLE WHO LAUGH AND THE DOG THAT BARKS 
 
 I HAVE said that I loved my profession as an 
 artist. I do not believe I said that I loved it 
 above everything else. Once grasped by my 
 subject, nothing counts, neither interest, nor feel- 
 ing. Nothing distracts me from my task. I have 
 no diversions, and I no longer have any curi- 
 osity. Only those who know this peculiar condi- 
 tion will fully understand me. 
 
 And the subject which I had to observe and 
 to interpret was a very absorbing one, this cheer- 
 less strand, peopled with poverty-stricken people 
 who bore no malice. This was very different 
 from my pictures of Treport, with its spruce 
 beaches, as neat as a box of toys. I was working 
 with ardour, and no longer thought of the letter 
 from my friend Albert Lebourg, who advised 
 me to visit the Pollet quarter. I thought of 
 
 47 
 
48 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 nothing except what I was doing with actual 
 frenzy. My curiosity concerning the van 
 Brymans brothers was completely blunted. I 
 had forgotten the portrait of my wife, nee Pau- 
 line Mutel, in my portfolio ; I had forgotten the 
 chatter of the other Pauline, the landlady — I 
 had forgotten even the incomprehensible an- 
 tipathy which I felt for Franz, and at meal- 
 times I now confused him with Otto, showing 
 the same cordiality to both. 
 
 It is true that for a week he had done every- 
 thing to accomplish this end. He had suddenly 
 become courteous, almost eager to make himself 
 agreeable to me. It was he who accompanied 
 me to the shore every morning when the tide 
 came in, on account of his business. He 
 tried to interest himself in what I was doing. 
 He had suddenly grown sociable, amiable as far 
 as it was in his capacity to be. 
 
 One day he said to me : 
 
 " You know, Monsieur Aubry, I have seen 
 the landlady in the Rue Tete-de-Boeuf — the 
 cousin of Mere Vincent, of Treport. She is very 
 uneasy — but no longer about you, it concerns 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 49 
 
 herself, that is, to see a room which has been 
 kept for so long a time remain unused! So, to 
 quiet her, I paid the forty francs due for the 
 month. Wasn't that the price agreed upon with 
 Mere Vincent?" 
 
 " I thank you." 
 
 Another day he casually made the offer: 
 
 " Any time that you may want to spend an 
 hour or two in Dieppe, I shall always have a 
 seat in my cart at your disposal, Monsieur 
 Aubry." 
 
 For since he had known my name, he took 
 advantage of it and called me " Monsieur Au- 
 bry " every minute. 
 
 At the inn of The Thieving Magpie, the same 
 kindly attentions surrounded me; but as I had 
 enjoyed them from the first moment of my in- 
 stallation they touched me less. To tell the 
 truth, absorbed by my profession, I was a little 
 detached from my surroundings. I no longer 
 paid attention to the conversation. What came 
 into one ear went out through the other. 
 
 One day Otto's wife said to her husband be- 
 fore me: 
 
50 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " What in the world is going on in Franz's 
 head? For some time he has been entirely 
 changed, upon my word." 
 
 It was Otto who remarked another time : 
 
 " I have never seen Franz so lively! He is 
 hiding something from us ! I don't understand 
 a thing about it ! " 
 
 I scarcely listened to their remarks. Never- 
 theless I continued to share their family life. 
 They did not spare me a single detail of the daily 
 existence. I knew, approximately, how many 
 eggs the hens had laid during the twenty-four 
 hours, how many appetisers Frangois, the black- 
 smith, had drunk, and how many games of 
 dominoes he had lost. 
 
 " You shall see. Monsieur Aubry," said the 
 landlady, " whether Franz has good taste in 
 buying goods ! " 
 
 She was unpacking on the kitchen table the 
 bale which Franz had brought back from 
 Dieppe, as he did every year at this time, to 
 renew his own wardrobe, and his brother Otto's. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 51 
 
 It was a double outfit, from head to foot — two 
 caps, two blouses, two woollen jerseys, two pairs 
 of trousers, two pairs of shoes, and even the 
 underclothing which came in pairs, marked F 
 and O, but later white goods — shirts, handker- 
 chiefs, and a lot of miscellaneous things. 
 
 And Otto's wife, in the midst of her unpack- 
 ing, was laughing with delight. 
 
 " When you see them dressed in everything 
 new, side by side, you won't be able to distin- 
 guish them at all — I tell you so — ^neither you 
 nor anybody, nor your humble servant, first of 
 all!" 
 
 And they went back, with the customers who 
 came in, to the eternal topic of the everlasting 
 resemblance between the van Brymans brothers, 
 of which I was beginning to be a little 
 weary. 
 
 But, alas ! this was not going to continue for a 
 very long time! 
 
 For this is the very simple fact which hap- 
 pened on the 1 6th of October, the evening be- 
 fore the day that I was found knocked senseless 
 by an unknown hand, under circumstances so 
 
52 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 strange that they made one's head swim, in 
 Dieppe, at the end of the Quay Henri IV. 
 
 Franz had come home from the city in an 
 extraordinarily merry mood, more lively than 
 I had ever seen him, so merry that his sister-in- 
 law murmured: 
 
 " Franz acts as if he were a little tipsy." 
 Franz had a quick ear. He answered: 
 " A glass too much is very allowable, when 
 one meets an old friend one hasn't seen for ten 
 years ! Guess whom I saw. Otto ? " 
 " How do you suppose I can guess ? " 
 " Shoepen, from Antwerp ! the sailor Shoe- 
 pen! " 
 
 "Who is Shoepen?" asked Otto's wife. 
 Otto's placid face brightened, beamed. He 
 stuttered : 
 
 " Ah ! — ^That scamp of a Shoepen ! Really? " 
 And the memory of his comrade evoked in an 
 instant his youth and the frame in which he 
 had lived it, his native city, the seaport of Ant- 
 werp, his Belgium, all his early life. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 53 
 
 He explained to his wife: 
 
 "Shoepen! We were the same age. We 
 sailed together, with the shipowner Poillyl " 
 
 All this was very far away. The shipowner, 
 Shoepen, the coasting-trade, the quays of Ant- 
 werp, and the scenery of his native land! But 
 everything came back at once, in a puff of wind 
 borne by a sudden, delicious breeze, which had 
 come from the offing, from over yonder — in 
 that simple name, the sailor Shoepen ! 
 
 Then Franz began to explain in his turn: 
 
 He had just come from Glasgow on a ship 
 loaded with petroleum ... he was going to 
 sea the next evening . . . and he wanted to 
 see Otto again. 
 
 "So do / want to see him 1 " sighed Otto. 
 
 And Franz added in a perfectly natural 
 tone: 
 
 " He is expecting us to luncheon to-morrow 1 " 
 
 The wife was the first to encourage her 
 husband. 
 
 " That will be a chance to wear your new 
 clothes ! Only try to control your thirst I " 
 
 Turning to me, she added: 
 
54 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 "If Monsieur Aubry would like to take ad- 
 vantage of the opportunity to make a little visit 
 to Dieppe ! " 
 
 Otto added his arguments to urge the invita- 
 tion: 
 
 " I would show you about the city, and it 
 would give me a lot of pleasure." 
 
 And Franz, as if he had only waited to re- 
 ceive his brother and sister-in-law's encourage- 
 ment, supported them in a thoroughly agreeable 
 fashion : 
 
 " Yes, you would give us much pleasure, and 
 you will have an opportunity to pass through 
 the Rue Tete-de-Boeuf, and soothe the anxiety 
 of your landlady, who is beginning to doubt 
 your existence ! " 
 
 I had certainly no pleasure to expect from 
 seeing the sailor Shoepen — any more than from 
 Mere Vincent's cousin I But a day's rest would 
 be agreeable and, to gratify everybody, I prom- 
 ised to go with them the next day. 
 
 And Otto and Franz, with the others, seemed 
 to be very proud of the honour that I was doing 
 theml 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 55 
 
 I slept badly that night, and had a stupid 
 dream I 
 
 I dreamed of my wife, Pauline Mutel . . . 
 Pauline Mutel was Monna Lisa. It was my 
 wife, an adorable woman, with a gentle disposi- 
 tion and a keen intellect, the charming com- 
 panion of my work. . . . And I owed her a 
 thousand pardons, and worshipped her like a 
 Madonna, ever since her portrait sketched with 
 a few strokes of a pencil had replaced La 
 Joconda in the Louvre. It was an idiotic dream, 
 like all dreams, and angelic into the bargain I 
 
 I dreamed that I had received from Albert 
 Lebourg, the landscape artist, a letter which 
 caused me much uneasiness and gave me ter- 
 rible suffering. He wrote: 
 
 / forbid you to go to Dieppe. You must 
 not go to Dieppe, unless you are a man lost to 
 impressionistic painting! The picturesque sub- 
 urb of Pollet has been completely destroyed by 
 fire. This fire was lighted by the hands of our 
 Under Secretary of State in the Beaux-Arts, and 
 the old sailors of former days who went to Ice- 
 
S6 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 land and Newfoundland, have been replaced by 
 Apaches of Charonne! Don't go there or you 
 will be in advance a marked man! And Dubufe, 
 of the National, will no longer put you any- 
 where except in the cellars, with those who have 
 talent! 
 
 All these incoherences had fatigued me, and 
 I woke at dawn, completely overwhelmed with 
 lassitude. It is evident that I no longer thought 
 any more of this ridiculous nightmare. If I 
 relate it now, it is not to give the occurrence im- 
 portance — after the happening — but only for 
 the pleasure of the shrewd people who will 
 amuse themselves, if they choose, in ascribing to 
 it the weight of a warning! 
 
 For my part, if I were allowed to laugh — 
 after what has happened ! — I should still affirm 
 that we must not put faith in dreams, for I am 
 certain that I shall never replace the Vinci, 
 in our National Museum, and I also consider it 
 positive that it will never enter the brain of a 
 minister of the Beaux-Arts — however great a 
 foe of the picturesque he may be supposed — to 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 57 
 
 imitate Nero in a wretched suburb inhabited 
 by fishermen, far away from the Rue de 
 Valois ! 
 
 There are so many marvels to be destroyed 
 in old Paris, within easy reach of the hand. 
 
 I found the van Brymans brothers, dressed in 
 their best, ready for departure. 
 
 They were airing their new togs for this sea- 
 son, identical from their caps to their shoe- 
 strings. And they were, in reality, more 
 astonishing, more bewildering in their perfect 
 resemblance than ever. I carried the jest so far 
 as to say to them : 
 
 "Oh! no — allow me — this time I won't be 
 taken in I " 
 
 I seized the right hand of each, and when I 
 had seen the silver ring incrusted in the swollen 
 flesh of the little finger, I said: 
 
 "Good-morning, Otto!" 
 
 " You are a sly fellow ! " sneered Franz. 
 
 And he buckled around his loins a heavy 
 leather money-belt of the old-fashioned sort, dis- 
 tended with coins, which he was going to deposit 
 in the Savings Bank. 
 
58 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 "You'll be robbed!" said his sister-in-law. 
 
 The woman laughed. . . . Otto laughed. 
 . . . Their little son Fritz was playing on 
 the door-step. Everybody seemed merry over 
 the start. Only Dick, the spaniel, appeared sor- 
 rowful Animals are as great egotists as peo- 
 ple. He ought to have been ashamed not to 
 share our pleasure. 
 
 We got into the new cart. I took my place 
 on the seat, between Franz, who grasped the 
 reins, and Otto. Pauline waved her hand- 
 kerchief to wish us a pleasant trip. And as the 
 vehicle moved Dick, with a mournful, prolonged 
 barking, howled piteously, which is said to be a 
 bad omen ! 
 
 I turned and saw the landlady holding the 
 spaniel by the collar and punishing him by cuff- 
 ing his ears. 
 
 I don't believe in signs any more than I do in 
 dreams. 
 
 Nevertheless, I ask myself — at a distance from 
 the event . . . now . . . 
 
VII 
 
 THE SAILOR SHOEPEN 
 
 He was a short, stocky man, with a red face 
 framed by a russet beard, and eyes which ex- 
 pressed the utmost stupidity. He had long 
 arms, which he allowed to hang by his sides, — 
 ending in immense fists. A cap of waxed leather 
 drawn down to his eyebrows, his jersey, crossed 
 by a red and yellow badge, and his long woollen 
 leggings completed the appearance of the good, 
 big, dull brute, who shows you in two minutes' 
 observation that man descends from the chim- 
 panzee. 
 
 Such was the aspect of the sailor Shoepen, 
 in the yard of the stables where Franz was in 
 the habit of keeping his horse and cart, when we 
 arrived there toward eleven o'clock in the morn- 
 ing. I had had time to pass through the whole 
 width of the city, across the two bridges, and 
 follow the Quay Henri IV, at whose extreme 
 59 
 
6o THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 end, beyond the naval station, was the fish- 
 dealer's cart-shed. My first impression of the 
 city which Duquesne illustrated was not ex- 
 tremely brilliant. I received at first sight the 
 impression we all have at the view of every sea- 
 port, that is, a curious and incomprehensible 
 medley, from the outset, of something seen be- 
 fore, and yet unlike any other port. 
 
 We got out of the cart and Otto and Shoe- 
 pen, their eyes shining with pleasure, congratu- 
 lated each other endlessly. It was both touching 
 and ridiculous ... Shoepen appeared to 
 stare at me as if I were some curious animal. 
 Otto explained what sort of person I was, and 
 the sailor did not know how to show his respect 
 for me. And this was more ridiculous than 
 touching. Franz knew the right places for good 
 cheer, and took us to a restaurant of his choos- 
 ing where the fare was abundant, the cider hard, 
 and the wine very dear. 
 
 I could make no pretence of rivalling my 
 three companions in eating, and as for drink, I 
 contented myself with admiring their way of 
 mixing all sorts of liquors, which punctuated 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 6i 
 
 from time to time — like commas in the body of 
 a long sentence — the glasses of cider brandy 
 called " trous normands." 
 
 Oh I the conversation was not intensely inter- 
 esting — at least to me. It was the continual 
 recalling of their childhood in Antwerp, then 
 by hook and by crook, what they had done in 
 life, each in his own person, for ten years I The 
 sailor Shoepen was surprised at one thing: this 
 was that he had not met one of the van Brymans 
 brothers in Dieppe before. For he knew Dieppe 
 as well as he did his own pocket ! Since he had 
 been in Glasgow, on the Arbalete, he came there 
 three or four times a year. Before that he was 
 working in the woodlands of the north, at 
 Dunkerque, and landed there every three 
 months, too. 
 
 " Chance I " said Otto sorrowfully. 
 
 " Chance ! " repeated Franz. 
 
 What interested me was the colour of the 
 scene, the low-ceilinged hall of the popular res- 
 taurant, filled with clamour, where the fish- 
 dealers, the sailors, the peasants from the neigh- 
 bourhood, chewing noisily, interrupting them- 
 
62 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 selves in their eating to bellow, each louder 
 than the other, with mouths half full, roars 
 of laughter which made the dishes rattle on the 
 tables. And I thought of the greasy interiors 
 of the minor Flemish masters, whose touch was 
 so passionately vivid, as I watched the maid- 
 servants in their white aprons moving among 
 the rows of chairs, and answering with blunt re- 
 partees the free speeches of the customers. 
 
 I admired the appetite of the sailor Shoepen 
 and his method of cutting with the aid of his 
 knife, a solid blade like a sabre, the pieces he 
 engulfed in his narrow mouth, and which swelled 
 his cheeks. 
 
 " It is sharp ! " said Franz, taking the knife 
 and examining it. 
 
 He played with the catch, and inspected with 
 keen interest the horn handle from which hung a 
 copper medal, engraved with the sailor's name 
 and conventional matriculation on board his 
 ship : Shoepen, 8. 
 
 " With this," said Franz, returning it to him, 
 " you can, as occasion requires, cut your bread, 
 cut a rope, or rip up a shark." 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 63 
 
 " With this," replied Shoepen proudly, " I 
 could cut iron." 
 
 And he planted the blade of pointed steel in 
 the oak of the table. 
 
 Franz was the amphitryon; but to fulfil my 
 part of the reckoning, I ordered a bottle of 
 champagne. At the word champagne Shoepen's 
 face wore a look of amazement ; his eyes sparkled 
 with sudden delight, and he passed his tongue 
 like a gourmand over his closely-shaven lips. 
 
 Otto did not wish to be left behind, and pro- 
 posed coffee, but the fish-dealer protested. 
 
 " I am the one who invited you." 
 
 " No," persisted Otto, " let each do his 
 share ! " 
 
 " I said no, and no it is," retorted Franz. 
 " We don't see Shoepen every day. Come, we 
 two will play for the coffee, in five games of 
 nine points." 
 
 The dominoes were brought, the bottles of 
 brandy, rum, and kirschwasser, the coffee of 
 three colours. The sight of them alarmed me. 
 I thought the drinking bout would last a good 
 half-hour. 
 
64 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " I am going to take a walk to the Rue Tete- 
 de-Boeuf," said I, " and see the room the land- 
 lady has kept for me." 
 
 " If you like, Shoepen will go with you and 
 show you where it is," replied Franz, " since he 
 knows Dieppe as well as we do." 
 
 The sailor scratched his red pow; he was 
 divided between the fear of losing one of the 
 bumpers which were going the rounds and the 
 vague desire to make himself agreeable to me. 
 He decided almost grudgingly. 
 
 " Certainly, since I know Dieppe as well as I 
 do my own pocket." 
 
 And he rose with difficulty. 
 
 " There is no necessity ! " I replied. 
 
 But he then made it a point of honour to show 
 me that he no longer hesitated between the 
 drinks of brandy and the honour of escorting 
 me. So we left the van Brymans brothers ab- 
 sorbed in the difficult calculations of the noble 
 Norman game. 
 
 I was very glad to get into the fresh air! 
 Shoepen said to me: 
 
 " It's in PoUet,— the Rue Tete-de-Bceuf ! " 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 65 
 
 We recrossed the bridges and reached a 
 somewhat poor-looking house. The sign of the 
 Hurteaux woman showed me that these were the 
 furnished lodgings to which Mere Vincent of 
 Treport had sent my trunks. 
 
 The landlady gave us a warm welcome. Ah 1 
 so this was really I, the Monsieur Aubry whom 
 she had been expecting three weeks! She was 
 delighted to make my acquaintance! . . . 
 And she ran on into an obsequious gar- 
 rulity which I cut short by asking for my 
 keys. 
 
 " I will show you," she said. " You would 
 never find the room. I have lodged you out- 
 side of the house — that you may feel more 
 free." 
 
 She cast a distrustful glance at my com- 
 panion. 
 
 " This sailor is with you, perhaps? " 
 
 The man laughed, a laugh which was a posi- 
 tive grimace. 
 
 " Of course I am with this gentleman." 
 
 She guessed by the knit cap of red and 
 yellow : 
 
66 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " You are on an English ship ? " 
 
 " I am Shoepen," answered the sailor simply. 
 
 The room which had been reserved for me, 
 outside of the house itself, looked upon a little 
 garden. It was reached by a wooden staircase 
 from the street. And I was delighted with the 
 landlady's idea of having reserved for me this 
 independent lodging. She said again : 
 
 " You can keep the keys, Monsieur. My 
 cousin Vincent has told me who you are. You 
 are at home, sir." 
 
 She left us, not without having cast a last 
 disapproving glance at Shoepen who was vis- 
 ibly uneasy, plainly tortured between the idea of 
 doing me honour and the more definite one of 
 sharing in the drinking bout, which was the 
 inevitable consequence of the games of dominoes 
 which were played yonder. 
 
 The room pleased me at this first inspection. 
 It had an eastern exposure, a high ceiling, and 
 was very airy; an ivy vine climbed to the win- 
 dow-sill. And I already imagined spending the 
 month of November there. 
 
 Shoepen was turning in every direction, as 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 67 
 
 if he were on a gridiron. At last he said in- 
 genuously : 
 
 " You know that Franz and Otto will wait 
 for us." 
 
 I took pity on his thirst, and we went back to 
 the restaurant. 
 
 I was surprised to find Otto alone at the 
 table. 
 
 "Where is Franz?" asked Shoepen. 
 
 " He has gone to attend to some business," 
 replied Otto, " at Notre-Dame du Bon Secours, 
 about the gobe he rented from Simon of the 
 Place Duquesne." 
 
 He motioned to the glasses of each, which 
 had remained in their respective places. I ex- 
 cused myself. 
 
 " Thank you, Otto, but I am not in the habit 
 of drinking so much ! " 
 
 And I passed mine over to the sailor, who 
 tossed them off one after another, with perfect 
 calmness and a sure conviction of his own 
 importance. 
 
 Otto, flushed by the hearty meal and the 
 liquor, smiled. 
 
68 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " Oh, you haven't changed a whit, Shoepen." 
 
 " I'm going to find Franz under the diff," 
 replied Shoepen quietly. 
 
 " That's right," Otto approved, " and during 
 that time I'll walk about the city with Monsieur 
 Aubry. It will get the numbness out of our 
 legs." 
 
 " Our legs and our ideas I " I assented in rry 
 turn. 
 
 And I clasped the hand which the sailor held 
 out to me as one would that of a worthy fellow 
 whom one had met by chance two hours before, 
 and would probably never see again in the whole 
 course of a lifetime. 
 
 I shook hands with the sailor Shoepen in 
 farewell and wished him a pleasant voyage, since 
 he was to leave the port that very evening. 
 Otto's good wishes were naturally more eager 
 and more elaborate than mine. They went on 
 endlessly and were becoming touching and 
 ridiculous. 
 
 As if once were not enough, Shoepen held 
 out his big paw to me once more. 
 
 " I hope to see you again." 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 69 
 
 " I hope I shall see you again," I repeated 
 mechanically. 
 
 Indeed I could not foresee that I should ever 
 again behold that good-natured drunken face, 
 that I should twice more in my life see this 
 Shoepen, and the last time under really incom- 
 prehensible conditions. 
 
VIII 
 
 SHE 
 
 I MIGHT, in this place, take advantage of my 
 profession as artist and depict in a few vividly 
 coloured pages, descriptive to one's heart's con- 
 tent, and absolutely exact, the special aspects of 
 the city which my guide, Otto van Brymans, 
 made me visit. 
 
 Besides the fact that this would possess only 
 a secondary interest, such an undertaking, which 
 would be that of a conscientious literary worker, 
 would have the disadvantage of delaying my 
 narrative. It is, therefore, useless for me to 
 go into raptures over the ancient donjon trans- 
 formed into barracks, where Otto took me, after 
 having passed the railway station, which seemed 
 to me dirty and uncomfortable. The principal 
 street had some charm on account of its bustle. 
 The casino shocked me as an Oriental horror, 
 
 and I really breathed freely only at the sight of 
 
 70 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 71 
 
 the seashore and the green lawns, extending 
 harmoniously along a road bordered with cos- 
 mopolitan hotels, called, if I am not mistaken, 
 the Rue Aguado. 
 
 I do not remember, without a slight touch of 
 fear, the tobacco factory into which my guide 
 wanted to drag me by force, in spite of the horror 
 with which the building inspired me. 
 
 From the shore to the quays little cross 
 streets, cool and quiet, interested me with their 
 tottering huts. But my interest doubled when 
 we emerged into a small square park, thoroughly 
 primitive in appearance, which was the Place du 
 Moulin-a-Vent, whose gable-roofed houses were 
 nearly all of the period when the rich ship- 
 owner, Ango, received as a wealthy merchant 
 Francis I in the city. 
 
 I took in with my glance the little space en- 
 closed by the shops of fruit-dealers, an old- 
 clothes man, a laundress at the right and, on 
 the left, at the foot of stone staircases, narrow 
 and worn, the wives of sailors, seated on the 
 lowest step, busy in mending nets with a sharp 
 netting needle. 
 
72 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 When Otto, nudging me with his elbow, 
 winked his eye slyly, and motioning to the neat 
 front of a fanqr-goods shop, whispered in a low 
 tone: 
 
 "That is she!" 
 
 I turned my head and saw this — this which 
 dazed me and nailed me to the spot. 
 
 On the threshold of a store with clear glass 
 windows, behind which were arranged in a 
 graceful medley ivories and rudely painted 
 shells, stood, leaning against the frame, a 
 woman about thirty years old, with a winning 
 smile. 
 
 And this woman was Pauline Mutel, from 
 whom I had been divorced three years 
 before. 
 
 I should not know how to describe the im- 
 pression this sight made upon me. At first it 
 was bewilderment, followed by a brief uneasi- 
 ness in which, I believe, confusion was the domi- 
 nant feeling. 
 
 But the woman, having seen me, was appar- 
 ently seized with the same confusion and struck 
 by the same sudden shock, for she flushed crim- 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 73 
 
 son, turned away, and hastily shut the door of 
 her shop ! 
 
 I still stood there, with my eyes hypnotised 
 upon the attractive sign: Souvenirs of Dieppe. 
 Certainly this was a souvenir which I had not 
 expected ! I turned toward my companion, and 
 my voice, which I tried to render less hesitating, 
 imitated like an echo : 
 
 "That is she I" 
 
 And I looked Otto van Brymans straight in 
 the eyes. They maintained their artless expres- 
 sion. I saw only a sort of amusement, which 
 he emphasised by adding : 
 
 "She isn't bad-looking, is she? And Franz 
 could not expect to do better! " 
 
 I had the certainty that the worthy Otto 
 knew nothing more, and could know nothing 
 farther. 
 
 In saying : " That is she I " he had meant only : 
 " That is my brother's sweetheart, the one of 
 whom I told you — the woman to whom 
 he promised marriage." And I, in re- 
 peating: "That is she!" even had I gone 
 beyond his purpose, he could not possibly 
 
74 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 divine the significance I had put into it. 
 He added : 
 
 " Did you see how she blushed? No doubt 
 she mistook me for Franz." 
 
 I turned my tongue several times in my mouth 
 in order to keep from answering : " But she 
 could not have taken me for any one except 
 Maxime Aubry, her divorced husband ! " I con- 
 trolled myself as well as I could, took him by 
 the arm, and said somewhat drily: 
 
 " Let us go and find Franz ! I have seen 
 enough of this city, which no longer interests me 
 at all." 
 
 He seemed surprised at my words. I was 
 astonished at my own emotion and tried to recog- 
 nise myself in the contradictory feelings which 
 agitated me. 
 
 It is always after a blow that events make an 
 impression upon you. I remembered Otto's re- 
 marks concerning the similar Christian name of 
 my wife and the fish-dealer's sweetheart, and his 
 exclamation: "It is extraordinary!" to which 
 I had replied with what I thought good 
 sense. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 75 
 
 Besides, I should have found it difficult to 
 put any good sense into this singular adventure ! 
 Vainly I asked myself by what routes a woman 
 who had never been sensual, and whom I knew 
 was virtuous to the core, had reached this point I 
 Then, as there is always vanity in the relations 
 between man and woman, at the basis of what is 
 called love, I felt irritated at her choosing this 
 bumpkin. I was possessed by a dull, irrational 
 hatred of this brute who had replaced me in the 
 possession of Pauline. 
 
 And against Pauline, whom I had so entirely 
 forgotten, I experienced a bitterness which I 
 had never had, even in the time of our dif- 
 ferences and our separation 1 
 
 Otto and I went down toward the Quay 
 Henri IV without uttering another word. 
 
 " What are you thinking of? " he asked. 
 
 "Of nothing I" I replied. 
 
 I was thinking of Franz, of the instinctive 
 antipathy with which he had inspired me when 
 I saw him. I was thinking of the scene of my 
 inscribing my name in the traveller's register, 
 which had followed the scene of Pauline 
 
76 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 Mutel's portrait, so cleverly made from pure 
 caprice. 
 
 Oh! I recalled the slightest details now, and 
 these details explained his attitude — and mine! 
 He had turned pale at the sight of his sweet- 
 heart's portrait, as she had just blushed when she 
 saw me! But I recognised the fact that this 
 man was endowed with a considerable degree 
 of self-control to have since displayed coolness 
 so remarkable, and kept his secret as well as 
 he had done ; for I admitted that I myself should 
 have been wholly incapable of it. My extreme 
 emotion, at this moment, was the best possible 
 proof of that. 
 
 We were going to the stable where the fish- 
 dealer put up his horse and cart, at the end of 
 the Quay Henri IV. The sight of the piers 
 and docks, filled with shipping whose masts 
 were decked with flags of various colours, 
 did not interest me. I did not even no^ 
 tice it. I repeated stupidly, my mind far 
 away : 
 
 " Let us make haste I I am in a hurry to get 
 back to Biville I " 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 77 
 
 Otto answered in the calm, quiet voice of the 
 countryman to whom minutes are always long 
 and time indefinite : 
 
 " You are in a tremendous hurry, Monsieur 
 Aubryl" 
 
IX 
 
 WHAT HAPPENED 
 
 Day was drawing to a close. We waited at 
 least half an hour at the harbour, but Franz did 
 not come. At last he got out of a yawl which 
 he had taken to cross the channel. He was 
 not alone; he still had in tow the sailor Shoe- 
 pen, of whom I had thought I was rid. 
 
 Franz appeared to be vexed by some mis- 
 chance. He scratched his head to express his 
 annoyance, and said to his brother: 
 
 "Here's another provoking thing! Simon 
 won't be at home until nine o'clock this evening 
 to sign the lease for the gobe." 
 
 Otto made a wry face to show his sym- 
 pathy in the annoyance; and turning to me, 
 remarked : 
 
 " This won't suit Monsieur Aubry 1 " 
 
 " I shall be compelled to do as you do 1 " I 
 answered sullenly. 
 
 78 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 79 
 
 Shoepen, delighted at the prospect of dinner, 
 clumsily interposed: 
 
 " The Arhalete will not sail until midnight, 
 at high tide. That will give me the pleasure of 
 being with you longer I " 
 
 The pleasure was evidently on his side, and 
 in spite of my secret irritation, I was obliged 
 to endure another carousal. I was sufficiently 
 master of myself not to let my feelings appear 
 too plainly. It was not in public that I desired 
 to have an explanation with Franz van Brymans. 
 And as to lessons in impassibility, he immedi- 
 ately gave me one which really surpassed the 
 limits of coolness. 
 
 Otto, with a sly smile intended to be flatter- 
 ing, said to him: 
 
 " We saw her just now when we were going 
 through the Place Moulin-a-Vent, and Mon- 
 sieur Aubry congratulates you I " 
 
 Franz looked at me very frankly, gently 
 shrugged his shoulders, and showed himself 
 foolishly artless by answering indifferently: 
 
 " All that sort of talk is nonsense." 
 
 I, too, looked at Franz boldly. Not a mus- 
 
8o THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 cle of his placid face had moved, and I was 
 startled by his tranquillity. 
 
 So, I reasoned, here is a man who, for more 
 than a week, has known beyond doubt that I 
 am the former husband of his sweetheart, Pau- 
 line Mutel. He knows that I have certainly been 
 aware of it for an hour — through accident; yet 
 he remains in my presence as if he knew noth- 
 ing! And I was not sure at this minute, 
 in spite of my resolution, of maintaining to a 
 wary eye the same apparent calmness. I felt 
 myself inferior to this brute, and wondered of 
 what such an individual, in such a situation, 
 might be capable I 
 
 I needed to recover my strength; I tried to 
 benumb myself by drinking and entered into a 
 rude rivalry with the sailor Shoepen. 
 
 I really believe that, under any other cir- 
 cumstances, I should have been drunk before 
 the end of the meal; but I was in such a state of 
 enervation that it doubled my resistance to the 
 effects of the alcohol. And I was the first to 
 urge on the drinking; I who was annoyed to be 
 in this company, so repugnant to my tastes and 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 8i 
 
 my mode of life, applauded Franz's proposal 
 when he offered to take us to the pot-houses of 
 the harbour to finish the evening. 
 
 As for Otto, he was visibly intoxicated. At 
 least I thought so, amid my own drunkenness. 
 But the sailor Shoepen, who took double bump- 
 ers, soon reached the height of his inebriety. 
 What I can affirm — so far as such a statement 
 can have any value — is that Franz, alone, kept 
 his senses. 
 
 Of the scenes which took place in the dives 
 to which we went after dinner, I have retained 
 only vague memories when certain facts im- 
 pressed me sufficiently to recall them. 
 
 For instance, I recollect perfectly that, to 
 settle the account, Franz having opened the 
 leather belt which girdled his waist and drawn 
 from this money-bag a handful of gold and 
 silver, his brother Otto addressed this reproach 
 to him : 
 
 " What ! You haven't found time to put 
 your money in the Savings Bank? What have 
 you been doing all the afternoon? " 
 
 I can still see the sparkling eyes of the sailor 
 
82 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 Shoepen at the glitter of this little fortune, 
 and have remembered his exclamation: 
 
 "A good haul for the fellow who had the 
 pluck." 
 
 And I can hear Otto's answer: 
 
 " The man who would knock Franz down 
 isn't born." 
 
 I recollect also this fact. In some tavern which 
 I no longer know, Shoepen got into a quarrel 
 with some Danish sailors. I recall that, having 
 drawn his knife, the long, thin blade with the 
 horn handle bearing a copper medal with his 
 name engraved and his matriculation: Shoepen, 
 8, it was Franz, still admirably master of him- 
 self, who disarmed him, put the dangerous wea- 
 pon quietly in his pocket, and said: 
 
 " That's enough for to-day, Shoepen. I'm 
 going to take you back to the quay, so that you 
 won't miss going on board ! " 
 
 The sailor swore at him. Oaths hailed. A 
 general fight was perhaps about to follow. But 
 in the strong arms of Franz van Brymans, the 
 fish-dealer, the drunken sailor was only a de- 
 fenceless child. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 83 
 
 This violent scene had slightly dispelled my 
 intoxication, and I realised the ignominy of my 
 situation. 
 
 We were now in the street. 
 
 " I am going to help you," said Otto to his 
 brother. 
 
 " No," replied Franz drily. " Go and har- 
 ness the mare with Monsieur Aubry. I'll take 
 him on board alone." 
 
 I was so sickened that a ray of reason entered 
 my mind. 
 
 " 1 1 " I said, " I ought to have thought of it 
 before ! I will go and spend the night in the Rue 
 Tete-de-Boeuf. My room is waiting for me 
 there, after all ! " 
 
 " That wouldn't do," chuckled Franz. " Bet- 
 ter go back with us, as you have waited till this 
 time ! " 
 
 I was vainly rummaging the pockets of my 
 trousers. The keys which my landlady had 
 given me were no longer there. They had 
 vanished. 
 
 " Well, now I " I said angrily, " I have lost 
 my keys I " 
 
84 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 And while Franz turned to the right of the 
 fish-market, dragging the reeling sailor, Otto 
 and I walked along the deserted quays to reach 
 the stable. The cool night wind blew into our 
 faces and revived us. I began to recover my 
 senses. I could not tell what time it was, even 
 approximately. But I know that very few lights 
 were shining in the windows looking out upon 
 the harbour, that there were no longer any peo- 
 ple passing through the streets, and that the 
 absolute silence of the docks sleeping in the 
 moonlight filled me with keen anxiety. 
 
 It is probable that the reaction of the sharp 
 air produced a contrary effect on my companion, 
 for I noticed in crossing the threshold of the 
 stable, that he was stumbling at every step. 
 
 We had much difficulty in finding the lantern, 
 and still more in lighting it. As to harnessing 
 Franz's mare, which was out of patience after 
 so long a time of waiting. Otto gave it up after 
 trying in vain for fifteen minutes. 
 
 We were plunged in darkness but faintly 
 lighted by the big iron lantern I held in my 
 hand like a cresset — dull and stupid, when at 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 85 
 
 the end of I know not how long a time, we at 
 last heard steps outside. 
 
 " Ah I there is Franz," said Otto ; " that isn't 
 bad luck!" 
 
 I was standing with my back to the door, if 
 my memory is correct. I say that my back must 
 have been turned to the door, because before 
 having seen any one enter — Franz or any other 
 person — I had the sudden sensation of com- 
 plete unconsciousness. 
 
 It was like an enormous mass which came 
 down upon my skull, and I rolled senseless in 
 the straw, felled by an unknown hand! I had 
 no perception of what had happened when I 
 heard from Otto's lips the unfinished cry of 
 horror : 
 
 «' Mur " 
 
X 
 
 IN WHICH AN EXAMINING MAGISTRATE UNDERTAKES 
 TO SHOW ME THAT I AM NOT THE VICTIM 
 
 I OPENED my eyes and saw that I was lying in 
 a large white, bare room. I turned my head 
 toward the high, uncurtained window, and was 
 going to raise my hand to my forehead, when a 
 gentle hand, infinitely gentle and yet authorita- 
 tive, was laid on my arm to stop the gesture. 
 
 The wide cap of a Sister of Charity bent 
 toward my pillow. 
 
 A low, level voice ordered: 
 " Don't speak I Don't fatigue yourself ! " 
 I had sufficient knowledge of my strength to 
 reply : 
 
 " But I can talk, I assure you 1 " 
 It seemed to me that I was awaking as strong 
 as before, from a terrible nightmare. I felt 
 only a discomfort, the discomfort of the linen 
 
 86 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 87 
 
 bandages which encircled my head; and I at- 
 tempted another movement of my hand toward 
 
 it- 
 
 " Keep quiet! " insisted the Sister, this time 
 
 in a dry voice. 
 
 At these words, a man entered. 
 
 " Aha ! " he said, " the revival is complete ! " 
 
 And he examined me with a look not wholly 
 expressive of good-will. In an instant he had 
 relieved me of the dressing. He inspected the 
 wound, took the temperature, and concluded : 
 
 " One might say that there will be none this 
 evening! You have escaped finely. One centi- 
 meter lower, and your business would have been 
 settled!" 
 
 He pressed my temple around the bruised 
 wound, whose dressing he quickly renewed. 
 Then he added: 
 
 " You can get up I " 
 
 I asked him for some information. I wanted 
 to know under what circumstances I had been 
 taken to the hospital. His face grew stem, and 
 he answered harshly : 
 
 "That is not in my department! " 
 
88 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 Then, turning on his heel, he went out with 
 the nurse. 
 
 I was in a hurry to get away from this place. 
 Rising, I dressed without much difficulty, though 
 my head was still light, shaken by the shock 
 I had received. Through the window I saw a 
 magnificent old garden, in which convalescent 
 patients were walking in avenues of linden trees, 
 talking together. I noticed that all eyes were 
 turned toward my window. They seemed to be 
 discussing something animatedly, and I no longer 
 doubted that my adventure was known and 
 furnished the subject for all the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 At this instant the physician returned; but 
 he was no longer alone. Three men in frock 
 coats, with somewhat stern bearing, accompanied 
 him. 
 
 Passing near me, he whispered: 
 
 " The prosecuting officers." 
 
 I was speedily satisfied as to the direction my 
 affair was going to take, and did not doubt that 
 these three persons had come to show me the at- 
 tentions which justice owes to the victims of a 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 89 
 
 crime so odious as the one whose object I had 
 been. 
 
 The most important, apparently, of the three 
 men, judging from the obsequiousness which the 
 others showed him, was a short, stout old fel- 
 low, who moved about the room, gesticulating 
 extravagantly. He had a good-natured, ruddy 
 face, which was trying to appear terrible, gog- 
 gle-eyes, by turns menacing and merry. A pale, 
 distinguished-looking man called him Monsieur 
 Marathon in a familiar tone, though tinged 
 with respect. 
 
 Monsieur Marathon calling him the " prose- 
 cuting attorney," I needed little perspicacity to 
 divine that the fat, bustling man was the exam- 
 ining magistrate who had charge of investigating 
 my case. 
 
 As to the third silent personage, a by no 
 means good-looking man, smelling of snuff, it 
 was easy to recognise in him, thanks to his ob- 
 sequiousness, the clerk attached to the majesty 
 of justice to write down the deposition which 
 they had come to claim from my truthfulness. 
 
 The three men had taken their seats in front 
 
90 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 of a little table, inviting me to sit down oppo- 
 site to them, and it was in an almost threatening 
 tone which, from the first, put me out of counte- 
 nance, that the magistrate asked my name and 
 Christian names, which I gave without hesita- 
 tion. 
 
 " So it is you, the artist," said the jovial 
 Monsieur Marathon. 
 
 And, without farther formalities, he asked me 
 to tell him what I knew of the dark business 
 in which I was mixed up, and by what combina- 
 tion of circumstances I had been found sense- 
 less, at five o'clock in the morning, in a stable 
 on the Quay Henri IV. 
 
 " In spite of my desire to enlighten justice," 
 I replied, "it is absolutely impossible for me 
 to tell you by whom I have been attacked! If 
 I connect one after another the various circum- 
 stances which have surrounded the crime upon 
 my person, I do not say that we shall not arrive 
 at a serious presumption. But I could not go 
 beyond that." 
 
 " That's it ! That's just it ! " interrupted the 
 magistrate, " and that is also our opinion. . . , 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 91 
 
 A presumption . . . nothing more ... at 
 present ! " 
 
 " That is why I entreat you, Judge," I went 
 on, " to attach to my deposition only a value — 
 entirely relative — the value of an opinion — 
 which may be erroneous ! " 
 
 " Don't worry," retorted the magistrate. 
 " We are quite decided upon that, my officers 
 and I ! " 
 
 I did not at all understand the vaguely ag- 
 gressive tone that these men employed in their 
 interruptions. And I gave the three attentive 
 personages a truthful account, which has been 
 read, of my pleasure trip to Dieppe with the 
 van Brymans brothers — without omitting a 
 single one of the details. 
 
 I was surprised at the sneer exchanged be- 
 tween the attorney and the judge when I came 
 to speak of the sailor Shoepen. My surprise 
 became bewilderment, when I saw these sneers 
 redouble when I mentioned the incident of the 
 Place Moulin-a-Vent, and spoke of Pauline 
 Mutel, my divorced wife. But my surprise and 
 bewilderment became positive stupefaction when, 
 
92 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 having finished my truthful and exact narrative, 
 Monsieur Marathon let fall these words: 
 
 " Ah ! What you tell us is sufficiently in- 
 genious — though puerile, and utterly childish! " 
 
 And my stupefaction became terror when, 
 after a silence, I heard him add : 
 
 " But I will undertake, my fine fellow, to 
 show you that you are not the victim ! " 
 
 The red-faced man had turned toward the 
 pale, distinguished-looking one and, patting him 
 pleasantly on the shoulder, said: 
 
 " You didn't know Percevent, your predeces- 
 sor, monsieur? Ah! we had a very exciting 
 case in those days, the case of the mime Properce, 
 in which I had lost some of my prestige ! But 
 I hope to recover it in this one, and to profit 
 by the experience which I have gained in my 
 difficult career. You will see ! " 
 
 He gave him a sheet of paper, which the cau- 
 tious clerk had prepared for him. 
 
 " Doctor," said he, " is this man in a condi- 
 tion to bear the fatigue of the examination ? " 
 
 " As well as you or I, Judge I " replied the 
 physician. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 93 
 
 "Very well!" said Monsieur Marathon. 
 
 And signing with a rapid hand an order of 
 arrest, he looked spitefully at me, and declared 
 in a surly tone which was intended to be 
 solemn : 
 
 "Citizen Aubryl You are accused of pre- 
 sumption of assassination upon the person of 
 Franz van Brymans, the lover of your divorced 
 wife, nee Pauline Mutel, who was found stabbed 
 this morning, the 17th of the present month, 
 before the door of his sweetheart, in the Place 
 Moulin-a-Vent, and this with the presumed com- 
 plicity of the aforesaid Pauline Mutel, and other 
 accomplices whom justice will undertake to dis- 
 cover! " 
 
 Pale with horror, I stammered: 
 
 " Franz ! — Franz murdered ! — And Otto, 
 what has become of him? " 
 
 The judge sneered, as he had sneered at the 
 names of Shoepen and Pauline Mutel, then he 
 replied : 
 
 " When you make up your mind to tell us, we 
 shall be glad to know." 
 
 This time I no longer had the Sister of Char- 
 
94 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 ity near me to prevent the movement, and I 
 raised my hand to my forehead with the con- 
 fused feeling that my skull was going to burst 
 more certainly than under the blow dealt the 
 evening before by an unknown hand. 
 
XI 
 
 THE UTILITY OF A LAWYER FOR THE DEFENCE 
 
 Within the four walls of my cell, in the prison 
 to which I was immediately transferred, I had 
 abundant leisure to reflect upon my extraordi- 
 nary adventure. But it was useless to give my- 
 self up to all sorts of hypotheses. I could find 
 no meaning in any of them. 
 
 To keep solely to the fact, this was estab- 
 lished : that the evening before, in the stable on 
 the Quay Henri IV, in the company of Otto 
 van Brymans, when we were waiting for the 
 return of his brother Franz, who had gone to 
 take the sailor Shoepen back on board the 
 Arbalete, I had been struck and left for dead. 
 And this one point was all. 
 
 In order to seek, with any chances of success, 
 the author of this crime, it was necessary to es- 
 tablish the motive for the assault. I knew only 
 these three men In the city, where I was setting 
 
 95 
 
96 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 foot for the first time — these three men and my 
 divorced wife, Pauline Mutel. So I must re- 
 strict conjectures to this circle; and the only 
 one that I could remove at once, with certainty, 
 was that concerning Otto, who had been sur- 
 prised at the same time as I, and whose cry to 
 the assassin was the last light which I retained 
 of the drama. 
 
 As for the sailor Shoepen, it was difficult to 
 imagine a motive for such an act ! Besides the 
 fact that he was in a state of intoxication which 
 would have rendered the accomplfshment hard 
 for him, he was in the hands of Franz and, on 
 the part of a good sort of fellow, whose prin- 
 cipal fault seemed to be drunkenness, the deed 
 seemed incomprehensible. 
 
 But at the point where I had been compelled 
 to stop I found myself confronted with a prob- 
 lem still more perplexing: to define the part of 
 the van Brymans brothers in such an occurrence, 
 the part played by Otto with me, and the part 
 played by Franz with Otto. Now, I could 
 know nothing about this at present! 
 
 There remained the third hypothesis, which 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 97 
 
 was this: I had been struck by the person for 
 whom we were waiting, by the only individual 
 who was to come at that hour, to that place; 
 by Franz van Brymans, the fish-dealer. 
 
 And this hypothesis, at least, was strength- 
 ened by an apparent motive. Franz was the 
 lover of my divorced wife ! Franz knew that I 
 was aware of it, from that evening, about six 
 hours before the crime! And it was natural 
 that this should be the only reasonable supposi- 
 tion which had come to my mind after I recov- 
 ered consciousness ! I did not go so far as to 
 accuse Pauline Mutel of complicity; I had no 
 reasons for doing so, and nothing could induce 
 me to take the step ! My hypothesis was dubi- 
 ous, subject to error I I had said so to the magis- 
 trate in advance, and I had been wise, since it 
 had required a very trifling effort on his part 
 to make it crumble immediately, by announcing 
 that Franz himself had been stabbed in front 
 of Pauline Mutel's house. 
 
 In the presence of this problem, more be- 
 wildering than the first one, I resigned myself to 
 do no more thinking. My head ached, and I 
 
98 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 felt like an automaton in the hands of a blind 
 fate. I had nothing to sustain me in this time 
 of adversity, except the knowledge of my inno- 
 cence, and I permitted myself a little optimism, 
 leaving to events alone the task of demonstrat- 
 ing it. 
 
 A short time after my imprisonment I re- 
 ceived a visit from the lawyer who was charged 
 with what I believed would be an easy defence. 
 
 His name was Maitre Croulebarbe. A mild 
 young man, with a sympathetic face, whose 
 rapid glances through his eyeglasses were shy 
 and kindly. His voice was warm and winning. 
 He had a pitying tone which touched me deeply 
 as he received my first impulse of protest. As 
 I had never in my life been familiar with the 
 formidable apparatus of the law, I was excusable 
 in mistaking for compassion what was merely 
 a form of his thankless trade. 
 
 He made me repeat, for his use, the detailed 
 narrative of the employment of my time, just 
 as I had done before Judge Marathon, and 
 when I had finished, he took off his eyeglasses, 
 wiped them methodically, and muttered: 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 99 
 
 " In fact, the presumptions upon which the 
 prosecution depends are somewhat similar to 
 those which you employ for your defence ! " 
 
 I started at these words. 
 
 " For my defence ! But I have no reason to 
 defend myself ! " 
 
 " It is necessary," he replied gently, " and 
 I beg you, my dear client, to bring to bear upon 
 it all your attention and all your calmness. I 
 have said that the hypotheses of the prosecu- 
 tion and of the defence which I have the honour 
 to assume are the same — which comes back to 
 saying that they are diametrically opposed! 
 You put forth the supposition of having been 
 struck down by Franz van Brymans, your wife's 
 lover, and naturally, your conjecture immedi- 
 ately returns against you, since Franz has been 
 found dead before Pauline Mutel's door — your 
 divorced wife! — he, too, struck — but also 
 stabbed — by some unknown hand! So ybu 
 have, there is no doubt, a first disadvantage. 
 Nevertheless, don't be troubled — the prosecution 
 is still only in the tentative period, and so long 
 as you have not confessed . . ." 
 
loo THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " Confessed! Confessed what? " 
 
 A cold perspiration broke out over my whole 
 body. 
 
 Then Maitre Croulebarbe, with a pleasant 
 gesture, went on : 
 
 " Besides, I am going to tell you about the 
 prosecution and the course it is now pursuing. 
 Follow me carefully I It is not my own reason- 
 ing that I am stating, but that of the officers of 
 the law. For, at present, I have no right to have 
 an opinion ! " 
 
 My lawyer could not have used more provok- 
 ing language. I understood that he did not 
 believe in my innocence, that his sympathy was 
 feigned, and I had the feeling of being still 
 alone against all. 
 
 He continued in a demonstrative tone, dwell- 
 ing upon each word, separating each sentence 
 with marked precision. 
 
 " At the same hour in the morning a dead 
 man and a wounded man were found. A rapid 
 investigation informed the officers of justice of 
 the significant fact that the wounded man is the 
 husband of the dead man's sweetheart — that for 
 
THE MISSING FINGER loi 
 
 three weeks he had been, if one may say so, 
 his guest — that just before the crime he had 
 spent the whole day in his company, going 
 to the places of the worst repute in the 
 city! What conclusion, other than the one 
 which horrifies you, — that the husband is the 
 assassin of the lover, — would you expect the 
 examining magistrates to arrive at, I ask 
 you?" 
 
 At first I did not know what to answer. I 
 had been so unfortunate with my first insinua- 
 tion, so quickly reduced to nonentity, that I was 
 becoming circumspect, even while talking with 
 the man who was to be my defender! Never- 
 theless, I ventured timidly : 
 
 " But the deuce 1 There are other elements 
 in the affair besides myself and Franz ! There 
 is Otto van Brymans! There is the sailor 
 Shoepen ! " 
 
 " The misfortune is," replied the lawyer, 
 " that they are not here at present ! Certainly 
 it is known, from the first testimony collected, 
 that they were your companions in debauch all 
 day yesterday . . ." 
 
102 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 "Debauch?" 
 
 " And the police are looking for them. But 
 their disappearance, far from being favourable 
 to you, only deepens the mystery. The prosecu- 
 tion does not gainsay it. It recognises the ob- 
 scure points which the defence opposes to it, and 
 perceives that the presence of these two figures 
 in the drama — at least we like to imagine them 
 as such — would probably throw light upon what 
 is hitherto incomprehensible in your statements, 
 which are the only ones recorded! They have 
 telegraphed to Glasgow, on the information of 
 the Danish sailors ashore, with whom you had 
 a quarrel, to know whether Shoepen is really on 
 the Arbalete, in which case he will be arrested 
 when he leaves the ship. As for the victim's 
 brother, he has not appeared at his home at 
 Biville-sur-Mer, where his weeping wife, briefly 
 questioned by the gendarmes, early in the day, 
 could not give the slightest information. A 
 summons to appear having reached her, she must 
 be examined by Monsieur Marathon this after- 
 noon. Meanwhile, your baggage at The Thiev- 
 ing Magpie has been searched and nothing com- 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 103 
 
 promising found — at least I venture to hope 
 so!" 
 
 " But the part of my wife, nee Pauline 
 Mutel?" I asked abruptly. 
 
 " The part of your wife? Hum! " Maitre 
 Croulebarde hesitated. . . . " It is somewhat 
 ticklish. . . . She showed an embarrassment 
 sufficiently evident to arouse every suspicion of 
 her sincerity. She at first declared that she had 
 not seen her lover, Franz van Brymans, the even- 
 ing before, then that she had heard nothing, 
 during the night, of the scene which took place 
 in front of her door. Unfortunately for her, 
 her neighbours on the Place Moulin-a-Vent came 
 to testify that, contrary to what usually hap- 
 pened, their attention had been attracted by this 
 peculiarity — that the lamp had remained lighted 
 all night in her chamber in the second story. It 
 was then that, retracting her first statement, she 
 pleaded an indisposition which had kept her 
 awake all night. On being pressed with ques- 
 tions, she attributed this indisposition to being 
 startled the evening before, by seeing you pass 
 before her windows in the company of Franz, 
 
I04 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 since she had lost sight of you since your di- 
 vorce." 
 
 " That may be true," I replied, " except one 
 detail : it is that it was in the company of Otto, 
 and not of Franz, that she saw me in the Place 
 Moulin-a-Vent." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the lawyer, " I know what 
 a complication the extraordinarily striking re- 
 semblance between the twin brothers adds to this 
 dark affair! But Monsieur Marathon will un- 
 derstand how to investigate it. He is a skilful 
 man already trained in a case which aroused 
 quite an excitement formerly — the affair of the 
 mime Properce. As for your former wife, who 
 was arrested immediately as accused of com- 
 plicity, she formally recognised the corpse of 
 Franz, the fish-dealer, by the usual objects that 
 he generally wore on his person : his leather belt, 
 a sort of money-bag ..." 
 
 "Empty?" 
 
 " Empty ... his nickel watch ... his 
 knife, etc. Now, my dear client, have you any 
 special confidence to give me, any recommenda- 
 tion to make? " 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 105 
 
 " In the first place," I said, " I have one last 
 question to ask you. — How was Franz van Bry- 
 mans murdered? " 
 
 " Franz van Brymans," replied Maitre 
 Croulebarbe, " was found lying on the pave- 
 ment, his arms crossways, stabbed by a long 
 knife with a notch, left stuck in the wound — a 
 knife with a horn handle finished by a little 
 copper medal, bearing this engraved inscrip- 
 tion ..." 
 
 " Shoepen, 8! . . . Shoepen's knife?" I 
 cried, suddenly startled. 
 
 " As far as may be supposed 1 Still this dis- 
 covery suggests extreme care, for it is not often 
 the custom of murderers to leave thus openly 
 the manifest proof of their crime! One might 
 say on this occasion — it was too apparent — 
 plainly on purpose ! " 
 
 " That is true ! " I replied, recovering all 
 my assurance at this revelation, which was, to 
 me, an actual one ! 
 
 And I rubbed my hands joyfully. 
 
 To the foolish presumptions of the stupid 
 Monsieur Marathon, I now opposed presump- 
 
io6 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 tions that were also foolish, but wholly contra- 
 dictory. Yet I carefully avoided mentioning 
 them and, making up my mind to face the sur- 
 prises of an examination which was reserving 
 some for me, I answered my devoted defender 
 with a touch of humour: 
 
 " Yes, I have a special confidence to give 
 you. — It is that I know the murderer of Franz 
 van Brymans. And I have, besides, a recom- 
 mendation to make to you, that is, not to open 
 your lips about it to any person, and especially 
 not to inform your Monsieur Marathon ! " 
 
 "And this is, in your opinion? ..." 
 anxiously asked the lawyer. 
 
 " Franz himself! " I replied, playing the dry 
 joker. 
 
 Maitre Croulebarbe seemed vexed; he 
 thought the jest ill-timed, and remarked: 
 
 " You are not serious! " 
 
 Then he added: 
 
 " But I would rather see you in this frame 
 of mind than in the one where I found you just 
 now — overwhelmed and defenceless." 
 
XII 
 
 IN THE PRESENCE OF THE CORPSE 
 
 Most assuredly I had regained possession of 
 myself. The stupor which the abominable ac- 
 cusation of an over-hasty examining magistrate 
 had caused in me gave way to a clearer view of 
 the difficult situation in which I was placed. 
 Strong in my Innocence, I recovered the dignity 
 which had deserted me in the face of the charge. 
 
 I perceived that this accusation, built up hap- 
 hazard, on vague probabilities, must crumble of 
 itself. I understood that, being the only one of 
 the four heroes of this mysterious adventure in 
 the hands of a blind justice, it was almost logical 
 that this justice should endeavour, by every 
 means, to draw from me a first explanation. 
 And I reached the point of excusing the initial 
 errors of the investigation. 
 
 But I also decided that I should lose my time 
 
 and trouble If I tried to correct them, and con- 
 
 107 
 
io8 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 eluded that the better plan was no longer to de- 
 fend myself uselessly, but to leave this difficult 
 matter to the weakness of the magistrate's argu- 
 ments, which would crumble and melt away as 
 the investigation proceeded. 
 
 While Otto van Brymans, who had disap- 
 peared, and Shoepen, who had reshipped, would 
 not cast even a little light upon the obscurity of 
 the drama, it was vain to spend myself to no 
 purpose. 
 
 And my dignity, which had just permitted it- 
 self an ill-timed jest with my defender, soon 
 had an opportunity to manifest itself more defi- 
 nitely ; and I had the pleasure of showing Mon- 
 sieur Marathon as much boldness as I had at 
 first let him see depression. 
 
 The clerk came to tell us that the magistrate 
 and his officers had gone to the Morgue and 
 were waiting for us to go through the usual 
 form of confronting the body of the victim. 
 
 Maltre Croulebarbe said kindly: 
 
 " You don't feel too weak? At the mercy of 
 emotion ? It is always an unpleasant experience, 
 is it not?" 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 109 
 
 I smiled at my attorney. 
 
 " Have at least as much confidence as I ! To 
 see your lack of faith in the justice of my cause, 
 people might end by believing that you are the 
 criminal! " 
 
 " Come, then," he answered pleasantly. " I 
 see that I have to deal with a very strong man ! " 
 
 Two gendarmes, naturally surly, put on hand- 
 cuffs — a very useless precaution — to take me to 
 the carriage which was waiting for us in front 
 of the jail. About fifty loungers surrounded the 
 vehicle, and I saw clearly, by the exasperation 
 of these people who shook their fists at me, that 
 I did not possess the sympathy of the public, 
 which had been painfully stirred by the drama 
 that had convulsed the peaceful little cityl 
 I tried to make head against the popular scorn, 
 but I don't know whether I could have appeared 
 very courageous or sufficiently imposing with 
 the bandages which held my dressing around my 
 forehead, and must have given me a vague re- 
 semblance to Robert Macaire caught in a trap I 
 
 At the Morgue, Monsieur Marathon and the 
 prosecuting attorney were waiting for us, as the 
 
no THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 clerk had stated. The rosy and rotund magis- 
 trate could not stay in the same place. One 
 might have taken him for one of the Dutch tops, 
 flung by a child's hand, which goes bobbing from 
 right to left, knocking against every obstacle. 
 He came up to me, brisk and smiling. 
 
 " Well, have you reflected since this morning, 
 my fine fellow ? " 
 
 " I have reflected," I replied with a touch 
 of haughtiness, " upon the misapprehension to 
 which I owe the honour, if I may say so, of your 
 accusation, and I confess that, in your place, any 
 magistrate would have done the same." 
 
 This certificate of partial acuteness, instead 
 of softening the judge, vexed him. 
 
 " Oh, ho ! " he exclaimed. " If you take this 
 tone, you will gain little of our sympathy I " 
 
 " I have not sought it ! " I answered. 
 
 We passed into the hall where, on the slab, 
 was exhibited the body of one of the van Bry- 
 mans brothers, found murdered before the door 
 of Pauline Mutel, my divorced wife. 
 
 His closed eyes, his set face, his compressed 
 lips, gave the scene an atmosphere of suffering. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER iii 
 
 I gazed at the body of the unfortunate man — 
 placed approximately in the position in which 
 he had been found on the pavement that morn- 
 ing. The collar of his shirt came up above the 
 chin; the right leg of his trousers was staine^- 
 By his side lay his empty belt, a plaid handker- 
 chief — ^his nickel watch — everything which could 
 identify the body of Franz van Brymans, fish- 
 dealer. For as to the rest, it was impossible by 
 the unmarked and precisely similar clothing, the 
 face exactly like his brother Otto's, to affirm, 
 at first sight, whether it was the one or the 
 other. 
 
 Prosecuting attorney, judge, lawyer, watched, 
 with an attention that did not escape my notice, 
 the expression of my face; but they could see 
 nothing of my secret feelings, or at least could 
 draw no fresh annoying deduction. My calm- 
 ness was equal to theirs. Monsieur Marathon 
 verified it himself by exaggerating, as usual: he 
 called my composure cynicism. 
 
 The prosecuting attorney had placed in a 
 glass case the convincing proof, which was the 
 weapon used to commit the murder. He passed 
 
112 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 it to the magistrate, who gave it to me in the 
 hollow of his hand. 
 
 " You recognise this, eh? " 
 
 I took the blade, not fully cleansed from the 
 blood of the unfortunate victim. I turned it 
 over, examined the medal and its inscription, 
 and answered coldly. 
 
 " Yes, this is evidently the sailor Shoepen's 
 knife. It is the very knife which Franz van 
 Brymans snatched from his comrade's hands yes- 
 terday evening, and quietly put into his pocket, 
 to avoid the fight which was on the point 
 of breaking out between us and the Danish 
 sailors." 
 
 My statement produced an extremely strong 
 effect upon ray counsel. His eyes sparkled be- 
 hind his glasses, and he wished me to express 
 my declaration, which he had already associated 
 with my recent jest, in a more exact manner. 
 But I remained silent and calm, as calm as the 
 magistrate and prosecuting attorney, who doubt- 
 less needed a more formal declaration to be 
 excited and attach any importance to my words. 
 
 " That is not the question," said Monsieur 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 113 
 
 Marathon Indifferently, and pointing to the 
 corpse stretched before us: 
 
 " The question is this : Prisoner, do you recog- 
 nise your victim? " 
 
 " Why do you persist in paying no attention 
 to my protest. Judge? I swear to you, once 
 more, that I am innocent of the crime of which 
 you accuse me! Would it not be more logical 
 and more simple — for then I could answer you — 
 to ask me if I recognise the body of Franz van 
 Brymans, the fish-dealer ? " 
 
 " It would only lack," sneered the old codger, 
 " that you should not recognise him, and should 
 put yourself in contradiction to your ex-wife, 
 Pauline Mutel, who, be It said without irony, 
 must have more reasons than you on which to 
 base her conviction — to Pauline Mutel and to 
 all the persons who daily associated with the 
 fish-dealer, and have also recognised him ! " 
 
 " I have nothing to do with the opinions of 
 other people," I said, " and when you wish to 
 ask -mine in an acceptable form " 
 
 "Ho! ho!" laughed Monsieur Marathon 
 heartily. " You are sensitive and take the mat- 
 
114 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 ter haughtily ! — I will be a good-natured judge, 
 for once, and will put the question to you in this 
 courteous form : ' Do you recognise the body of 
 Franz van Brymans, fish-dealer? ' " 
 
 I advanced a step toward the corpse. 
 
 " Permit me," I said. 
 
 " Go on," said the thoughtless magistrate in 
 a manner which, under any other circumstances, 
 would have been comical. 
 
 I took the right arm of the dead man, which 
 was pressed close to his body, and raised it. 
 Then I looked at his right hand. 
 
 From the right hand of the murdered man the 
 little finger was missing, cut clean off at the 
 first joint, following the metacarpus, and this 
 formed a sanguinolent swelling. 
 
 And it was my turn to enquire: 
 
 " What does this mean? " 
 
 " It means simply that the assassin, for a 
 reason which we do not yet know, attacked his 
 victim, and amputated his finger, of course 1 " 
 
 " This reason which you do not know, I can 
 tell you, Judge I " I replied with a little air of 
 superiority. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 115 
 
 " We do not doubt it ! " retorted the prosecut- 
 ing attorney sarcastically. 
 
 My retaliation for so misplaced an irony was 
 easy: I seized it. 
 
 " I know very well that you question noth- 
 ing, monsieur. It is not the same with your 
 somewhat sceptical servant, who declares it to 
 be a material impossibility to recognise the body 
 of Franz, the fish-dealer." 
 
 " Do you say so? " cried Monsieur Marathon 
 in amazement, crimson with anger, rising from 
 his seat like a flurried Jack-in-the-Box. 
 
 " I say," I continued quietly, " that Otto, 
 from his early youth, had worn a silver ring 
 on his little finger to distinguish himself dis- 
 tinctly from his brother Franz, and that after 
 long use, the skin made a cushion around the 
 narrow circlet. ... I say that in the absence 
 of this one characteristic sign according to the 
 statement of every one, themselves included, 
 neither you nor I, nor my wife Pauline Mutel, 
 nor the friends and acquaintances of the twin 
 brothers, nor even the wife of Otto, nee Pauline 
 Steurs, whose deposition you will receive this 
 
ii6 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 afternoon, can declare to you on their soul and 
 conscience, that this body is Franz rather than 
 Otto, or Otto rather than Franz ! " 
 
 The prosecuting attorney glanced at the 
 magistrate, the magistrate at the prosecuting 
 attorney. They both looked astonished, the first 
 touch of uncertainty which I had placed in the 
 foundation of their precipitate reasoning. 
 
 But Monsieur Marathon was not a man to 
 allow himself to be taken off his guard long, 
 and he replied, in a tone of furious rage : 
 
 " By Jove ! If you want to play sharp, my 
 fine fellow, and this is the alibi you have in- 
 vented to get yourself out of the business, we 
 shall not take the trouble to confound you I " 
 
 The affectation made me smile. 
 
 " It is not an alibi that I am inventing, and it 
 is not to play sharp, I assure you," I protested, 
 " that I deny, from this moment, all authority 
 to bring to a correct end an investigation of 
 which one of the vanished van Brymans brothers 
 — Otto or Franz, you know nothing about it — > 
 holds all the clues in his hand." 
 
XIII 
 
 MY ACCOMPLICE 
 
 Monsieur Marathon used some unfortunate 
 words. 
 
 He employed one that was especially painful 
 when he informed me at once that, from the 
 Morgue, we were going to the Palais de Jus- 
 tice, where, in his private office, he intended to 
 confront me, without farther delay, with the 
 woman whom he pompously called " my ac- 
 complice." 
 
 " Now," he said, " we are going to pass to 
 another kind of exercises." 
 
 This was the manner in which this benevolent 
 magistrate mingled humour and severity. 
 
 The horror of the circumstances removed 
 
 from this meeting between Pauline Mutel and 
 
 myself the constraint which we should have felt 
 
 — the evening before, for instance, in finding 
 
 ourselves face to face. I do not know whether, 
 117 
 
ii8 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 on her side, she could have been led to believe 
 in my guilt but, on mine, I was certain of her 
 perfect innocence. 
 
 When I found myself in the presence of Pau- 
 line Mutel a very sweet emotion took posses- 
 sion of me. It was, by antithesis, the secret 
 pleasure of again finding a face I knew, among 
 all the hostile countenances which surrounded 
 me ; and I saw by her momentary agitation, her 
 gentle glance, imploring I knew not what pity 
 from me, that her mind, if not her heart, was 
 drawing near to me, and that her recent mis- 
 fortune was seeking, in my greater one, a good- 
 will which she deserved, besides a comfort 
 which I could not refuse her. 
 
 More and better than all the rest our mutual 
 misfortune was uniting us again. I felt it in 
 the inmost depths of my being, and I thought I 
 perceived in her softened gaze that the same 
 impression ^y^s making her tremble with emo- 
 tion. But it is certain that Monsieur Mara- 
 thon beheld exactly the contrary in the ex- 
 change of our glances, for he instantly said 
 jocosely : 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 119 
 
 " This is no reason for you to look at each 
 other like china dogs ! " 
 
 And this remark gave me the opportunity to 
 state : 
 
 " I have no cause to impute the slightest blame 
 to my divorcd wife, and I am the first to pity, 
 with all my kindly sympathy, the unpleasant 
 situation in which you have so unreasonably 
 placed her I " 
 
 " I beg you to keep your comments to your- 
 self," said the judge sternly. 
 
 Pauline Mutel had given me a look of grati- 
 tude, and this was all I desired : to let her know 
 my commiseration. 
 
 Her examination began. 
 
 I will not dwell upon the unpleasant character 
 for her, taken by the stupid questions of the 
 magistrate. It may be supposed that he did not 
 spare emphasising in a very coarse fashion the 
 well-known connection between the fish-dealer 
 and this poor woman, and to stigmatise her con- 
 duct with the commonplaces of current morality. 
 
 She held her own, as best she could, against 
 this avalanche of nonsense, and I admired her 
 
I20 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 courage in defending the personal independence, 
 which the law, after all, had granted her. 
 
 But the interesting point in her statement was 
 that she might have foreseen, if not actually 
 known of the impending drama. 
 
 She stated that she had anticipated nothing of 
 the whole affair! For a fortnight she had 
 noticed an extreme uneasiness on the part of 
 Franz, but she had not been able to divine the 
 reason. During the last two weeks, Franz, her 
 lover, had asked her a number of questions about 
 Maxime Aubry, her former husband, but he had 
 not opened his lips concerning my stay at Biville- 
 sur-Mer. And this explained the deep emotion, 
 the sudden agitation, which she had felt on see- 
 ing me, the afternoon of the day before, appear 
 in the Place Moulin-a-Vent, before her door, in 
 the company of Otto, whom she was excusable 
 for having mistaken for Franz I 
 
 She had expected Franz all the evening to 
 make an explanation, and Franz had not come 1 
 She had spent a night of agony, vainly trying 
 to comprehend under what conditions I chanced 
 to be in relations with the fish-dealer, her lover ! 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 121 
 
 And in the morning tlie neighbours had waked 
 her to inform her of the enigmatical and tragi- 
 cal occurrence. 
 
 At this part of her narrative, she covered her 
 face with both hands and burst into sobs. Her 
 weak woman's nerves had given away. But 
 Monsieur Marathon's were stronger, for he 
 turned to me and asked: 
 
 " Then you, too, are probably going to tell 
 us the same nonsense? " 
 
 " If Otto van Brymans were here to bear 
 witness," I replied, " he would tell you that 
 chance conducted us yesterday afternoon to the 
 Place Moulin-a-Vent ! And I give you my word 
 that chance alone apprised me yesterday that 
 Franz's sweetheart was Pauline Mutel ! " 
 
 " And during the three years that you have 
 been divorced, you are going to swear, into the 
 bargain, I suppose, that this is the first time you 
 have been together? " 
 
 " It is as you say ! " 
 
 He threw himself back in his chair, and his 
 rotund figure shook with a burst of laughter. 
 
 " Oh I young man ! young man ! you certainly 
 
122 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 are not so clever as you would like to 
 appear." 
 
 And to confound me, as he had boasted at 
 the Morgue he would do, the judge drew from 
 his writing case the pencil portrait which I had 
 sketched at Biville — the portrait of Pauline 
 Mutel — the portrait which was so good a like- 
 ness, though executed off-hand — the portrait 
 which had made Franz turn pale the even- 
 ing he had had me entered in the travellers' 
 register. 
 
 •' And this ! " he said. " What is this? " 
 
 " It is the portrait of Pauline Mutel, one of 
 the best drawings I have ever made — and I 
 should be grateful if you would not damage it 
 by unskilful handling." 
 
 His eyes darted lightnings at me. I 
 apologised : 
 
 " Merely an artist's solicitude ! " 
 
 " Ah I I know them, these artists I — ever since 
 I cleared up the case of the mime Properce, by 
 the Powers ! " 
 
 And he persisted : 
 
 "And this?— And this?" 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 123 
 
 He pressed his big finger like a spatula upon 
 my signature, followed by the date: October, 
 1907. 
 
 I understood the old fellow's error, and 
 smiled pityingly at his blunder. 
 
 " Oh I indeed! " he said. " That makes you 
 laugh ! You have the nerve for it I " 
 
 Then, putting the sheet before the eyes of 
 Pauline Mutel, he said smiling, somewhat 
 amused by his over easy victory: 
 
 " Is it too much to ask you, Madame, to re- 
 member that you have posed for your artist 
 husband, in the course of the present month of 
 October, 1907? " 
 
 Pauline Mutel had taken her portrait from 
 the hands of the magistrate. She was admiring 
 it. I saw her tearful eyes kindle with a fleeting 
 joy. I saw her soft red lips half part as if to 
 breath a sigh of relief. She looked at me, this 
 time, with an expression of extreme gratitude. 
 She was flushed with happiness. And she gave 
 the paper back to the magistrate, without even 
 deigning to answer his question, which in her 
 delight she had doubtless forgotten. 
 
124 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 I answered for her, saying sarcastically to 
 the judge: 
 
 " You are giving Madame a cause for pride 
 which she perhaps no longer possessed! You 
 will persuade her that she still occupies in my 
 heart a place which neither time nor separation 
 has had power to diminish — since I have main- 
 tained for three years in my mind an image so 
 persistent that its evocation sufficed to recon- 
 stitute it — and in so truthful a manner that you 
 yourself, a perspicacious man by profession, are 
 dazzled by it." 
 
 Monsieur Marathon, vexed by his failure, 
 turned toward the prosecuting attorney, and 
 holding his hand before his mouth whispered, 
 but not low enough to keep every one from 
 hearing : 
 
 "We have done enough for this morning! 
 I'll make you an appetiser! " 
 
XIV 
 
 WHAT AWAITED US IN THE RUE tStE-DE-BCEUF 
 
 The prosecuting attorney had not the frank- 
 ness of the examining magistrate. He must 
 have had a horror of appetisers, for, after con- 
 sulting his watch, he replied: 
 
 " We still have a good hour before luncheon, 
 and perhaps it might be more useful to employ 
 it in pushing the investigation severely." 
 
 " Employ it in what? " questioned Monsieur 
 Marathon, who thought he had done work 
 enough since five o'clock that morning, in ar- 
 resting an artist who had been knocked sense- 
 less, and a poor quiet woman. 
 
 " But," said the prosecuting attorney more 
 definitely, " might not a visit from the officers 
 of the law prove profitable in the furnished 
 lodgings in the Rue Tete-de-Boeuf, where the 
 prisoner stated that he had sent his baggage 
 three weeks ago, but had not yet occupied?" 
 125 
 
126 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 "Certainly! " Monsieur Marathon assented, 
 still thinking of the famous portrait seized at 
 the tavern of The Thieving Magpie. " Per- 
 haps we shall find still more interesting things 
 there!" 
 
 And, turning to me, he added: 
 
 " It is very certain that you have never lived 
 in the rooms rented by Mere Hurteaux?" 
 
 " It is certain." 
 
 " That is strange, in any case — to hire a fur- 
 nished room one does not need! But we shall 
 see." 
 
 My counsel had leaned over my shoulder 
 with affected solicitude, and whispered in my 
 ear: 
 
 " You have nothing valuable, nothing exces- 
 sively important for the defence to confide to 
 me?" 
 
 I moved my head from right to left. 
 
 " Nothing to fear," he persisted, " from these 
 new investigations? " 
 
 " Nothing, I assure you ! " I answered, half 
 turning toward him. 
 
 And I laughed in his very face. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 127 
 
 " However, calm yourself, my dear Maitre 
 Croulebarbe, and be content with the silent part 
 of cautious observer which you fill with so much 
 discretion. Try to understand that, in spite of 
 appearances, I am the sole master of the situa- 
 tion!" 
 
 At this paradoxical assertion, which must 
 have seemed to him prodigiously optimistic, he 
 started aside so suddenly that his eyeglasses 
 dropped from his nose. 
 
 In truth, the first bewilderment and terror 
 which had followed the monstrous accusation 
 of which I was the object had now given place 
 to perfect calmness. I was completely reas- 
 sured concerning my fate and was ending by 
 amusing myself with the somewhat summary 
 proceedings of a blind justice which, in its er- 
 roneous deductions, with comical persistence, was 
 taking the moon for green cheese. 
 
 Nevertheless, as we never know just how far 
 the imagination may go of the people who pos- 
 sess the formidable privilege of judging their 
 peers, I kept on my guard and showed my ir- 
 reverence only just to the point that was neces- 
 
128 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 sary to pay off Monsieur Marathon, without 
 drawing down his thunderbolts. He had a right 
 to indulge in all sorts of jests, and that is 
 wherein I recognised, up to the present time, his 
 superiority. 
 
 As every one rose with a noise of moving 
 chairs, and the judge gave the order to take 
 " my accomplice " back to jail, I gave Pauline 
 Mutel a last glance of compassion, whose full 
 affectionate sympathy she understood, for she 
 returned it with an expression of startled ten- 
 derness in her eyes which I had never before 
 seen, even in the early days of our marriage. 
 
 The gendarmes who guarded me complacently 
 put on the accursed handcuffs to take me to the 
 Rue Tete-de-Bceuf with my anxious counsel, who 
 would not let me stir a foot away, through fear 
 of complications. 
 
 I again saw, on the trip we made, how little 
 sympathy I had from the public. Opinion must 
 follow in the train of the judge's presumptions. 
 ' Why the deuce should I have any grudge against 
 public opinion, since now I no longer bore any 
 even against the man who had created it? As 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 129 
 
 usually happens, with regard to opinion, I was 
 a priori the culprit, since I was the prisoner I 
 And I stoically endured the vindictive attitude 
 of the crowd. 
 
 Monsieur Marathon and the prosecuting at- 
 torney had preceded us but a very short time 
 to the lodging house of Mere Hurteaux, who, 
 as I had foreseen, did not show me the same 
 warmth of welcome which she had given me the 
 day before. In the first place, all this para- 
 phernalia of justice terrified her, on account of 
 the bad reputation that she fancied it might 
 bring upon her respectable house I And then I 
 was a murderer, people said, and I saw the hor- 
 ror with which I inspired her. 
 
 We were a little crowded in the small room 
 where she received us. She brought in chairs. 
 The two gendarmes had to stay in the entry, 
 and Monsieur Marathon asked her several 
 questions, to which she replied swiftly, with a 
 volubility that showed her haste to get through 
 with the matter and see us outside. 
 
 She brought out the letter from Mere Vin- 
 cent, the cousin in Treport, which was full of 
 
I30 THE MISSING FmCER 
 
 praises of me. She mentioned the uneasiness 
 she had felt in not having me arrive sooner to 
 settle in her house, an uneasiness which Franz, 
 the fish-dealer, had come to quiet by paying 
 her a month's rent in advance. 
 
 This startled Monsieur Marathon, who said 
 indignantly : 
 
 "Well! It's fine business to have his rent 
 paid by his wife's lover!" 
 
 The prosecuting attorney did not take this 
 exaggeration seriously. 
 
 " So," he said to the woman, " you had never 
 seen your lodger?" 
 
 " I saw the gentleman for the first time yes- 
 terday," replied Mere Hurteaux, " when he 
 came about three o'clock in the afternoon, to 
 look at the room I had kept for him, in the 
 company of a sailor who must have been on an 
 English ship." 
 
 At these words the judge and the prosecuting 
 attorney looked at each other. Immense satis- 
 faction was expressed in their features. And 
 Monsieur Marathon, flushed with surprise, 
 stammered : 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 131 
 
 " With the sailor Shoepen? Really, he came 
 here with the sailor Shoepen, — the man with the 
 knife — really and truly?" 
 
 " What interest do you suppose that this 
 woman would have in lying? " said I. 
 
 " And you confess it? " 
 
 " Ah ! " I replied, " my own interest can lie 
 only in having the truth told, whatever it may 
 be." 
 
 But the magistrate, in great delight, was 
 rubbing his hands and congratulating him- 
 self. 
 
 " This is a great step, de facto, for the in- 
 vestigation." 
 
 And he asked for the keys of my room in 
 order, as he said, to make an interesting little 
 incursion into it. 
 
 To which the landlady answered that she 
 had given me the keys the evening before, 
 which I admitted immediately, while apolo- 
 gising for having lost them during the 
 evening. 
 
 Monsieur Marathon saw something very 
 serious in this unlucky fact. He did not know 
 
132 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 exactly what it was, but he undoubtedly thought 
 himself gifted with a sense of divination, for 
 he ordered: 
 
 " Send for a locksmith ! We are surely go- 
 ing to discover some fine things ! " 
 
 And, while one of the gendarrties went to 
 look for some workman in the neighbourhood, 
 Monsieur Marathon began to rub his hands 
 joyfully again, murmuring: 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! ah ! . . . You came here into the 
 room paid for by your victim . . . entirely 
 alone with the sailor Shoepen . . . the sailor 
 with the accusing knife — and you knowingly 
 lost the keys of your lodgings a short time be- 
 fore the crime I Well, you are cool, my fine 
 fellow!" 
 
 His sneer sent a shiver through Maitre 
 Croulebarbe, my counsel, who was more and 
 more troubled by the turn events were taking, 
 and the prosecuting attorney, who was plunged 
 in diflicult reflections. I alone maintained an 
 appearance of calmness. 
 
 Monsieur Marathon again asked the land- 
 lady: 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 133 
 
 " And you are certain that they did not come 
 back last night? " 
 
 " I could not tell you that. The room is out- 
 side of the house, entirely independent." 
 
 " Did the prisoner choose it so? " 
 
 " No, but he seemed extremely pleased with 
 it yesterday." 
 
 " All this is not very clear! " commented the 
 worthy judge. 
 
 And, as the locksmith was brought with his 
 bunch of keys, it was decided that we should go 
 to see what we were going to see — ^to use, once 
 more, the divinatory expressions of the excellent 
 Monsieur Marathon. 
 
 We rose to go out into the street, in order 
 to reach the little independent building which 
 had pleased'me so much at first sight, the even- 
 ing before. My counsel had a horribly uneasy 
 manner, as if he feared this trivial formality 
 on my account. 
 
 The locksmith had some trouble in picking 
 the lock, which was an old-fashioned pattern. 
 
 " Yet I thought I turned the key only once," 
 I said. 
 
134 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " This man is mistaken," replied the lock- 
 smith, " for not only has it been locked twice, 
 but again in several directions, as if by a per- 
 son in a great hurry, so that it is broken." 
 
 At last, after ten minutes' waiting, the door 
 of the room was opened. 
 
 The judge went in first. 
 
 But he had no sooner taken two steps within 
 the chamber than he turned, greatly agitated, 
 toward the prosecuting attorney. 
 
 The prosecuting attorney, who preceded me, 
 turned toward me, pale and awful. 
 
 The gendarmes themselves, people accus- 
 tomed to all sorts of business, could not restrain 
 a twofold cry of bewilderment and horror. 
 
 Within the room, among trunks broken open, 
 on the bed, on my bed, the body of the sailor 
 Shoepen, strangled by the aid of his woollen 
 comforter, lay stretched upon his back, his face 
 swollen, his eyes starting from their sockets, a 
 spectacle to strike with terror any man less mas- 
 ter of himself than I was now, whatever might 
 happen in future! 
 
XV 
 
 MONSIEUR marathon's ROMANCE 
 
 I MUST say, to my shame, that I had a very 
 good appetite for my luncheon. Thanks to the 
 kindness of Monsieur Marathon, who multi- 
 plied his attentions in the hope of bringing me 
 to make full confession, I had been allowed to 
 order from the outside a meal which, though 
 simple, was all the same superior to the prison 
 fare. 
 
 In comparing my calmness of mind with the 
 general disorder prevailing in my room in the 
 Rue Tete-de-Bceuf, my counsel could make noth- 
 ing of it. I knew that I must appear, in the 
 eyes of all, to be endowed with a revolting 
 cynicism. My character of assassin was becom- 
 ing more and more convincing. ^ My relative 
 tranquillity doubtless rested on the fact that I 
 did not regard this new murder — of the sailor 
 — from the same angle as my accusers. Since 
 135 
 
136 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 eight o'clock in the morning, the hour that I 
 awoke in the hospital between an attentive 
 Sister of Charity and an unsympathetic phy- 
 sician, facts had developed with a discon- 
 certing rapidity which simply blunted my 
 sensibility. 
 
 It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and al- 
 ready I had been confronted with the corpse 
 of one of the van Brymans brothers, stabbed 
 with Shoepen's knife, and with the dead body 
 of this same Shoepen found upon my bed in the 
 Rue Tete-de-Boeuf ! 
 
 Thiese were, according to all the evidence, two 
 connected crimes, with which the attack upon 
 myself must be associated. The examining 
 magistrate united them incorrectly, that was all ! 
 The slight character of my wound made it ap- 
 pear suspicious, though it was not doubtful to 
 the hospital surgeon that I had escaped death 
 by chance — since the blow which had been 
 dealt would have been mortal two centimeters 
 lower. 
 
 But Justice considered only the result; and 
 the result was that it had in its grasp, at pres- 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 137 
 
 ent, two dead men and one living, and that it 
 was logical to hold the living man guilty of the 
 death of the two others. 
 
 The doctor came to the prison about three 
 o'clock, to examine my wound and renew the 
 dressing. He had a scornful expression on his 
 face as he said: 
 
 " Pooh ! it's very trivial and, after this even- 
 ing, you can expose the wound to the free air, 
 to allow it to close more quickly." 
 
 "To the free air?" I replied, smiling. "I 
 would like to do so, but I have no very great 
 hope of it." 
 
 Afterwards I received a visit from Maitre 
 Croulebarbe. He looked less depressed than he 
 had done before luncheon, at the time of the 
 ominous and crushing discovery in the Rue Tete- 
 de-BcEuf. He addressed me with almost an air 
 of sprightlines,s. 
 
 " I am beginning to regain hope," he said. 
 " You are going to have in your game a trump 
 upon which I did not reckon." 
 
 " The deposition of Otto van Brymans' 
 wife," I ventured. 
 
138 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " Yes. She has just been brought Into the 
 presence of the corpse of the man who was 
 stabbed, and she refuses to recognise it for that 
 of Franz — the fish-dealer ! " 
 
 "I had foreseen it I" 
 
 " But what you probably did not foresee is 
 that she formally identified it as that of Otto, 
 her husband; poor woman! " 
 
 I reflected an instant. 
 
 " On what does she base it? " I asked. 
 
 " On the amputation of the little finger, which 
 is the demonstration of this fact: that the as- 
 sassin or assassins wished to effect the disap- 
 pearance of the only possible proof of 
 identity ! " 
 
 I again reflected: 
 
 " In that case, she was wrong to affirm that 
 it was Otto." 
 
 "Why— wrong?" 
 
 " Because " — I hesitated — " we are only in 
 the first day of the investigation." 
 
 "I don't understand!" 
 
 " I will suppose that to-morrow a — a third 
 corpse is found." 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 139 
 
 My sensitive counsel visibly turned pale. I 
 waited some little time before adding: 
 
 " And that this corpse of the second of the 
 van Brymans brothers should also have the lit- 
 tle finger amputated. . . ." 
 
 "Unfortunate man!" cried my counsel. — 
 " Why, this horrible supposition would defi- 
 nitely crush you! " 
 
 " That is true," I said, trying to smile, " for 
 then the investigation, finding itself in the pres- 
 ence of three dead bodies and one living man, 
 it would be Indisputably demonstrated that the 
 survivor, alone, had killed the three others." 
 
 Maitre Croulebarbe trembled at this last sup- 
 position: he was a gentle, timid man, no better 
 suited to his profession than I to the character 
 of assassin. 
 
 He availed himself of a diversion : 
 
 " But you have another trump, valuable In a 
 different way, in your game." 
 
 "Another! " I cried in astonishment. 
 
 " Yes. The prosecuting attorney is no longer 
 so sure of your guilt as he was before ! If the , 
 murder of the sailor Shoepen strengthens the 
 
I40 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 belief of the judge, it shakes the prosecuting 
 attorney's I But I ought to warn you that the 
 prosecuting attorney's opinion is on a matter of 
 feeling, and that Monsieur Marathon is the sole 
 master of the investigation." 
 
 In spite of this limitation, I could not help 
 blessing, from the bottom of my heart, the 
 prosecuting attorney, who was beginning to be 
 interested in me. I insisted upon knowing on 
 what he laid stress to formulate his first doubt. 
 
 "On nothing! " replied Maitre Croulebarbe 
 ingenuously. " He says that the proofs brought 
 against you are too — too precise — too logical — 
 too demonstrative — if you prefer — ^not to have 
 been — ^prepared, in a plan which is not yet 
 known, by some interested person, over-eager 
 to prove your guilt. Thus in admitting, with 
 Monsieur Marathon, that you have played a 
 part in the new Shoepen affair, he finds it — too 
 evident! And he has offered this statement, 
 which is certainly original, that it was no longer 
 the court which would demonstrate your guilt, 
 but you who would demonstrate it to the court. 
 And from this reasoning, — between ourselves 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 141 
 
 somewhat rose-coloured, — he sets out to reserve 
 the right of a positive estimate!" 
 
 I uttered a sigh of relief: 
 
 " At last we have an intelligent fellow I " 
 
 Maitre Croulebarbe did not seem to take of- 
 fence at this praise which did not affect him, and 
 said: 
 
 " We are going back to the court where, to 
 close a day so well filled, you are to see Otto 
 van Brymans' wife, nee Pauline Steurs. . . . 
 I must tell you that the judge received by tele- 
 graph this morning information concerning you 
 and Pauline Mutel, your divorced wife — but I 
 don't think that it was unfavourable to 
 you ! " 
 
 " In short, I am to undergo an examination 
 in due form? " 
 
 " As you choose to take it ! It's mainly Mon- 
 sieur Marathon's affair I He is waiting to have 
 in his hands all the portions of the case ! I think 
 he will confine himself to making, before you 
 and all the others, a clear and plain statement 
 of the situation." 
 
 " A little romance, eh 1 " I insinuated. 
 
142 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 "Oh!" replied Maitre Croulebarbe. "He 
 has a pretty fair relish for intrigue, if he wanted 
 to take the trouble to enter Into It." 
 
 The jailer came to tell us that the carriage 
 was there, and my counsel apologised for the 
 four mounted gendarmes who, this time, 
 guarded the vehicle. 
 
 " It is again a precaution of Monsieur Mara- 
 thon I The populace is so excited, since the dis- 
 covery of the new crime, that it is prudent to 
 take special measures to protect you ! " 
 
 And Monsieur Marathon's precaution made 
 me smile. 
 
 I was in haste to see Pauline Steurs, to find 
 myself face to face with the poor woman, whose 
 distraction and anguish I imagined. And I was 
 relying, also, upon finding in her attitude an un- 
 conscious help In my situation. 
 
 My expectations had not deceived me. When 
 I entered the magistrate's office Otto's wife, in 
 tears, overwhelmed by the frightful tragedy, was 
 seated at the right of the room whose other 
 end was occupied by Pauline Mutel, my wife! 
 Monsieur Marathon was flanked by the prose- 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 143 
 
 cuting attorney and the clerk. I took my place 
 opposite to them. 
 
 Then, in an outburst of pity, Otto van Bry- 
 mans' wife could not help calling to me: 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur Aubry, it was no use that I 
 told the judge you were innocent 1 " 
 
 A loud, resounding blow of the ruler upon 
 the desk reminded her of the solemnity of the 
 place; and Monsieur Marathon, the man who 
 went by rule, fiercely reproved her: 
 
 "It is not your place to speak, and I request 
 you to be silent." 
 
 My heart leaped with sincere gratitude to this 
 poor creature who, in the midst of her own 
 terrible affliction, still found means to give an 
 expression of her trust in me. And I said to her 
 with all my heart: 
 
 "I thank you I" 
 
 Monsieur Marathon, thoroughly enraged 
 with me, cried: 
 
 " One word more from you — and I'll have 
 you taken back where you came from I " 
 
 The delightful emotion which had stirred the 
 inmost fibres of my being at the words of 
 
144 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 Pauline Steurs, gave place, at these words, to 
 the feeling of mockery I entertained toward the 
 judge, and I continued: 
 
 " Consider yourself fortunate, Madame, that 
 you are not accused of complicity, like Pauline 
 Mutel, my divorced wife here — the sweetheart, 
 you know — to whom Franz promised mar- 
 riage I " 
 
 My counsel pulled me smartly by the sleeve, 
 and whispered : 
 
 " Things will go badly with you, if you keep 
 on!" 
 
 The clerk interfered, shouting: " Silence! " 
 
 And Monsieur Marathon, having borrowed 
 from the austere setting of this scene a majesty 
 which he did not naturally possess, stated with 
 emphasis while rummaging among his papers, 
 vague points in the data of his harangue. 
 
 " Listen, prisoner, to the brief explanation of 
 the charges which rest upon you. We have tried 
 to establish, with impartiality, the causes of the 
 double murder which engages our attention. 
 Our task is rendered sufficiently difficult by the 
 obstinacy with which you persist in not giving 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 145 
 
 evidence; but by uniting to one another the 
 various depositions concerning you, that of your 
 wife, Pauline Mutel, that of the witness here 
 present, and that of your landlady. Mere Hur- 
 teaux, we shall arrive, by a series of prob- 
 able hypotheses, in reconstituting as far as 
 can be done, the genesis of this perplexing 
 affair." 
 
 Then suddenly, no longer occupying himself 
 with me, and addressing himself to the com- 
 pany — that is, to the clerk and the attentive 
 lawyers — he began his imaginary explanation in 
 these words: 
 
 " The prisoner. Monsieur Aubry, is what may 
 be called an artist, in the evil acceptation of the 
 term! His antecedents are no more dreadful 
 than those of anybody else! 
 
 " He is divorced from his wife, who comes 
 to live in our city. Without being a person 
 of bad reputation, this woman is not long in 
 making the acquaintance of Franz van Bry- 
 mans, the victim, who lived with his brother, 
 the landlord of The Thieving Magpie, in the 
 little village of Biville-sur-Mer. Up to this 
 
146 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 point there is nothing which is not perfectly 
 natural I But we have no occasion to go back 
 to the flood to follow the affair in its known 
 details. 
 
 " We find Monsieur Aubry, toward the end 
 of September, installed at Treport, in order 
 to practise his art and, without motive — he him- 
 self says so — having his baggage sent to the 
 Rue Tete-de-BcEuf. Why did the prisoner 
 choose Dieppe as the goal of his excursion, and 
 not any other port along the coast? He will 
 tell you again himself — chance! And that it 
 is still chance which makes him stop on the way 
 precisely at The Thieving Magpie, and not at 
 any other tavern on the Eu road, no one can 
 doubt I 
 
 " An ordinary man, a man like you and me, 
 would have pursued his way the next morning, 
 and travelled the twenty kilometers he still had 
 to go to reach the end of his journey. This is 
 simple common sense I But the prisoner is in 
 perpetual contradiction to common sense I He 
 remains three weeks^ — three weeks, you clearly 
 understand, — at the van Brymans brothers' 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 147 
 
 tavern! Decidedly, chance is a dangerous ac- 
 complice in this affair! 
 
 " The prisoner will tell you that he did not 
 know that Franz was his wife's lover ! He will 
 tell you also that he had no thought of his wife 
 — and that he was even ignorant that she lived 
 in Dieppe. And this is contradicted, immedi- 
 ately, by the telltale portrait of which you know 
 — so striking in its resemblance, — which he exe- 
 cuted, he asserts, under the influence of an ob- 
 session! And this is also contradicted by the 
 deposition of his landlord's wife, Pauline Steurs, 
 who remembers having spoken to him of 
 Franz's well-known connection, a short time 
 after his arrival! 
 
 " Did Franz van Brymans know that the 
 artist was his sweetheart's former husband? 
 Here we are reduced to the most delicate hy- 
 potheses. We must again refer to the deposi- 
 tion of Otto van Brymans' wife, who declares 
 that Franz was continually constrained by 
 Maxime Aubry's presence in the tavern, and 
 that, moreover, the artist scarcely concealed an 
 antipathy to the fish-dealer! 
 
■\. 
 
 148 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " In any case, it is certain that Franz van 
 Brymans, the victim, knew at least several days 
 before the crime, the real identity of the pris- 
 oner, since it was he who compelled him to write 
 his name in the travellers' register! 
 
 " And it is starting from this moment that 
 Monsieur Aubry hastens the movements of 
 events with a precision which leads us to believe 
 that the crime had been planned a long while, 
 and arranged with his ex-wife, Pauline Mutel, 
 though up to this point we have found no trace 
 of intercourse between them. 
 
 " I am well aware that Otto van Brymans' 
 wife states that the prisoner never left the tav- 
 ern during his stay! This might be, at first 
 sight, an argument in favour of Pauline Mutel I 
 However, it is an argument which will turn 
 against the prisoner, if we ask ourselves for 
 what reasons a man who did not have the curi- 
 osity to visit our beautiful city, during the twenty 
 days after his baggage reached there, suddenly 
 had the untimely desire! 
 
 " Reason? The prisoner will answer, ' I had 
 none ! ' It certainly was not to see the sailor 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 149 
 
 Shoepen, whom he did not know, that he went 
 to Dieppe! Granted I But he would jump at 
 the opportunity offered! He would take time 
 by the forelock, if I may say so, to accompany 
 his wife's lover and his brother on a pleasure 
 trip, in which pleasure was not his principal ob- 
 ject! The prisoner believes he can get out of 
 it, as usual, by again invoking the complicity of 
 chance I 
 
 " It is upon chance that he has built up the 
 whole scaffolding of his system of defence I Un- 
 fortunately for him we, the examining magis- 
 trate, cannot attack an accomplice so intan- 
 gible! Chance is not to be arrested at a 
 street comer, as we arrest Maxime Aubry, 
 the divorced husband of the victim's sweet- 
 heart ! " 
 
 And to regain his breath, and enjoy the effect 
 of his witticism, Monsieur Marathon made a 
 good-natured gesture accompanied by a burst 
 of laughter. 
 
 Then, having taken breath, he went on : 
 
 " Now we have the van Brymans brothers 
 and Monsieur Aubry in the streets of our city. 
 
I50 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 in company with the sailor ShoepenI What 
 happens then? 
 
 " We have — and it is vexatious — only the 
 evidently untruthful declaration of the prisoner 
 himself upon which to form an opinion. But, 
 such as it is, it leaves the field open for suiB- 
 ciently good deductions! The prisoner has not 
 thought of everything. He has not thought 
 that, by showing himself in broad daylight in 
 the Rue Tete-de-Boeuf, with the sailor, he was 
 going to forge with his own hands the most 
 formidable weapon of the accusation. 
 
 " Here we must turn to Pauline Mutel, and 
 extract from her deposition a point in the story 
 which leaves the door open to two suppositions. 
 Was the sailor Shoepen, in this tragedy, a sec- 
 ondary victim craftily chosen by Aubry to lead 
 astray the suspicions of justice? Or, has he 
 been an accomplice in this tragedy who was 
 afterwards put out of the way, while still pur- 
 suing the same goal? 
 
 " The Mutel woman has stated that the 
 evening before the drama, her lover Franz came 
 to see her, in the company of the sailor, and 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 151 
 
 told her that he could not visit her the next 
 day, because he should be with his brother Otto 
 and some one else — and that the two brothers 
 were overjoyed to meet again a friend of their 
 childhood, the man whom he introduced to her. 
 
 " Let us admit, for an instant, the truth of 
 this statement. We will refuse to believe in 
 the complicity of this childhood friend, who 
 had been disembarked only a few days in our 
 port, not having seen the van Brymans brothers 
 for ten years, and not knowing from Adam and 
 Eve the Aubry couple ! . . . And we lean posi- 
 tively to the first hypothesis . . . and under- 
 stand all the advantage which the prisoner might 
 draw from such a meeting! 
 
 " Having said this, let us see the use he 
 makes of it. Contrary to his principles and 
 habits — it is once more he himself who admits 
 it! — the prisoner, in company with the three 
 men, rambles all the evening from tavern to 
 tavern, to end In a sailors' wine-shop, where a 
 quarrel breaks out between the Danish mariners 
 and Shoepen. Oh ! the stage-setting is well cal- 
 culated for the effect to be produced — later! 
 
152 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " Shoepen, according to the witnesses whom 
 we have heard, is in such a state of intoxication 
 that he draws his knife and shows it ostenta- 
 tiously to his opponent — the very knife which 
 we shall find the next day plunged into 
 Franz's breast! It would be easy for a man 
 who was almost the only one to keep sober, like 
 Monsieur Aubry, according to the witnesses of 
 this fight, to get possession of Shoepen's knife 
 when once outside! It was easy for the man 
 who had matured so terrible a design to exe- 
 cute it without fear! He had, to aid him, the 
 blind confidence of the van Brymans brothers, 
 whose guest he was — their confidence and — their 
 intoxication ! 
 
 " The night, he thought, was propitious to 
 the execution of a plotted crime! He went for 
 the first time to the Rue Tete-de-Boeuf in the 
 company of Shoepen. He knew the arrange- 
 ment of the room. He knew that at that hour 
 of the night no one would disturb him! He 
 showed in the afternoon an impolitic grati- 
 fication at being lodged outside of the main 
 house of Mere Hurteaux. Shoepen, dead drunk, 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 153 
 
 without defence, was at his mercy. He stran- 
 gled him in order to put people on the wrong 
 track and, getting possession of the denuncia- 
 tory weapon, he went quietly back to the stable, 
 where occurred the principal drama, concern- 
 ing which we can surmise nothing accurately 
 without the confession of the assassin, and 
 which may be summed up in three points : first, 
 the certain murder of Franz van Brymans, 
 identified by Pauline Mutel ; second, the feigned 
 attack upon the prisoner ; third, the enigmatical 
 disappearance of the landlord of The Thieving 
 Magpie! " 
 
 And Monsieur Marathon punctuated with 
 three heavy blows of his fist upon the waxed 
 oak of his desk the enunciation, in the order of 
 their importance, of the three mysteries which 
 remained to be explained, and upon which he 
 had believed he was throwing some light by his 
 improbable romance. 
 
XVI 
 
 TO FOLLOW THE PRECEDENT 
 
 With a rapid glance I estimated the influence 
 of the romance upon the women. Evidently 
 neither Pauline Mutel, who had recognised 
 Franz, nor Pauline Steurs, who had identified 
 Otto in the body exhibited in the Morgue, be- 
 lieved that I could be the assassin, the one of 
 her lover, or the other of her husband. 
 
 But the easy deduction concerning the myste- 
 rious murder of the sailor Shoepen had agitated 
 them, in spite of its improbability ; nay, perhaps, 
 even on account of its improbability. 
 
 I could not repress a gesture of irritation, 
 which was quickly noticed by the prosecuting at- 
 torney, a more observing man than the others, 
 for he asked me this natural, yet foolish 
 question : 
 
 "What do you say to it?" 
 
 " I say," I replied, opportunely remembering 
 154 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 155 
 
 Monsieur Marathon's words that morning in 
 the hospital, " that it is sufficiently ingenious — 
 though puerile and utterly childish — and, if the 
 judge would permit me to use his argument, I 
 would undertake to show him that all the con- 
 jectures he has accumulated with regard to me 
 can be attributed with more precision to an- 
 other person." 
 
 "To what other?" roared Monsieur Mara- 
 thon. 
 
 " The person whom you may please to point 
 out to me, your Honour." 
 
 " Bless my soul! " exclaimed the old fellow. 
 " I should really like to see that ! You are ca- 
 pable of showing me that the sailor Shoepen 
 strangled himself?" 
 
 " As clearly as you have proved to me that 
 I was struck down and brought within an ace 
 of death for my own pleasure ! " 
 
 " Or that it was Franz, the murdered man, 
 who was his own assassin?" 
 
 " That far more clearly than all the 
 rest!" 
 
 The judge burst into a tremendous shout of 
 
156 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 laughter and, turning to the prosecuting attor- 
 ney, said: 
 
 " Ought he to be allowed to speak? Do you 
 think the majesty of the law would suffer from 
 it?" 
 
 " Not at all! " replied the prosecuting attor- 
 ney, " and the prisoner, without his own knowl- 
 edge, may be of great assistance to us ! " 
 
 "Very well!" said the judge benevolently, 
 " You shall see how easy-going we are. We 
 will permit you to talk the time away with 
 your nonsense for fifteen minutes — but don't 
 take advantage of it." 
 
 " I will take so little advantage of it," I an- 
 swered, bowing, " that I shall content myself 
 with controverting the terrifying little story 
 which you have just related. I shall leave no 
 place to the imagination. I shall be merely 
 your plagiarist. I shall devote myself to trans- 
 posing your process of deduction, without either 
 omitting anything from it, or adding one iota. 
 I shall put myself, for ten mintues, in your skin, 
 with all due deference to the respect which I 
 owe you. It will not be I who will speak; it 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 157 
 
 will be another examining magistrate, gifted 
 with the same perspicacity, but exercising it in 
 the opposite direction. And, in order that my 
 reasoning may be no more deficient in founda- 
 tion than yours, I will prop it from the begin- 
 ning upon your argument, turned the other 
 way." 
 
 "I don't understand!" cried Monsieur 
 Marathon, in bewilderment. 
 
 " Let us see! " I replied. " You start from 
 this point of departure: the secret motive mak- 
 ing the husband act against his wife's lover? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "I myself shall start from this other: the 
 secret motive making the lover act against the 
 husband of his sweetheart! And this is just 
 exactly as logical, neither more nor less." 
 
 "Well, start! But start quickly," growled 
 the judge, scratching his head and letting the 
 dandruff fall upon his papers. 
 
 " The victim here present," I began, in an 
 indifferent tone, " is what may be called an 
 artist in every acceptation of the term. We find 
 him installed at Treport, toward the end of 
 
158 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 September, entirely absorbed by his art and 
 roving in his reveries from beach to beach, when 
 chance brings him to Biville-sur-Mer, and the 
 tavern of The Thieving Magpie. We know his 
 antecedents, his divorce from Pauline Mutel — 
 we know that Pauline was not a woman of bad 
 reputation — that, to the knowledge of every- 
 body, she was the sweetheart of Franz van 
 Brymans, who had promised her marriage and, 
 for causes of which we are ignorant, deceived 
 the poor woman I For we are almost ignorant 
 of Franz's antecedents, if we know those of 
 Maxime Aubry. . We are aware that he accom- 
 panied his brother Otto, the tavern-keeper, who 
 is a married man and father of a family, when 
 he came to settle in The Thieving Magpie — ^but 
 that is all we know — or nearly all! 
 
 " Yes! We know, also, by the testimony of 
 Otto van Brymans' wife, that Franz showed the 
 chance customer who had stopped at the inn 
 an animosity which it was impossible for him 
 to conceal ! Maxime Aubry having, according 
 to his own confession, lost sight of his wife for 
 more than two years, and Pauline Mutel, ac- 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 159 
 
 cording to her statement, being absolutely ig- 
 norant of everything relating to her husband, 
 it is evident that he is not aware in whose pres- 
 ence he stands when he confronts Franz, the 
 fish-dealer ! 
 
 " But is Franz himself likewise ignorant of 
 the identity of the artist? We cannot be sure. 
 But what we can affirm is that he learns it in a 
 positive manner, several days before the crime, 
 by making him put his name down in the trav- 
 ellers' register. 
 
 " And it is from this point that the drama 
 enters upon its development with inconceivable 
 rapidity. 
 
 " Franz knows what Maxime Aubry does not 
 know — the arrangement of the room reserved 
 by the landlady in the Rue Tete-de-Boeuf, for 
 the future occupancy of the victim I Franz went 
 several times to Mere Hurteaux's house; he paid 
 a month's rent in advance on his own authority ; 
 he brought from there the artist's two valises — 
 and at different times he dwelt upon the land- 
 lady's surprise at the non-arrival of her strange 
 lodger I 
 
i6o THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " It seems evident, at first sight, that he tried 
 in vain to attract Maxime Aubry to Dieppe. 
 Perhaps he might not have succeeded alone, if 
 chance had not unexpectedly aided his design. 
 And chance appears to us in the form of the 
 sailor Shoepen, like the van Brymans brothers 
 a native of Antwerp I 
 
 " Otto van Brymans' wife has given us the 
 truthful account of all the particulars connected 
 with her husband's trip to the city — the oppor- 
 tunity which Franz, his brother, offered him 
 to wear his new clothes, which was a means for 
 making fun of their old comrade, on account 
 of the famous resemblance between the twin 
 brothers. She has confirmed Aubry's hesitation 
 about joining the party. To induce him to do 
 so required the unanimity of a pressing invita- 
 tion on the part of Otto, Franz, and herself. 
 
 " Evidently we can leave a large share of the 
 responsibility to chance, but the law cannot at- 
 tack an accomplice so intangible ! It is as diffi- 
 cult to arrest chance at a street corner as to 
 arrest the van Brymans brother who has now dis- 
 appeared, and whom all the hypotheses, so care- 
 
THE MISSING FINGER i6i 
 
 fully examined and joined to one another, make 
 us regard as the author of this terrible drama ! " 
 
 And, in this part of my demonstration, I 
 turned toward the prosecuting attorney and cop- 
 ied Monsieur Marathon's good-natured ges- 
 ture. I even believe, may Heaven forgive me, 
 that I imitated his foolish and irritating laugh. 
 
 Then, after a silence, I went on, still using 
 with method his course of argument. 
 
 " Here, then, are the van Brymans brothers 
 and their guest in the streets of our city, with 
 the sailor ShoepenI What happens? Alas! 
 each minute that passes will bring us a fresh 
 presumption in favour of the accusation ! Each 
 hour of this long afternoon will be employed by 
 the assassin in the deliberate planning of his 
 odious crime! 
 
 " It is Franz van Brymans who will send the 
 sailor Shoepen to take Aubry to the Rue Tete- 
 de-Boeuf! It is Franz van Brymans who will 
 find an excuse to spend the evening in Dieppe! 
 Oh! the stage-setting is well calculated for the 
 effect to be produced later! He does not have 
 time to go to the Savings Bank to deposit the 
 
i62 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 relatively large sum he carries on his person! 
 — It is easy for a man who has conceived so 
 black a purpose to execute it without fear ! He 
 has in his favour the blind confidence of his 
 brother Otto, the special condition of moral de- 
 pression in which Aubry finds himself after the 
 scene of the afternoon, in the Place Moulin-a- 
 Vent, in front of Pauline Mutel's shop. The 
 night, he thinks, is propitious for the execution 
 of the crime. He has the sailor Shoepen's knife 
 in one of his pockets, and in the other the key 
 of the room in the Rue Tete-de-Boeuf, which 
 the landlady could not findl Shoepen, dead- 
 drunk, is defenceless, at his mercy. He makes 
 the pretext of taking him back on board the 
 Arbalete, to send Aubry and Otto to the sta- 
 ble on the Quay Henri IV. He strangles 
 Shoepen to lead astray a less astute magistrate 
 and, furnished with the denunciatory weapon, he 
 quietly returns to the stable, where the princi- 
 pal drama occurs, a drama concerning which we 
 can imagine nothing definitely so long as the 
 supposed author is not arrested, but which may 
 be summed up in three points : first, the certain 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 163 
 
 murder of Otto van Brymans, identified by his 
 wife, nee Pauline Steurs ; second, the attack upon 
 Maxime Aubry, left for dead on the spot ; third, 
 the disappearance of Franz, the fish-dealer, con- 
 cerning whom we have only to wish his speedy 
 arrest ! " 
 
 And my last sentence having fallen upon a 
 troubled silence on the part of the entire as- 
 sembly, I could again, with a single swift glance, 
 estimate the influence of the romance, not only 
 upon the women, but also the men. 
 
 Pauline Mutel, her lips half-parted, her 
 breathing fairly suspended during my strange 
 recital, was watching me with wild eyes. As 
 for the woman who had been Pauline Steurs, 
 she had grown ghastly pale while hearing me 
 thus definitely specify all the suspicions which 
 were probably sleeping in the depths of her 
 consciousness. 
 
 As to the prosecuting attorney, he maintained 
 his cold, forced impassiveness. 
 
 My story had certainly not agitated him, but 
 I was sure, nevertheless, that it had interested 
 him ; which was by no means the case with Mon- 
 
i64 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 sieur Marathon, for he instantly said, with 
 the little careless air which was peculiar to 
 him: 
 
 " Dear me I My friend — I congratulate you I 
 You excel in parody. But, if it were necessary 
 to follow you, you would lead us a long way. 
 Besides, I am charitably going to point out to 
 you where your story fails. Whoever wants 
 to prove too much proves nothing! In my hy- 
 pothesis, the murder of Shoepen, committed by 
 you, is the unquestionable corollary of the mur- 
 der of Franz. In yours, what sense is there in 
 the murder of Otto by his brother? " 
 
 " That is exactly what I was going to ask 
 you." 
 
 " No, but — You are not a little cracked? " 
 
 " I was going to ask you," I stated quietly, 
 "if it was really necessary to rely upon a secret 
 rivalry between me, the husband, and Franz, 
 the lover, to decipher the clue of this horrible 
 tragedy I I was going to beg you to consider 
 whether the cause which you have invented, as 
 well as the one which I devised to oppose it, 
 were not equally out of relation to the effect — 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 165 
 
 that there is really a disproportion between 
 cause and effect — and that perhaps it would be 
 prudent not to attach any more importance to 
 my romance than to yours I " 
 
 " Then you undertake to make a mock of 
 justice?" cried the scandalised judge. 
 
 " Not at all ! If you will allow me for the 
 last time to use your own words, I will profit 
 by it to enlighten you concerning the false path 
 upon which you have entered — and in which I 
 have followed through a spirit of imitation! 
 You said, your Honour, in your lucid explana- 
 tion of the affair, when desiring to speak of my 
 antecedents, ' We will not go back to the flood ! ' 
 Well, yes, exaggeration aside, it is necessary 
 for you to go back to the flood ! Search my life, 
 and that of my wife! Search the private life 
 of Franz van Brymans and that of his brother 
 Otto! Try to discover the real motive for so 
 monstrous a crime ! Endeavour to consider me, 
 as well as the sailor Shoepen, as unimportant 
 partners and accessories of the drama whose 
 threads you have to disentangle, and perhaps 
 you will draw near the truth, from which your 
 
i66 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 narrative and mine, both presumptive and 
 openly imaginary, have withdrawn us." 
 
 " But," interposed the prosecuting attorney 
 drily, with a precision which had a definite pur- 
 pose, " to whom do you wish us to apply, if not 
 to you?" 
 
 I had instinctively turned toward Pauline 
 Steurs, Otto's unhappy wife. 
 
 But, before I could have articulated even the 
 semblance of a reply, Pauline Steurs had risen 
 to her feet, at the end of the office. Her pal- 
 lor had become terrible. She leaned against 
 the wall, as if she would have tottered from 
 terror, from dread of what I might reveal of 
 her former secret confidences. And, stretching 
 toward me both her trembling hands, she cried 
 in a stifled, imploring voice : 
 
 " Monsieur Aubry, I beseech you, don't say 
 that. . . . You have no right — nor I, either — 
 I have no right to say that! " 
 
 And the poor woman suddenly broke down 
 in a terrible nervous attack. 
 
 The clerk, the lawyers, and the prosecuting 
 attorney had hastened to her assistance. Mon- 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 167 
 
 sieur Marathon, flushed, perspiring, astounded, 
 did not know which way to turn. 
 
 Pauline Mutel, at the left of the room, struck 
 with amazement, now burst into irrational sobs 
 by this unexpected spectacle. 
 
 " You see, your Honour," I said, with genu- 
 ine grief, pointing to Pauline Mutel, " this is 
 the result of your own nonsense ! " 
 
 Then, stretching my hand toward Pauline 
 Steurs, who had fainted, I added: 
 
 " And that is the result of mine 1 " 
 
XVII 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED EVENT 
 
 After such a day, I could scarcely pass a quiet 
 night. Besides the discomfort of my cell, my 
 mind was too much agitated by fresh suffering 
 to be able to rest and sleep, even though it were 
 the sleep of the just ! It was no longer my own 
 case which absorbed my thoughts, nor even my 
 wife's. Strong in my own innocence, I did not 
 doubt hers. 
 
 My counsel had brought me, that very even- 
 ing, an encouraging remark of the prosecuting 
 attorney. The latter, after the touching scene 
 which has just been described, had been un- 
 able to refrain from saying to Monsieur Mara- 
 thon, in a vaguely prophetic tone: 
 
 " That man is innocent I " 
 
 To which the judge, astounded by the scene 
 with Pauline Steurs, had retorted: 
 
 l68 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 169 
 
 " Patience ! Let us wait for what comes 
 next! We shall see!" 
 
 I understood very well that my imaginary 
 interpretation of the crime had borne its first- 
 finiit in the mind of the prosecuting attorney, 
 and that the fainting of Otto van Brymans' 
 wife and her words of terror were going to bear 
 a second. 
 
 A problem of conscience was placed before 
 me. I had the right to defend myself, — cer- 
 tainly! But had I to accuse? It seemed to me 
 that Pauline Steurs, the exhausted woman who 
 obeyed only a sort of instinct, had just given me 
 a severe lesson! Her situation, besides, was 
 more distracting than mine ! And it was she, 
 under these painful circumstances, who showed 
 prudence and good sense. 
 
 I had the excuse of having imagined a fable 
 for the use of the incomprehensible Monsieur 
 Marathon, whose perspicacity was scarcely for- 
 midable, and I shielded myself behind this tol- 
 erably cowardly excuse. But I did not cherish 
 any delusions concerning the horizons I had been 
 able to open to the prosecuting attorney, a far 
 
lyo THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 more subtle man since it was he who had led me 
 to provoke, by a thoughtless impulse, the alarm- 
 ing protest of Otto van Brymans' wife. 
 
 Ah ! the confidences of Pauline Steurs ! How 
 I lived them over again that night, in my cell, 
 with my eyes staring into the darkness, my mind 
 tense, my heart oppressed ! I felt prisoned in 
 an armature in which I was stifling! It was 
 she, and she alone, who furnished me with all 
 the conjectures which were capable of enlight- 
 ening the drama, in the direction that I 
 had indicated to the court — and it was 
 she who was suddenly forbidding me to use 
 them I 
 
 And, on careful reflection, I could not ignore 
 her prohibition without danger to her, if not to 
 myself! To her who was unwilling to give 
 evidence, perhaps cherishing the chimerical 
 hope of once more finding alive through some 
 miracle Otto, her husband, the father of her 
 little Fritz! 
 
 The only decent attitude that I could main- 
 tain was that of extreme prudence since with 
 my suppositions, however well regulated they 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 171 
 
 might be, I could, after all, do nothing more in 
 the impossibility of hastening the development 
 alone. 
 
 Ah! the confidences of Pauline Steurs! I 
 again saw her in the chimney corner, shading 
 her face from the heat of the hearth, and saying 
 gravely : 
 
 " Otto is good, and Franz is not." 
 
 I heard her say, in her slow, monotonous 
 voice : 
 
 " If there is any difference between them, I 
 am the only person in the world to perceive it 
 ... I assure you of that! Otto is good be- 
 cause he is happy, with me and his little Fritz — 
 and Franz is not happy 1 " 
 
 I recalled the landscape of Borgerhout, the 
 Turnhourt road, where Otto had gone one Sun- 
 day to ask the parents of Pauline Steurs for 
 her hand. The sentimental and somewhat con- 
 fused adventure of this artless girl, caught be- 
 tween the enigmatical countenance of Franz 
 and the expressionless face, exactly like, — too 
 much like it, — of the man to whom she belonged 
 with all her heart and all her maternity! My 
 
172 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 own question came back to my mind with 
 precision : 
 
 " And in those ten years has he never made 
 an allusion to the marriage which might have 
 taken place between you and him, if he had gone 
 to ask your parents for your hand before 
 Otto?" 
 
 In the oppressive silence of the prison, with 
 an illusion of extraordinary sharpness, it seemed 
 as if I heard her reply, equally exact : 
 
 "Yes! Once he asked me, 'In case Otto 
 should die, Pauline, would you take me for a 
 husband!'" 
 
 And it was her hissing voice and jeering con- 
 tempt : 
 
 "Oh! You! Never!" 
 
 Then the dull tone which followed and the 
 final comment opening the door to all sorts of 
 hypotheses, the one I had suggested, those the 
 court might make: 
 
 " Since then he has never opened his lips 
 again for such a proposition ! Since ! He is al- 
 ways there, around me, near his brother Otto, 
 near our little Fritz. He is always there, among 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 173 
 
 us all. And there is not a single human being 
 in the whole world except myself to divine that 
 he is not happy." 
 
 Physical fatigue had at last conquered my re- 
 sistance and I fell into a slumber, haunted by 
 dreams and nightmares. 
 
 When the jailer waked me early in the morn- 
 ing, I found myself stiff in every limb, de- 
 pressed, without strength. The image which I 
 employed to express my suffering of the night 
 before was still more applicable after this first 
 night of solitude. I felt more than ever as if 
 I were compressed in an armature in which I 
 was stifling. It was the scruples of Pauline 
 Steurs that crowded upon me, in the depths of 
 my memory; her confidences, which I no longer 
 had the right to use. And I vowed to hold my- 
 self upright in this improvised armour, in whose 
 shelter I felt invulnerable, to brave the perspi- 
 cacity of the prosecuting attorney, whose words, 
 " This man is innocent ! " seemed to me from 
 this moment of evil augury. And by what fol- 
 lows it shall be judged whether I kept my diffi- 
 cult oath — to the end. 
 
174 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 I was surprised that I did not receive a visit 
 from my counsel in the morning. Not that 
 Maitre Croulebarbe could be of any great as- 
 sistance, or that I might hope for any effica- 
 cious aid from him, but his society was agreeable 
 to me, and I could divine in his little indiscre- 
 tions especially what he did not want to reveal. 
 
 I was amazed, besides, that I was not sum- 
 moned to the office of the examining jnagistrate. 
 He had shown so much haste the day before in 
 arresting first myself, then Pauline Mutel, in 
 discovering the corpse of the sailor Shoepen, and 
 in examining Otto van Brymans' wife, that I 
 could not get into my head the idea of seeing, 
 at the end of twenty-four hours so badly em- 
 ployed, an interruption in so desultory an 
 investigation. 
 
 It was after luncheon that I learned how 
 great was my error in having believed in the 
 inaction of the court. 
 
 It was after luncheon, toward one o'clock in 
 the afternoon, that I knew how the judge had 
 employed his morning, by what really amazing 
 accident he had been led — like everybody — in 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 175 
 
 his investigations by the hand of chance. And 
 I dare affirm that, in its agitating effect upon ray 
 already strained nerves, it exceeded the recogni- 
 tion at the Morgue of the murdered man, and 
 even the dead body discovered in the Rue Tete- 
 de-Bceuf. 
 
 It was toward one o'clock in the afternoon 
 that Maitre Croulebarbe suddenly burst into 
 my cell. He had put on, for so solemn an 
 occasion, his lawyer's robe, and waving his large 
 sleeves, with his cap set awry, he made me think 
 of a bat knocking against the walls in the dusk I 
 He exclaimed while on the threshold in a joy- 
 ous voice, the announcer of a speedy liberation : 
 
 "Ah! My friend! What a sudden event! 
 Your innocence is as clear as daylight. And it 
 is no longer anything but a question of hours 
 to get you out of here ! " 
 
 He had grasped both my hands and was 
 shaking the forearms with a satisfaction which 
 was positively contagious. Eager for infor- 
 mation, I stammered: 
 
 " But yet . . . " 
 
 " This is it ! " he cried. " The drama which 
 
176 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 appeared obscure is remarkably clear! The 
 clue to the riddle has at last been discovered! 
 Otto van Brymans has just been found alive ! " 
 
 At these words I stood with my mouth wide 
 open. My eyes must have had a disturbing fix- 
 ity, for he went on : 
 
 " Come, one would say that this surprises 
 you I " 
 
 I had some difficulty in answering. At last 
 I faltered: 
 
 "Otto? Otto van Brymans?" 
 
 " Why, yes. Otto — Otto, to be sure — the 
 brother of Franz, assassinated evidently by the 
 sailor Shoepen ! Otto, who has just been found 
 at the foot of the cliffs, in the gobe which his 
 unfortunate brother had leased, on the night of 
 the crime, from Simon of the Place Duquesne. 
 . . . You remember it very well. Come 1 " 
 
 I passed my hand across my brow and re- 
 peated stupidly: 
 
 " Otto! Otto van Brymans — found alive! " 
 
 And this very simple thing appeared to me 
 extravagant ! 
 
 Maitre Croulebarbe, whom until then I had 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 177 
 
 considered a silent person, in spite of his title 
 of pleader inscribed among the lawyers of the 
 city, continued to harangue: 
 
 " Thus, once more, fact surpasses fiction ! It 
 may truly be said that one plain fact has more 
 eloquence than all the stories invented ! I don't 
 wish to take anything from your merits, nor 
 those of Monsieur Marathon, but you went 
 very far to seek what was close at hand 1 It is 
 not a flash of genius on the part of the judge 
 which has put everybody on the true scent, as 
 you might believe: it was some street boys 
 of the harbour who, going to play diabolo on 
 the beach, heard groans in Simon's gobe and 
 went to tell the people who were passing on the 
 quay. The latter burst the door open and dis- 
 covered in a condition even more pitiable than 
 yours — you will see the poor man — Otto van 
 Brymans, whom they hastened to rescue and 
 have taken to the police station to revive him 
 with stimulants." 
 
 I had sat down upon my prison cot, my limbs 
 giving way under the emotion caused by this 
 fourth discovery. All my reasoning powers had 
 
178 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 yielded to an unexpected joy. Through the 
 stupor of my emotion I caught a glimpse of the 
 resurrection of Otto as an actual miracle which 
 I had neither the time, nor the means, nor the 
 strength to discuss. 
 
 I shared the demonstrative joy of my coun- 
 sel, and followed only the letter of his story, 
 without seeking for the moment to disentangle 
 its spirit. The whole event assumed in my 
 imagination the authority of an article of faith 
 which we do not discuss! Otto was alive! 
 Otto was alive! 
 
 Maitre Croulebarbe had drawn near me the 
 only white wooden stool which furnished my 
 cell, and quietly seated himself upon it. 
 
 *' Ah ! " he went on. " The horrible experience 
 which he has had! You at least had the good 
 fortune to be knocked senseless, while he under- 
 went all imaginable horrors, and it is greatly 
 feared that his mind will be affected! I have 
 had the honour of being present at the recital 
 of this terrible adventure, which he has just 
 given Monsieur Marathon, and I am going to 
 tell you about it." 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 179 
 
 " That's right," I said. " Tell me quickly, I 
 beg you 1 " 
 
 "Oh I have no fear," Maitre Croulebarbe 
 continued ; " there is not the least contradiction 
 in his deposition to what you have stated to 
 the court! Nothing could be more favourable 
 to you; it is the complete demonstration, with- 
 out any possible contradiction, of your innocence 
 and that of Pauline Mutel, your wife! " 
 
 Egotism is decidedly the first of human vir- 
 tues: I felt endowed with it and, thinking only 
 of my personal safety, I persisted : 
 
 " Then it was Shoepen entirely alone?" 
 
 "Entirely alone? — You are going to hear! 
 Listen without interrupting me! In the first 
 place, Otto stated that nothing had led him 
 to foresee so horrible a crime. He had noticed 
 that his brother's belt, filled with money, had 
 attracted the sailor's attention in the tavern, but 
 he believed he knew Shoepen to be an honest 
 fellow from their earliest childhood, and he was 
 very far from suspecting his criminal designs! 
 Nor would he ever have thought that Shoepen 
 could simulate so visible an intoxication to 
 
i8o THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 draw Franz, his unfortunate brother, Into a 
 snare ! The bold bandits were going to attempt 
 a double deed. . . ." 
 
 " So there are accomplices? " I interrupted. 
 
 " You are going to know! You had had the 
 imprudence to take Shoepen to your room, and 
 Franz had been so unwise as to open his money 
 bag to settle the bills. He thought that a man 
 in your position must possess much more valu- 
 able things in his trunks than Franz did in his 
 belt. That is the reason you and Franz were 
 the two victims designated." 
 
 " J, Franz — and Otto I " I corrected. 
 
 Maitre Croulebarbe made an evasive gesture 
 with his arms, waving their wide, floating 
 sleeves, and I thought the bat was going to re- 
 sume its flight and knock its head against the 
 walls of my cell. 
 
 " Here is, however," he went on, with a man- 
 ner of addressing an audience, " what Otto van 
 Brymans has stated that he knows concerning 
 the drama." 
 
 I will follow this story, whose confirmation I 
 had later, which I have endeavoured, as scru- 
 
THE MISSING FINGER i8i 
 
 pulously as the lawyer, to repeat with absolute 
 accuracy and, if the reader still finds in it any 
 obscurity, it is not my fault, nor Otto's, but 
 solely that of the events which have unfolded — 
 one might say according to design — during the 
 night I 
 
XVIII 
 
 WHAT OTTO VAN BRYMANS STATED THAT HE KNEW 
 OF THE DRAMA 
 
 It may be imagined how the news was carried 
 through the little city, already greatly excited 
 by the double murder of the night before ! From 
 the suburb of Neuville and the end of the Rue 
 de la Barre people came in crowds to the shore 
 to see the survivor of the horrible drama. 
 
 Poor Otto was in a pitiable condition ; he had 
 been soundly thrashed and thrown into the 
 gobe, into which the assassins had locked him, 
 and it was a miracle that he had not died. 
 
 Simon, of the Place Duquesne, who had 
 rented the gobe to Franz the evening before, 
 as he testified, had been one of the first to run 
 there, and had protested, with the natural feel- 
 ing of the owner : 
 
 " You had no occasion to force the door — 
 when there is a passage halfway down the cliff ! " 
 182 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 183 
 
 But this passage, if it was known by him 
 and by Franz, was certainly unknown by the 
 murderers and Otto; otherwise the latter, who 
 had succeeded in releasing himself from his 
 bonds, would not have had to call for help and 
 owe his liberty to the street urchins who had 
 come to play on the beach. 
 
 Everybody pressed forward to help Otto. He 
 seemed weak and exhausted, his clothes were in 
 disorder, and he appeared dazed by the light 
 of day. It is no exaggeration to write that he 
 was carried to the police station like a real con- 
 queror, by a crowd whose dull common sense 
 divined that this man, found alive, was going to 
 reveal the truth which, hitherto, had been so 
 difficult to unravel. But neither is it an ex- 
 aggeration to state that Monsieur Marathon, in 
 his single person, was as elated with satisfaction 
 as the whole throng of idlers united! 
 
 At last he had some one to whom he could 
 talk! And, when Otto was able to answer, he 
 did not deprive himself of his favourite pastime 
 of making " explanations of the matter." 
 
 But Otto, who shook his big, expressionless 
 
i84 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 face, whose features were haggard from the 
 forty-eight hours of fasting and suffering which 
 he had experienced, timidly tried to stop him. 
 
 " I know, your Honour, that my unfortunate 
 brother has been murdered, and that the wretch 
 Shoepen, as if there were really a Providence, 
 has met the fate which he deserved ! " 
 
 There was only one thing which Otto did not 
 know: that is, that I was alive, in jail, as well 
 as Franz's sweetheart, both accused of this 
 double murder. He was even ignorant that 
 Pauline Mutel was my divorced wife. So, when 
 the judge informed him of the situation, he ut- 
 tered a word which admirably depicted his 
 amazement, for he believed me dead. 
 
 " But that is madness ! " he cried. 
 
 Monsieur Marathon, who assumed to possess 
 his senses, was vexed at the word and asked him 
 to confine himself to enlightening the court. 
 
 " Your Honour," said Otto feebly, raising 
 his left hand to his forehead, as if to chase away 
 some terrible vision — for he seemed to be suf- 
 fering some pain in the right, which he carried 
 thrust into the opening of his shirt, against the 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 185 
 
 skin — " I have kept, I swear to you, an undying 
 memory of every minute! . . . We had gone. 
 Monsieur Aubry and I, to the stable, to prepare 
 for our departure, while waiting for Franz, who 
 had taken Shoepen back to the Arbalete. I 
 must say that I was very tipsy, but what hap- 
 pened afterward was well calculated to sober 
 me I" 
 
 " I believe you," said the judge, touched with 
 pity. 
 
 " We were in the stable waiting for Franz, 
 when we thought we heard his footsteps outside. 
 Monsieur Aubry was holding the lantern, a 
 wretched lantern with a candle that scarcely 
 lighted the piace at all, when, suddenly, all at 
 once, I saw Monsieur Aubry totter and fall on 
 the floor . . . and the lantern went out ! This 
 had been so rapid, so unexpected, that I had not 
 time to distinguish anything in the dark. By 
 instinct, without knowing it, I uttered a cry, 
 ' Murder ! ' I could not make a second. Two 
 men had rushed upon me, thrown a coarse 
 woollen scarf over my head, and, in less than 
 a minute, unable to move, I was gagged, bound 
 
186 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 with the reins of the harness — a worthless 
 bundle I" 
 
 " Take breath, my friend," Monsieur Mara- 
 thon entreated. 
 
 " To tell the truth," Otto went on, " I be- 
 lieve that I fainted. But how long my state of 
 unconsciousness lasted I should be unable to 
 state to you ! I am not easily frightened, as a rule, 
 your Honour, and am inclined to lay it entirely 
 to the credit of my drinking bout! Neverthe- 
 less, when I came to my senses, my ideas cleared, 
 and I tried to understand what was going on. 
 If it was impossible for me to struggle, if I could 
 see nothing of the scene on account of the wool- 
 len over my face, I could use my ears, and I 
 heard one of the men say to the other, ' That 
 one's account is settled ! ' The other answered : 
 ' Yes ! Exactly on the temple ! It hit ! ' I did 
 not know the voice of either of these ruffians. 
 I understood that they were talking about Mon- 
 sieur Aubry, but that is all I could make out. 
 
 " I felt that they were turning me over on 
 the straw; one of the men rummaged through 
 my pockets, took out my pocketbook and emp- 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 187 
 
 tied it. However, I heard the dialogue: 
 'Thirty-seven francs four sous! — 'Tisn't worth 
 as much as the other ! ' I understood that the 
 other must again be Monsieur Aubryl 
 
 " Then there was silence for at least a quar- 
 ter of an hour. After that I plainly distin- 
 guished the voice of the sailor Shoepen. Oh I 
 that I can swear before God and man I I know 
 Shoepen's voice, you may be sure! We were 
 brought up together ! I heard him say : ' It's 
 done. . . . But I left my knife sticking in him ! 
 Some people were turning out of one of the 
 streets. I couldn't stay there I Forward I You 
 are sure of your boat ? ' 
 
 " Then men took me up on their shoulders. I 
 vainly tried to guess what they were going to 
 do with me. I was frozen with terror, and be- 
 lieved that they meant to throw me into the 
 docks 1 
 
 " I am not usually a coward, I swear to you, 
 but at that moment I thought of my wife and 
 my little Fritz — and would have been glad to 
 cry out to them for mercy ! ' Don't do him any 
 harm I ' Shoepen ordered. And I felt myself 
 
i88 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 shaken about for some time. The keen air 
 pierced through the woollen scarf. We had left 
 the stable. I perceived that the men were step- 
 ping on a boat, I heard the sound of the oars, 
 and the chill of death began to run through 
 every bone in my body." 
 
 " Br-r-r-rl " interrupted Monsieur Marathon. 
 "You make me shudder!" 
 
 " Ah ! your Honour," said Otto — and at the 
 memory aroused of that horrible night, a tear 
 ran down his rough cheek — " I assure you that 
 those were minutes a man doesn't forget." 
 
 " I can certainly well believe you ! And these 
 wretches took you to Simon's storehouse on the 
 other side of the channel?" 
 
 " I did not recognise it until later. They had 
 laid me on a bundle of straw. They had begun 
 to count the money again, no doubt what they 
 had found upon Monsieur Aubry — ^but it lasted 
 a long time! I heard Shoepen make the divi- 
 sion : ' Seventeen hundred from one — thirty- 
 seven from the other — and one hundred and 
 fifty on the artist. That will be six hundred 
 and twenty-nine francs apiece for us, all round 1 ' 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 189 
 
 And I understood, with increasing terror, that 
 the seventeen hundred francs were the money 
 of my brother Franz . . . and that the unfor- 
 tunate fellow had perhaps suffered a more 
 dreadful fate than mine! 
 
 " Then they quarrelled among themselves, 
 but I no longer understood the meaning of the 
 dispute I I caught : ' You promised us . . . It 
 wasn't worth killing two men for,' and other 
 startling sentences, of which I heard only frag- 
 ments. Shoepen flew into a violent rage : ' If 
 you think I want to fleece you out of what 
 there is in the Rue Tete-de-Boeuf, come along I 
 But the boat is waiting for us — and it is a 
 great risk I ' They went away. I was left 
 alone. 
 
 " The sound of the sea, close by, reached me. 
 I lived only through my ears, I may say! On 
 being alone, I vainly tried to release myself from 
 my bonds. I had been tied so tight that the 
 leather of the reins was cutting into my arms 
 and legs." 
 
 " And do you think that this fine band went 
 to the Rue Tete-de-Boeuf with the hope of get- 
 
I90 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 ting Monsieur Aubry's hoard of money? " 
 broke in the judge, wondering at so many exact 
 details. 
 
 " I had the certainty of it at the end of about 
 an hour," pursued the narrator, after having 
 swallowed a drink, of whiskey the clerk offered 
 him. " I say an hour as I would say two, for 
 you may imagine that time never seemed so long 
 to me in all my life. 
 
 " It was at the end of about an hour that 
 the assassins came back. . . . I no longer dis- 
 tinguished Shoepen's voice. One said, ' If he 
 thought he would beat us, it Is he who has got 
 it I ' And again they began their terrible divi- 
 sion, ' This will make nine hundred and forty 
 francs each ! ' The other hurried him, ' We 
 mustn't let dayhght overtake us . . . the ship is 
 waiting.' 
 
 " Of what ship were they talking? I thought 
 of the Arbalete; but, in calculating approxi- 
 mately the time which had passed, I perceived 
 that I was not correct. 
 
 " One of them said again, * And the fellow 
 there ? ' The other answered, ' What's the 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 191 
 
 use ? ' I was not mistaken ; they were talking 
 about me. 
 
 " They must have been intoxicated with their 
 murders, like real savages. Did they want to 
 boast of them, as is told of many criminals? 
 
 ' ( Nevertheless, one of them leaned toward 
 me. His breath scorched my ear through the 
 wool : ' Listen,' he said, ' if you ever denounce 
 us, your business will be settled, as surely as 
 Franz, your brother's, stabbed by Shoepen; as 
 surely as Shoepen's himself, whom we strangled 
 just now in revenge for having been cheated! 
 Shoepen promised us a much larger sum of 
 money for such a deed. It's plain that he had 
 robbed the artist's room, since we found nothing 
 there. So his account was quickly settled, as 
 quickly as yours would be, if you told the 
 police. . . .' 
 
 " His companion interrupted him : ' The ring, 
 look at it. . . . That was why he cut off the 
 other's finger 1 ' 
 
 " They had taken off the woollen scarf which 
 muffled my head. I was going to see them. 
 ... I had not time to do so. 
 
102 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 > 
 
 " I fainted . . . and this is the reason." 
 
 Otto drew out from between his shirt and 
 his flesh his right hand. 
 
 He cautiously unwrapped his handkerchief, 
 and held before the astounded eyes of Monsieur 
 Marathon and the prosecuting attorney the 
 hand which, precisely like the right hand of his 
 unfortunate brother Franz, the fish-dealer, 
 lacked the little finger with the betraying ring. 
 
 " Oh I the savages ! the savages ! " cried the 
 judge, stamping his foot, genuinely moved by 
 so terrible a misfortune. " For the value of a 
 wretched silver ring I " 
 
 But he was so happy, in reality, to see his 
 diflicult investigation divested of all mystery by 
 this truthful recital that he eagerly exclaimed 
 imprudently : 
 
 " Be calm, my poor man. We will capture 
 the ruffians, and we will make them pay for 
 their crimes! " 
 
 Otto, thinking of his own tortures, and of the 
 tragical end of his unfortunate brother, replied : 
 
 "They will never be punished for them 
 enough ! " 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 193 
 
 His sorrowful eyes, dimmed by the suffer- 
 ing and anguish of these forty-eight hours of 
 horror, wandered over the assembly. Every- 
 where he saw the same pity for his fate, the 
 same distress depicted upon all their faces — and 
 he burst into sobs. 
 
XIX 
 
 IN WHICH THE PROSECUTING ATTORNEY REQUESTS 
 MY ASSISTANCE 
 
 Maitre Croulebarbe's trade was to be elo- 
 quent. He had been so in his narrative almost 
 to the boundary of the pathetic; and I am really 
 afraid that the transcription I have just given 
 does not attain the height of the model I 
 
 But his eloquence, after all, was only the re- 
 flection of Otto's, who, if he had put less art 
 into it, had surely shown more real and per- 
 sonal emotion. 
 
 I was anxious to see the poor man again, to 
 clasp him in my arms and congratulate him! 
 I thought of the happiness of his wife and his 
 little Fritz, and really shared in it, as if I had 
 had some right to do so! To this satisfaction 
 was added that of escaping from the clutches of 
 an investigation from which one never knows 
 in what condition one will emerge! 
 
 *' It is no longer anything but a matter of 
 194 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 195 
 
 hours! " repeated my counsel. " Recover your 
 spirits, and let us congratulate ourselves on so 
 happy an epilogue. For, aside from your hun- 
 dred and fifty francs . . ." 
 
 " I thought that I had been robbed of them 
 by the attentions of the law, and that my pocket- 
 book was in the recorder's office. But I shall 
 easily comfort myself for them." 
 
 Half an hour after this conversation I was 
 taken out of my cell with the same ceremonial 
 as the evening before. But it must be believed 
 that the wind of public opinion had changed, for 
 I no longer saw in front of my prison the same 
 throng of hostile and stupid idlers who had an- 
 noyed me when I came out on the former 
 occasions. 
 
 I even had the pleasure of meeting Pauline 
 Mutel, my wife, also attended by her counsel. 
 She experienced the same selfish joy in feeling 
 that she would soon be delivered from so ter- 
 rible an accusation, and our warders carried 
 their condescension so far as to conduct us to- 
 gether to the judge's office. 
 
196 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 It is just here that I regret being only an 
 artist, accustomed to paint merely visible things, 
 and not at all a literary man I It is here that 
 I envy the eloquence of Maitre Croulebarbe! 
 It is barely possible for me to express with words 
 and imagery the emotion I felt on finding my- 
 self in the presence of this unfortunate Otto I 
 And neither shall I find the precise word, nor 
 the exact image, to describe the inexpressible 
 emotion of the worthy man when he threw him- 
 self affectionately into my open arms, ex- 
 claiming : 
 
 " Ah I Monsieur Aubry I It seems as if I 
 ought to ask your forgiveness for all the terri- 
 ble things which have happened to you I Isn't it 
 monstrous? Isn't it enough to drive one 
 crazy?" 
 
 The tears which he shed won me. I warmly 
 pressed his sound hand and looked at the muti- 
 lated one, which the physician had just dressed. 
 And I gazed at his kindly eyes, his face hag- 
 gard from all the agonies he had endured. 
 
 It was Otto I Honest Otto, alive, safe, with 
 his smooth-shaven, resolute countenance, which 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 197 
 
 was illumined this time by all the mingled feel- 
 ings which agitated him. 
 
 " Ah 1 What a hurry I am in to see Pauline 
 and my little Fritz again, Monsieur Aubry I " 
 
 He evoked with vivid words, in a voice trem- 
 bling with indignation, the whole drama, as it 
 had unfolded. 
 
 " Who would ever have been able to suspect 
 it? Foresee? Imagine? I ask you! The good 
 God himself ..." 
 
 " Pooh ! " said Monsieur Marathon. " The 
 good God, you may well believe, has something 
 else to do than to trouble Himself about 
 brigands like your sailor ShoepenI The main 
 thing for you is that you are here, safe and 
 sound! " 
 
 And instantly addressing himself to Pauline 
 Mutel and myself: 
 
 " You two, for instance, can also boast of es- 
 caping from a great danger, in another order of 
 ideas ! I am going presently to sign your pro- 
 visory release." 
 
 " Provisory? " asked Maitre Croulebarbe, in 
 astonishment. 
 
198 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " I say provisory because my investigation is 
 not at an end I If Shoepen has simplified mat- 
 ters by escaping from the power of justice, It 
 remains for us to discover his two accomplices 
 . . . and I beg of you, monsieur and madame, 
 to hold yourselves at our disposal." 
 
 Then the ineffable old codger jested : 
 
 " The essential thing for you is quite the con- 
 trary. The main thing is to be here no longer, 
 isn't it? " 
 
 Pauline Mutel remained sitting in her chair, 
 erect, as If hypnotised, without a movement, 
 without a gesture. Otto stared at her with 
 curiosity, and said to me in an embarrassed 
 manner : 
 
 " The judge told me just now . . . that 
 Franz's sweetheart was your wife. Oh, that is 
 a coincidence! " 
 
 And he lowered his eyes through delicacy. 
 The good fellow was probably afraid that he 
 might give me pain. 
 
 He turned: 
 
 " Do you want me to wait for you? Will 
 you go back with me to BivIUe? I am going 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 199 
 
 to take Simon's carriage. You would give me 
 great pleasure, Monsieur Aubry — and Pauline — 
 and my little Fritz I " 
 
 I was touched by his affectionate feeling. 
 
 " No, Otto! " I replied. "Go back quickly, 
 to give them the joy of seeing you again I Your 
 wife and child will be so happy! Do not lose 
 a minute! Each moment that you linger is so 
 much the more suffering for them to bear! I 
 promise, my friend, that I will go and wish you 
 happiness to-morrow ! " 
 
 " You promise me. Monsieur Aubry? " he 
 replied, pressing my hands very hard. " I thank 
 you for It." 
 
 " We shall need you one of these days. Mon- 
 sieur van Brymans ! " called the prosecuting at- 
 torney, in his sharp voice; "according to the 
 trails the police find, or do not find, concerning 
 Shoepen's accomplices ! " 
 
 Otto went back to the door : 
 
 " I shall be at your service, gentlemen! " he 
 said. 
 
 Pauline Mutel was still sitting in her chair, 
 without movement or gesture. 
 
200 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " There is nothing more, except the formality 
 of the release," Maitre Croulebarbe whispered 
 to me. 
 
 "That is unnecessary!" replied Monsieur 
 Marathon, who had heard him. 
 
 And the worthy magistrate, glad to regain 
 his footing upon a more substantial territory 
 than our two romances, made a gesture of par- 
 don as he added: 
 
 "You are free!" 
 
 Pauline Mutel went out with drooping head. 
 I thought I noticed that she avoided my eyes, 
 and I was slightly wounded by it. 
 
 The prosecuting attorney had risen and left 
 the table where the magistrate was presiding. 
 Coming toward me, and putting his hand cor- 
 dially on my shoulder, he said: 
 
 " I want to talk with you, Monsieur Aubry." 
 
 I saw his cold, reserved face brighten with 
 a smile that bore a close resemblance to a sneer, 
 and he added, in a thoroughly intimate tone 
 which I did not recognise in him : 
 
 " Oh ! I'm not speaking to the prisoner this 
 time, — it is to the friend." 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 201 
 
 At first I did not understand the meaning of 
 this exaggeration. He had pushed open a lit- 
 tle padded door which led into his private of- 
 fice, and we were soon alone together. 
 
 He had thrust both hands into the pockets 
 of his trousers and raised his shoulders as he 
 walked about the room in search of something. 
 At last he stopped, sat down, made me take my 
 place opposite to him and, holding out his 
 cigarette case, asked: 
 
 " Do you smoke?" 
 
 I thanked him for his kind offer. 
 
 " Come," he said, " let us talk frankly — be- 
 tween ourselves. Give me your opinion." 
 
 Fixing his stern eyes on me, he let fall the 
 words : 
 
 " Is this really Otto — Isn't it more likely to 
 be Franz?" 
 
 As thoroughly master of myself as he was 
 of himself, I looked him full in the face, but, as 
 he was now lighting his cigarette, with his eyes 
 cast down, I could see nothing of the expres- 
 sion of his countenance, which apparently re- 
 mained placid. 
 
202 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " Monsieur," I said, in reply to this terrible 
 question, trying to laugh, " I suppose you are 
 not going to add a new chapter to Monsieur 
 Marathon's romance?" 
 
 " No," he said. " It is your own romance 
 which has struck me by reason of its proba- 
 bility." 
 
 " But there is nothing left of it! " I answered, 
 endeavouring to escape. 
 
 "Do you think so? Didn't you tell your 
 eminent counsel that, if we should find Otto with 
 his right hand mutilated like that of Franz, 
 neither you, nor any person in the world, could 
 affirm with certainty which might be Franz and 
 which Otto?" 
 
 " Don't let us play upon the words," I pro- 
 tested. " I said, ' If you should find the body 
 of Otto . . .' Now it is Otto, alive, who 
 has been found, and we cannot doubt his 
 identity, since he is here, living, to affirm 
 it." 
 
 " That is understood I Your intuition of the 
 future, however extraordinary it may appear, is 
 surpassed by the result." 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 203 
 
 And, fixing upon me the full insolence of his 
 look, he added: 
 
 " Nevertheless, I still have to challenge you 
 to give us indisputable proof that it is Otto 
 who has just testified before us!" 
 
 I did not yield in the improvised armour in 
 which I was stifling. — I made no reply. 
 
 He sent out two or three puffs of smoke and, 
 after a silence, feigned to be irritated. 
 
 " Oh, very well! I thought I should find in 
 you a useful assistant, but I perceive that, after 
 having pointed out to the court the way to fol- 
 low in order to arrive at the certainty 
 of the truth, you leave us in the lurch. That 
 is your right, monsieur — but we know our 
 duty." 
 
 " Oh! as for that," I rebelled, " I don't think 
 I am qualified ..." 
 
 " Then it is settled," he interrupted drily. 
 — " I could not foresee that your inquisitive- 
 ness was guided solely by your personal 
 interest ! " 
 
 And he rose to signify that I might take my 
 leave, saluting me with a cold and haughty in- 
 
204 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 clination of the head. Evidently I was ilo 
 longer his friend. But the point upon which I 
 especially congratulated myself was in no longer 
 being the prisoner — and, moreover, in not be- 
 coming his accomplice. 
 
XX 
 
 SOUVENIRS OF DIEPPE 
 
 The first impression, when I found myself free 
 in the streets of the city, was to feel absolutely 
 unconnected with the tragical adventure In 
 which I had played so wretched a part. 
 
 Until now the power of the facts, the horror 
 of the various sights I had had before my eyes, 
 the instinct of self-preservation, the influence of 
 the presumptions, the obligation of defending 
 myself, had jointly urged me to consider myself, 
 if not the essential pivot of this dramatic and 
 famous affair, at least as one of the most im- 
 portant pieces of the machinery. 
 
 And now that I was suddenly delivered, 
 scarcely escaped from the atmosphere of suffer- 
 ing in which I had lived forty-eight hours, I 
 desired nothing except a delicious rest, a sort 
 of forgetfulness of what had happened. 
 
 I was somewhat in the condition of the 
 205 
 
2o6 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 dreamer who wakes from a horrible nightmare, 
 utters a sigh of satisfaction at finding himself 
 in the presence of a calmer reality, and asks of 
 the beneficent shower bath the blotting out of 
 excessive emotions. 
 
 The strange proposition of the prosecuting at- 
 torney had affected me less than I had sup- 
 posed; I regarded it as a prolongation of the 
 gentle mania of the legal gentlemen, and would 
 not confess to myself that, after all, he had told 
 the truth, — that it was I who had suggested to 
 him this unreasonable and last supposition, 
 which consisted in doubting Otto's identity, for 
 the sole purpose of invalidating his story! 
 
 But I was not going out of one nightmare to 
 enter another! — Ah, no! No! 
 
 The bright sunshine, the keen air, the bustle 
 in the streets, all the joy of life which was cir- 
 culating around me, fairly dazzled me and I 
 enjoyed its charm in an animal way, I may say, 
 without thinking any more about it! 
 
 My first impulse was to go to the Rue Tete- 
 de-Boeuf, reassure my landlady with regard to 
 me, and prove that I was not the assassin of 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 207 
 
 the sailor Shoepen! Nonsense! I had plenty 
 of time, and I decided to take a walk along 
 the beach. 
 
 Then, in the solitude in which I found myself, 
 it was natural that I should think of Pauline 
 Mutel, my wife. It was almost logical that I 
 should be led to pay her a visit. There was a 
 new and tolerably strong bond between us; the 
 community in misfortune. I had felt its sweet- 
 ness in the few instants when we had found 
 ourselves face to face, and I was sure that she 
 had not been unaware of it herself. 
 
 This is why I was not surprised at being, to- 
 ward five o'clock in the afternoon, on the Place 
 Moulin-a-Vent, in front of the little shop which 
 bore the sign, Souvenirs de Dieppe. 
 
 Again the irony of the sign pursued me I 
 Surely I had made an ample harvest of 
 souvenirs, and very quickly, in this little 
 city! 
 
 Pauline was standing as she had been two 
 days before, when with Otto I had seen her 
 again for the first time on the threshold of the 
 open shop, her uplifted arm resting against the 
 
2o8 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 ydoor frame. One might have thought she had 
 not stirred from the place since then. This time 
 she did not blush when she saw me. She did 
 not even go back inside. She really appeared 
 as if she were waiting for me. 
 
 Moreover, she did not hide it. As I ap- 
 proached her, raising my hat, like a stranger 
 who apologises for entering a house that is not 
 his own, she said to me gently, simply, with- 
 out the slightest embarrassment: 
 
 " I was waiting for you, Maxime ! " 
 I was agitated by this name which came, at 
 the end of three years, with a charming intona- 
 tion which I thought I had forgotten. I hesi- 
 tated what bearing I ought to assume. I could 
 show neither too much affection, nor too much 
 coldness. My situation was a delicate one. Be- 
 tween the ordinary shake of the hand, and the 
 cordial embrace, I could not at once think of 
 a greeting which might not wound her or move 
 her too strongly I She saved me from embar- 
 rassment immediately by simply, without the 
 least affectation, lifting her forehead to me as 
 she had formerly done — three years ago. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 209 
 
 For the sake of saying something, I stam- 
 mered : 
 
 " It would have been hard for me to go with- 
 out seeing you again." 
 
 " And for me, too," she answered. " I have 
 to ask your pardon ..." 
 
 "For what?" I interrupted. "I have no 
 right to have any complaints against you I " 
 
 She had drawn a chair forward. I sat down 
 — as if I were at home — actually I And she said 
 to me: 
 
 " Will you have anything? Are you 
 thirsty? " 
 
 Then she went to the door to drive away the 
 urchins who were crowding in front of the shop, 
 pressing their curious faces against the window- 
 panes like masqueraders at a carnival. 
 
 " Ah ! " she sighed. " It is going to be un- 
 bearable! The neighbours turn their backs 
 upon me, as if I were plague-stricken I I was 
 pointed at, in the street, when I took down the 
 shutters of my shop again . . . and I feel sure 
 that the business by which I earned my living 
 will scarcely be possible any longer." 
 
2IO THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 I was distressed by her dejected manner, and 
 I tried to soothe her mental depression: 
 
 "This will pass away! Public opinion 
 changes quickly, you know; and, when it is 
 shown that you are entirely unconnected with 
 this drama, you will find sympathy returning." 
 
 She had sat down near me. 
 
 "Whose sympathy?" she asked, in an ex- 
 pressionless voice. 
 
 I seized the opportunity of showing an easy 
 generosity, and replied : 
 
 " You have gained mine entirely, Pauline! " 
 
 She was greatly moved by my answer, and I 
 will not conceal that my emotion was also evi- 
 dent. Twilight was beginning to gather, we 
 were in a deepening dusk, which gave our secret 
 thoughts a more painful mystery. Perhaps we 
 had many things to say to each other after 
 nearly three years of separation. Probably we 
 did not know exactly what. And we remained 
 for quite a long time, sitting side by side, as if 
 drowned in a flood of confused thoughts! 
 
 Night had almost fallen. The darkness 
 weighed upon me. I could have wished that 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 211 
 
 she would rise, that she would go away from 
 me, that she would light the lamp. But she 
 did not yet stir from her place. At last she 
 summoned up courage enough to say: 
 
 " I wanted to ask your advice I " 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 "About . . . about the drama! I did not 
 know Otto. . . . And I can have little personal 
 idea. . . . Then, unfortunately, I have had your 
 idea I " 
 
 She had drawn her chair nearer to mine. . . . 
 I felt her close beside me. She repeated: 
 
 " Your idea . . . the idea you expressed be- 
 fore the examining magistrate." 
 
 Then suddenly, as if frantic, she threw both 
 arms around my neck, rested her head upon my 
 shoulder, and in a heartrending voice, faint with 
 fear, she faltered: 
 
 " Isn't it Franz ? . . . I am certain that it 
 is Franz I " 
 
 I had cautiously released myself from her em- 
 brace and, moving gently away from her, while 
 still holding one of her hands in mine, I replied 
 in a tone of confidence, which was rendered 
 
212 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 firmer by the darkness, for I was now glad not 
 to have any light to show her my disturbed 
 countenance and to see her anxious face : 
 
 "Come, Pauline! You are not sensible! 
 Things cannot be distorted at pleasure ! Otto's 
 presence completely destroys my hypothesis, 
 from top to bottom." 
 
 She persisted: 
 
 " For my part, I maintain that it is Franz ! " 
 
 I rose. I was in haste to escape from this 
 contagious suffering. I kissed her on the fore- 
 head, and again assured her of my sympathy. 
 She said to me : 
 
 " I probably shall not see you again? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," I protested. " I shall return be- 
 fore my departure ! " 
 
 I perceived that she was weeping silently. If 
 I had obeyed only my nerves, I should have 
 cried : 
 
 " I forgive you, Pauline I I do not believe 
 in Providence, and yet I ask myself whether the 
 reason for this obscure drama has not been to 
 reunite us! Let us forget our mutual wrongs! 
 Let us fly together ! Let us leave this city where 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 213 
 
 you have been so unhappy! It is Provi- 
 dence which dictates my duty! " 
 
 But I did not listen to my nerves. They 
 were too greatly overexcited. I had not the 
 calmness which was necessary in order to utter 
 words so decisive. I had the clear-sightedness 
 of the situation. So I said to her simply and 
 awkwardly : 
 
 " Farewell, Pauline ! " 
 
 " That is right ! Farewell, Maxime I " she 
 replied. 
 
 And I found myself outside, my heart more 
 full of bitterness than before. Night had 
 closed in entirely. I asked two or three 
 passers-by to direct me to the Rue Tete-de- 
 Boeuf, where my landlady, who had been in- 
 formed of my release, was waiting for me with 
 still a little feeling of apprehension. 
 
 " After all, monsieur," she said to me, " you 
 are innocent, it appears — and that Is no mis- 
 fortune! My cousin, Mere Vincent, at Tre- 
 port, has been made ill by it I " 
 
 She added: 
 
 " I have changed the sheets on the bed . . . 
 
214 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 isn't that right? ... on account of the death 
 ... on account of the sailor Shoepen I " 
 
 I asked her for the address of the nearest 
 restaurant. 
 
 " By the way," she said, " do you know the 
 rumour that is going about the city — since 
 Otto van Brymans has been found in Simon's 
 gobe?" 
 
 " No," I replied. 
 
 She lowered her voice, looked around her to 
 see if any one was within hearing and, as if 
 terrified by the supposition, whispered: 
 
 " There are some people who say that it isn't 
 Otto . . . that it is Franz, the fish-dealer . . . 
 and that apparently it was he . . . who mur- 
 dered his brother and the sailor Shoepen I " 
 
 " They are crazy! " I replied abruptly, turn- 
 ing on my heel. 
 
 She called after me: 
 
 "Wait! There is a letter for you, brought 
 by the little footman of the Cafe Suisse, from 
 Maitre Croulebarbe, the lawyer ! " 
 
 I took my counsel's envelope and nervously 
 broke the seal. And I read with frowning brow. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 215 
 
 annoyed by the prospect of fresh vexations, this 
 laconic note: 
 
 Come and see me to-morrow morning, with- 
 out fail. Something monstrous is going to 
 happen. 
 
XXI 
 
 UNDER WHAT CIRCUMSTANCES MAITRE CROULEBARBE 
 
 INTRODUCES ME TO A GENTLEMAN WITH 
 
 LIGHT EYES 
 
 The next morning, toward nine o'clock, I pre- 
 sented myself at Maitre Croulebarbe's. He 
 lived in a pretty apartment on the Place du 
 Puits-Sale. The maid ushered me into a draw- 
 ing-room with old-fashioned furniture and 
 archaic hangings, where I waited for a good 
 quarter of an hour, at the end of which I was 
 shown into the office of the young lawyer, who 
 was engaged in a very animated conversation 
 with a visitor whom I did not know. 
 
 I saw very plainly by Maitre Croulebarbe's 
 face, by his constrained manner and his awk- 
 wardness, that he would have preferred to re- 
 ceive me without this guest. He introduced me 
 to him in a rapid manner and with a very care- 
 less air. 
 
 216 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 217 
 
 " Monsieur Theodule — ^the distinguished 
 archaeologist! " 
 
 Then, turning to Monsieur Theodule : 
 
 " Monsieur Maxime Aubry, the artist ! " 
 
 "The hero of the van Brymans affair?" 
 Monsieur Theodule completed the sentence, 
 throwing his head against the back of his arm- 
 chair and staring anxiously at me with his blue 
 eyes, extraordinarily light in colour, whose 
 fixedness caused discomfort from the very first 
 look. 
 
 Forcing a smile, I disclaimed: 
 
 " Oh! it is never agreeable to be a hero of 
 newspaper gossip." 
 
 " But," replied the gentleman with the light 
 eyes, carefully straightening the crease in his 
 trousers, and the tails of his coat, " consider 
 that all your talent would not have succeeded 
 in making you as well known as this mysterious 
 drama, which has engrossed the attention of the 
 press. ... So you don't read the papers ? You 
 are the man of the day! Your portrait is dis- 
 played on the first page of the great dailies, 
 and I do not doubt that your fame as an artist 
 
2i8 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 will be much Increased by this gratuitous and 
 unsought publicity." 
 
 " Yes, yes," I said, laughing. " But I should 
 have preferred anything else." 
 
 Maitre Croulebarbe interested himself in my 
 health. 
 
 "Did you sleep well, Monsieur Aubry?" 
 
 " I may say," I replied, " that, without play- 
 ing the sceptic, the memory of Shoepen, the 
 sailor, did not haunt me too much in the bed 
 where he had usurped my place, and that, of 
 the three nights I have spent here in your city — 
 the first on the straw of the stable of the Quay 
 Henri IV, the second in my cell in the prison — 
 this last, take it all in all, was the least uncom- 
 fortable." 
 
 I was still expecting that my counsel would 
 explain what he had stated in his note the even- 
 ing before, or rather I was expecting that Mon- 
 sieur Theodule would go away, divining per- 
 fectly that Maitre Croulebarbe did not intend 
 to speak in his presence. 
 
 But Monsieur Theodule seemed little dis- 
 posed to leave the place. He continued to stare 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 219 
 
 at me, with a persistence which surpassed the 
 limits of good breeding — and this annoyed me 
 on the part of so distinguished a gentle- 
 man. 
 
 Suddenly he said: 
 
 " You could not believe how deeply this af- 
 fair of the van Brymans brothers excites me! 
 I have followed it, as an amateur, a dilettante, 
 but I think with even more interest than our 
 friend. Monsieur Marathon 1 " 
 
 " Ah! do you know Monsieur Marathon? " 
 
 " We are expecting him presently," inter- 
 posed Maitre Croulebarbe, " as well as the 
 prosecuting attorney." 
 
 I had unconsciously risen and began to take 
 my leave. 
 
 " I will not intrude upon you longer, my dear 
 Maitre. ... I will come back when you are 
 less busy." 
 
 Maitre Croulebarbe appeared to be more and 
 more embarrassed. But I had not time to carry 
 my plan of retreat into execution. The maid 
 came to announce the judge and the prosecut- 
 ing attorney, and I at once had the vexation of 
 
220 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 finding myself with my companions of the even- 
 ing before. 
 
 " Enchanted! " said the prosecuting attorney 
 familiarly. " You are not in the way, Mon- 
 sieur Aubry, on the contrary! It is for a 
 special reason that we have come to Maitre 
 Croulebarbe's office to discuss the affair ! There 
 is no longer prosecuting attorney, judge, law- 
 yer, nor prisoner, but a party of well-bred 
 people, urged on by curiosity, and desirous of 
 applying themselves to the solution of a difficult 
 problem ! " 
 
 And he almost forced me to sit down. 
 
 Monsieur Marathon, without taking any 
 farther notice of me, had rushed toward Mon- 
 sieur Theodule. He held under his arm a big 
 book, which he instantly brandished in his nerv- 
 ous hand. 
 
 "Ah! this is wonderful!" he cried raptu- 
 rously. " And to think that I, an examin- 
 ing magistrate, had never read it ! I have spent 
 a sleepless night in devouring your Sherlock 
 Holmes — and this Conan Doyle is a clever 
 fellow I" 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 221 
 
 Then, turning in my direction, he thought 
 it his duty to present me in his turn, as if 
 Maitre Croulebarbe's introduction had not been 
 sufficient to open my eyes: 
 
 " Monsieur Theodule — a friend — the corre- 
 spondent of / Know Everything — the great 
 magazine — ^who has come here expressly 
 to follow the incidents of the van Brymans 
 afFairl" 
 
 The judge's tongue by no means disconcerted 
 the gentleman with the light eyes, who main- 
 tained his impassive countenance as he set him 
 right : 
 
 " I know Monsieur Aubry already — and we 
 are the best friends in the world! " 
 
 I was beginning to grow uneasy. Into what 
 hornets' nest had my counsel, with his urgent 
 note, made me fall? 
 
 The maid had reappeared with tea and toast, 
 and everybody prepared to do honour to the 
 improvised luncheon on the lawyer's mahogany 
 desk! I declined the sandwich and the hot 
 drink, which I detest, and contented myself with 
 a cigarette. 
 
222 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 The judge had caught me by the lapels of 
 my coat, and was breathing whiffs of rum into 
 my face. 
 
 " Eh! Do we look like conspirators? This 
 is the point in question ! Outside of our official 
 mission, to discuss, like sensible people, the 
 most obvious probabilities, — and I suppose that 
 you are going to help us in this, you who were 
 the first to move in it." 
 
 I escaped from the judge's hold. The prose- 
 cuting attorney caught me by the arm in passing, 
 like an old friend to "whom one cannot refuse 
 a little service. 
 
 " Monsieur Theodule," he insinuated, " is a 
 well-trained psychologist, and I am curious to 
 know what you two are going to be able to 
 determine — if not actual truth — at least simple 
 probability ! " 
 
 My lawyer had not deceived me with his 
 laconic note. Something monstrous was going 
 to happen! I no longer had any illusions con- 
 cerning Monsieur Theodule's psychology ! 
 
 It was a sort of challenge to common sense 
 that these men had united to hurl and, upon 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 223 
 
 my word, I felt inclined to take it up. I goaded 
 myself as if to awaken an absurd point of hon- 
 our ! The folly of these excited people, in now 
 pursuing the game of probabilities, had been 
 aroused by my own words. 
 
 If, to defend myself against the fantastic ac- 
 cusation of the court, I had not invoked the fa- 
 mous resemblance between the twin brothers and 
 clearly pointed out everything that was enig- 
 matical in the adventure, they would not have 
 discovered it! To create the first suspicions 
 concerning the equivocal attitude of Franz, the 
 fish-dealer, I had had to struggle against the 
 dense blindness of every one, the prosecuting 
 attorney, the judge, Pauline Mutel, and — even 
 of Pauline Steurs ! And, having now arrived at 
 the culminating point of the affair, the affair 
 which was being settled naturally, logically by 
 the indisputable narrative of Otto, I was going 
 henceforth to have to struggle against my own 
 opinion in the beginning, which had taken root 
 in the noddles of all these people. 
 
 This inversion of parts, after all, was not 
 calculated to displease me! I found myself ex- 
 
224 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 cited by the unanimity in finding my own hy- 
 pothesis reasonable which I now encountered. 
 I have never hked to be of the same mind as 
 everybody else! And gallantly, boldly I held 
 my own against all these men, who were argu- 
 ers by trade as well as by temperament. 
 
 We formed a circle around the mahogany 
 table. The sandwiches had vanished, the tea- 
 pot was empty, and the bottle of rum half used. 
 We had lighted cigarettes. Monsieur Mara- 
 thon, alone, had taken his pipe, which he was 
 colouring wonderfully. It was he who made 
 the first start: 
 
 " What we need, evidently, is a man of the 
 type of Sherlock Holmes to unravel this affair 
 of twins. I have read ' The Urchin with the 
 Big Eyes ' in a supplement. I attended last 
 year a performance of ' P'tites Michu ' at the 
 Casino. I myself solved the affair of the mime 
 Properce, where I had on my hands two women 
 exactly alike, one of them without a head ! But, 
 for all that, it was not so difficult to unravel as 
 this Belgian adventure!" 
 
 And, turning toward the correspondent of / 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 225 
 
 Know Everything, whom Maitre Croulebarbe 
 had presented to me as a most distinguished 
 archaeologist : 
 
 " Ah ! if you were as skilful as the hero of 
 Conan Doyle ! " 
 
 "One can always try I" said, without any 
 appearance of humility, the man who probably 
 was neither journalist nor scholar. 
 
 " Hum ! " interposed the prosecuting attor- 
 ney, " the problem is a complex and delicate 
 one. 
 
 " Delicate, above all ! " I emphasised. " And 
 I do not see in what way the brutal intervention 
 of police investigation will assist you I If the 
 solution given by Otto is correct, you only risk 
 being stupid; if it is false, you no longer have 
 the ability to prove it." 
 
 " Pardon me," said the prosecuting attorney. 
 " Since yesterday we have fresh subjects for 
 discussion. We have a telegram from the cap- 
 tain of the Arbalete, which has touched at Glas- 
 gow, and who informs us that his crew is com- 
 plete — except Shoepen, of course ! We have the 
 testimony of the Danish sailors who were mixed 
 
226 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 up in the fight of which you know, and who 
 have all furnished an undeniable alibi! We 
 have, in a word, the convincing proof that these 
 accomplices do not exist, and we are, therefore, 
 all the more certain that Otto van Brymans is 
 incapable of giving us the slightest clue con- 
 cerning them ! " 
 
 " That proves that you are not any farther 
 advanced than Otto — and that is all I " 
 
 " Yes ! We are farther advanced than Otto," 
 replied the prosecuting attorney, with a mali- 
 cious smile. " We have received from Antwerp 
 a report which enlightens us concerning the 
 antecedents of the van Brymans brothers, the 
 marriage of Pauline Steurs with Otto, the in- 
 heritance of Pauline Steurs, and the vexation 
 which this marriage and this inheritance caused 
 Franz, the fish-dealer, of course. We know — 
 what you know, and ask only to know more 
 about it, that is, what Pauline Steurs knows. It 
 is to be supposed that this woman will not have 
 a daily nervous attack like the one which tor- 
 tured her when you had the imprudence to put 
 us on the track." 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 227 
 
 " I even like to think," I interrupted sneer- 
 ingly, " that, having found her husband again, 
 she will henceforth be safe from them." 
 
 " Unless," Monsieur Theodule insinuated, 
 " she should be more subject to them than ever! 
 But that is not the real question." 
 
 The discussion had assumed too many fine dis- 
 tinctions to interest Monsieur Marathon any 
 longer. His principal occupation now was 
 making paper pellets from the lawyer's blotting- 
 pad. 
 
 " In short," he said, " to settle this little 
 problem we must first, cost what it may, force 
 this woman to confess." 
 
 "Yes," I retorted, "settle it— by an ab- 
 surdity I " 
 
 " Well reasoned ! " quickly remarked the 
 gentleman with the light eyes. " I, who am not 
 a professional, but a simple amateur, feel solely 
 anxious concerning the motives. The motive 
 of jealousy, such as the judge conceived it, by 
 inculpating you, had a little air of probability, 
 which you will not deny." 
 
 "No," I replied. 
 
228 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " The motive of interest, the robbery, such 
 as Otto presented it to us, in accusing the sailor 
 Shoepen, has another ..." 
 
 " Evidently nearer the truth," interrupted the 
 attentive prosecuting attorney. 
 
 "Evidently I " Monsieur Theodule repeated. 
 " So what we must find, to discover the truth 
 itself, is the union, the combination of these two 
 motives — interest and jealousy! " 
 
 "Well?" I said, in spite of myself, carried 
 away by this reasoning. 
 
 " Well, we shall find it exactly by substitut- 
 ing, in the place of Otto, Franz, the fish-dealer, 
 as you have been the first to do ! Franz, jealous 
 of his brother, and envious of his little for- 
 tune." 
 
 "What are you saying?" cried Monsieur 
 Marathon, in amazement. 
 
 " I say," stated Monsieur Theodule, " that, 
 in comparing the story of Otto, your gratuitous 
 hypothesis. Judge, and the hypothesis of Mon- 
 sieur Aubry — ^this last version is, mathematic- 
 ally, the addition of the first two. I say that 
 not only does the hypothesis of Monsieur Aubry 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 229 
 
 adapt itself closely to the story of Otto, but that 
 the story of Otto even illumines it with a clear 
 light and renders it more probable than everl 
 All these things, I repeat, fit like the pieces on 
 a checker board, and if Franz, under the mask 
 of Otto, as we presume, gives us the play which 
 we can most easily accept, it is because, as Mon- 
 sieur Aubry, who is always perspicacious, has 
 declared, he holds ' all the clues of the investi- 
 gation in his own hand.' No one can contra- 
 dict him, Monsieur Aubry least of all of us I 
 The play is reduced to its simplest accessories. 
 There is only one personage. It is a mono- 
 logue I 
 
 " Is the surviving van Brymans Franz or 
 Otto? Either of the two conjectures has its ob- 
 scurities, which, however, are only on the sur- 
 face. We cannot require from Otto — if it is 
 Otto — a description of the accomplices whom 
 he was unable to see and, as it is nearly impos- 
 sible for us to discover these sailors of a phan- 
 tom ship, we find ourselves thus in the presence 
 of a negative fact, with which it would be ridicu- 
 lous to charge Ottol 
 
23P THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " On the other hand, we have scarcely to ex- 
 pect from Franz — if it is Franz — a contradic- 
 tion, since it is never he who speaks, never he 
 who exposes himself, — ^he does not appear at 
 all in the drama invented! There remain the 
 vague suppositions to be drawn from the in- 
 formation received from Antwerp — the alarm- 
 ing emotion of Otto van Brymans' wife — and 
 the hesitations of Monsieur Aubry! Monsieur 
 Aubry I Monsieur Aubry will tell us himself, I 
 feel convinced, that his hesitations are those of 
 Pauline Steurs, that they know neither more nor 
 less than we do, with the information received 
 from Antwerp, and that all these things, after 
 all, are merely suppositions I And Monsieur 
 Aubry will be right, and we should be wrong 
 to trust entirely to these presumptions. That 
 is why it would be utterly useless to force con- 
 fessions from Otto van Brymans' wife, as the 
 judge recommends. 
 
 " I am going still farther, and I say that, if 
 this woman came to-day to inform us that she 
 does not recognise her husband in the surviv- 
 ing van Brymans, we ought not to believe her 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 231 
 
 word, but allow her testimony only the value 
 of a clue, no more conclusive than the one which 
 made her recognise the corpse in the Morgue I 
 
 " The whole problem does not lie in the dem- 
 onstration of the guilt of Franz, but in the 
 identification of Franz ! And, as soon as we 
 leave that point, we shall only wander away 
 from the question I " 
 
 I bowed in sign of assent, and ventured to 
 say: 
 
 " That is my opinion. It is even the only 
 reason which makes me believe in the truth- 
 fulness of Otto's story, because the identifica- 
 tion of which you speak is impossible! Ques- 
 tion the only two persons who are able to give 
 you an opinion worthy of being considered — 
 Pauline Steurs, the wife of Otto, and Pauline 
 Mutel, the sweetheart of Franz — and you will 
 see I " ' 
 
 " I shall question neither Pauline Mutel, nor 
 Pauline Steurs," replied the gentleman with 
 light eyes, in the same demonstrative voice. " I 
 shall question the man who is — either the lover 
 of one or the husband of the other ! " 
 
232 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 At these words I rose from my chair, ex- 
 claiming : 
 
 " Take care, Mr. Journalist, or Mr. Archas- 
 ologist, I don't know exactly, but you are going 
 to play a dangerous game I The prosecuting at- 
 torney has cautioned you about it. The ques- 
 tion is a delicate one ! I know Franz, and I 
 know Otto ! Since you know how to reason, let 
 us reason. 
 
 " You believe that you hold one of the clues 
 of the affair in your skilful hands — and you have 
 just recognised that Franz ' holds them all.' 
 This, it seems to me, by anticipation, admits 
 your inferiority! And I am afraid that your 
 method may lead you to the very opposite of 
 your design. For, with regard to the clues of 
 the affair, if you are speaking to Otto, he will 
 have none of them, and consequently will be 
 weaker than you — that is, at your mercy, at the 
 mercy of an investigation directed toward a 
 fixed end — I defy you to contradict me — that is 
 sullied in advance by partiahty! You cannot 
 start from that point: the guilty man, better 
 armed than you, will escape you, and the inno- 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 233 
 
 cent one, with empty hands, will succumb 
 to your blows! And this is precisely the 
 way that, in many criminal affairs, people 
 go straight, without any check, into judicial 
 error! " 
 
 " My lad," remarked Monsieur Marathon 
 contemptuously, " we are not sufficiently deaf 
 not to hear the voice of innocence ! " 
 
 " Do you think so! " I replied, in the same 
 tone. " Innocence has aphony, my dear sir, 
 and it is human folly to try to make it speak! 
 But I wish, with all my heart, that you would 
 not commit this senseless deed, which would be, 
 I have a sorrowful dread, a new crime in your 
 account with the survivor." 
 
 The three men chuckled. Monsieur Mara- 
 thon turned the pages of his Conan Doyle, and, 
 puffing at his pipe, repeated: 
 
 " This book here is more useful than the 
 code!" 
 
 The prosecuting attorney was rolling cigar- 
 ettes ; the gentleman with the light eyes had the 
 air of being sure of himself and his course of 
 action! As to my lawyer, he was looking at 
 
234 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 me with bewildered eyes, and I read in his 
 gaze: 
 
 "Well! Didn't I tell you that something 
 monstrous was going to happen? " 
 
 " Gentlemen," I said, in taking leave, " I 
 have promised Otto van Brymans to go to see 
 him to-day, at the inn of The Thieving Magpie 
 — I am in haste to find this family happy again, 
 Pauline Steurs, who is an excellent woman, and 
 little Fritz, a charming boy, and I have the hon- 
 our to wish you good-morning! " 
 
 " Don't tell them about our tactics, above 
 all! " said Monsieur Marathon anxiously. 
 
 I smiled pityingly and, opening the door, 
 said: 
 
 " Have no fear I It is not I who, in so deli- 
 cate a matter, will lack delicacy! " 
 
XXII 
 
 THE WOMAN, THE CHILD, AND THE DOG 
 
 To reach Biville-sur-Mer, I turned away from 
 the long road, straight as an I, bordered with 
 trees stunted by the wind from the sea, which 
 we had followed to reach Dieppe in a carriage, 
 and went along the coast through the little vil- 
 lages scattered near the cliffs — Puys, Bracque- 
 mont, Belleville, Berneval. They were charm- 
 ing, restful nooks, buried in verdure, to which 
 led zigzag roads, unlike in character, which 
 constantly contracted the horizon. 
 
 I could not describe how greatly this walk in 
 the country benefited me. I drew from it a 
 store of moral strength, a moral strength which 
 I needed, in order not to be affected by the 
 vague fear of Pauline Mutel, the gossip of my 
 landlady, and the eager controversy of the legal 
 gentlemen whose whims I dreaded. 
 
 I reached Biville almost at nightfall. At the 
 
 335 
 
236 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 entrance of the village, Frangois, the black- 
 smith, saw me above the thorn hedge which bor- 
 dered the yard of the forge, and cried: 
 
 " Ah ! it is you. Monsieur Aubry. . . . They 
 are expecting you! " 
 
 He had 'come down the stairs, hollowed in 
 the earth, and walked forward to meet me. 
 
 He seemed to regard me as a shipwrecked 
 person, concerning whom all hope had been 
 given up, and said: 
 
 " You may be sure. Monsieur Aubry, that 
 nobody here would believe you guilty. It has 
 been a drama, hasn't it? " 
 
 And, with his big, homy hand, he pointed to 
 the village and the tavern of The Thieving 
 Magpie. Then, with downcast eyes, he 
 added : 
 
 " He is expecting you I But you will find a 
 change there." 
 
 I answered with a meaningless compliment, 
 to thank him for his good opinion. But 
 he must have expected something more on my 
 part, for he took a step forward with me. He 
 had slipped his hands under his leather apron. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 237 
 
 and his sabots clapped along the road by my 
 side. He went on: 
 
 " I should like to know your feeling! " 
 
 "My feeling?" 
 
 " Yes, I am going to take a cup of coffee, 
 after the soup, to see what you think of 
 it!" 
 
 "WhatI think of what?" 
 
 " You know very well what I mean ! Here 
 there are plenty of pros and cons! It is terri- 
 bly hard to make up one's mind! " 
 
 I was again irritated against Frangois, as I 
 had been against Pauline Mutel, against Mere 
 Hurteaux, against the prosecuting attorney 
 and the gentleman with the light eyes. And I 
 cut him short by saying, in a dry tone : 
 
 " So it is ! I'll see you this evening, Pere 
 Frangois ! " 
 
 And I left him standing there, in the very 
 middle of the road. 
 
 When I had arrived in front of the tavern, 
 I saw through the window-panes, whose jaconet 
 curtains had not yet been drawn, Otto van 
 Brymans' wife, standing on a stool in the act 
 
238 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 of lighting the big kerosene lamp suspended 
 from the beams of the ceiling in the kitchen. 
 
 I went in. She turned on her pedestal. 
 
 " Oh I it is you, Monsieur Aubry," she 
 added, in a timid voice. " We had given you 
 up." 
 
 I excused myself as best I could, and tried 
 to look as smiling as possible. 
 
 " Well," I said. " You are happy, in your 
 misfortune, to have found this luckless Otto 
 safe and sound, my poor woman ! " 
 
 She had come down from the stool. Her 
 eyes blinked on account of the sudden light. She 
 threw the match into the fire. 
 
 " Sit down. Monsieur Aubry. You are at 
 home 1 " 
 
 Still she did not answer my congratulation. 
 Her dilated eyes gave her face an expression of 
 bewilderment, and stared fixedly into mine. Her 
 gaze rested on me heavily, persistently. But 
 her compressed lips did not open. It seemed as 
 if she were constantly swallowing her saliva. 
 A silent horror was depicted on her features. 
 At last her mouth parted to say: 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 239 
 
 " He is there, in the orchard. He will come 
 in presently I " 
 
 And, sitting down near me, she raised the 
 corner of her apron, completely covering her 
 face, and began to weep silently. 
 
 "Come!" I said compassionately. "You 
 are not sensible! " 
 
 It was precisely the same pitying remark 
 which I had made to Pauline Mutel. 
 
 Pauline Steurs let the corner of her apron 
 fall. 
 
 " How can I be ! It is no use for me 
 to try as hard as I can ! It is stronger than 
 II" 
 
 And again she wiped her eyes, heavy with 
 tears. 
 
 Just at this moment we were surprised by 
 Otto, who had come in through the little glass 
 door in the back kitchen, opening upon the 
 vegetable garden. In vain his wife drew her- 
 self up and tried to change her expression — he 
 had witnessed the brief little scene. His stern 
 eyebrows contracted. But his slow, kind voice 
 instantly contradicted the change of feature. 
 
240 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " Ah ! this is good, Monsieur Aubry. . . . 
 I was beginning to give up expecting you ! " 
 
 I had not the courage to address him with a 
 variation of the remark which Pauline Steurs 
 had not answered. 
 
 " Well, Otto, you are happy, in your misfor- 
 tune, to have found your wife again." 
 
 He was pacing the kitchen from right to left, 
 swinging his arms. 
 
 " The table ought to be laid. Monsieur 
 Aubry must be hungry I " 
 
 The landlady had turned her back to him. 
 With her face and half her body in the cup- 
 board, she was counting the plates and dishes, 
 to avoid a direct answer. 
 
 Otto had unwrapped his right hand. He 
 showed it to me under the lamp, and explained 
 in the calmest possible manner: 
 
 " The doctor came this morning. He was 
 afraid of gangrene! " 
 
 Then, without any change of voice : 
 
 " Do you think that the court will give us 
 permission to bury my unfortunate brother to- 
 morrow? " 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 241 
 
 I made an evasive gesture of uncertainty. 
 
 "Ah! " he said, in a weary tone. " How I 
 wish it were all over 1 " 
 
 Little Fritz, who, from the story above, had 
 heard his mother setting the table, came run- 
 ning downstairs. Rushing up to me, he sprang 
 into my lap and threw his little arms around 
 my neck, pressing closely to me, with unusual 
 vehemence. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Otto, " you know your kind 
 Monsieur Aubry." 
 
 The child had turned his head away. His 
 dilated eyes had the same bewildered expression 
 as his mother's and, as if seized with a similar 
 fear, his little face bore the impress of the same 
 terror. He buried it in the hollow of my shoul- 
 der, and hugged me more closely still. 
 
 Otto had some difficulty in repressing an out- 
 break of anger. He turned on his heel, 
 shrugged his shoulders, and found this sub- 
 terfuge : 
 
 " I am going to water the horses ! " 
 
 Pauline Steurs had swiftly approached me. 
 
 " One cannot say that Fritz, a child, — has 
 
242 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 reasons like a grown-up person — ^like you — and 
 yet !" 
 
 I had neither the courage, nor the presence 
 of mind to find a satisfactory answer. 
 
 We sat down to the table. The landlady had 
 fried a rabbit — and the whole interest of the 
 conversation turned upon the quality of this 
 dish, of which Otto was extremely fond. 
 
 I had again found my friend of the good 
 old days, Dick, the spaniel, who was asking me 
 questions with his paw on my left knee. At 
 least these were queries I could answer. And 
 I dipped into the sauce pieces of bread, which 
 he snapped up, wagging his tail to thank 
 me. 
 
 Otto took two bones from the side of his 
 plate and held them out to Dick. 
 
 But Dick turned his curly head away, his ears 
 hanging low, without any movement of his 
 merry tail. 
 
 " Dick! " ordered Otto, in a stern tone. 
 
 But Dick, instead of obeying the command, 
 as usual, crawled to the threshold and lay down 
 across the doorway, with his nose down. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 243 
 
 Then, no longer hiding his anger, Otto rose 
 from the table in a rage: 
 
 " Begone, you wretched brute ! " 
 
 And, opening the door, he gave a violent kick 
 to the animal, which ran out of doors into the 
 darkness. 
 
 Pauline Steurs looked at me intently. And, 
 unable to endure h^r gaze, it was I who lowered 
 my eyes. 
 
 The blacksmith came as we were beginning 
 dessert; then, after the blacksmith, the carpen- 
 ter; then the village farmers. I had never seen, 
 except on Sunday afternoon, so many people 
 gathered at The Thieving Magpie. 
 
 Otto was made to repeat the story of his suf- 
 ferings — for the tenth time since the evening 
 before. He consented. He was obliged to con- 
 sent; customers have requirements which are not 
 always dictated by very humane feelings ! 
 
 " Let us go into the large room," said Pauline 
 Steurs. 
 
 The conversation became general, confused, 
 and loud in tone. The farmers pitied Franz's 
 fate. The haberdasher insisted : 
 
244 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " But, Otto, tell us why your little finger was 
 cut off I " 
 
 Frangois, the blacksmith, was watching me 
 slily. 
 
 I said to the landlady: 
 
 " Give me my bedroom candlestick. ... I 
 need rest." 
 
 This was not a pretext. I did need rest! 
 Physically and morally, I was used up. 
 
 I no longer had to struggle solely against 
 the fears of Pauline Mutel and of Mere Hur- 
 teaux — against the tricks of the court. — I had 
 to defend myself against the more and more dis- 
 tracted terror of Otto's wife, his child, and his 
 dog. 
 
XXIII 
 
 IS IT FRANZ WHO IS WEEPING? IS IT OTTO WHO IS 
 TALKING? 
 
 About ten o'clock I heard the noise of the loud- 
 talking customers. Peasants sitting around a 
 game of dominoes have high voices and sono- 
 rous laughs. My room was situated just above, 
 and though the words did not reach me dis- 
 tinctly, the uproar was so great that I could not 
 close my eyes. 
 
 When the clock struck nine, shortly after I 
 had gone to my chamber, I heard Pauline Steurs 
 on the way to hers. I had recognised the step 
 of her little Fritz. She was leaving the closing 
 of the house to Otto, as usual, and this took 
 place, as was customary, after ten. 
 
 Through the window which I had left open, I 
 heard the groups separating in front of The 
 Thieving Magpie, the blacksmith's voice bid- 
 245 
 
246 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 ding the carpenter good-night. Then I heard 
 Otto putting up the shutters. 
 
 Everything relapsed into silence. And in this 
 silence Otto's heavy footsteps sounded heavier 
 still upon the tiles of the deserted kitchen. Hfs 
 tread made the staircase creak. The light of 
 his candle cast a ray above my door. I thought 
 that he stopped in front of it. 
 
 He really had stopped there. I heard his 
 voice, which he was trying to subdue as he said 
 hesitatingly : 
 
 " Are you asleep, Monsieur Aubry? " 
 
 This produced a strange effect upon me. I 
 buried myself under the bed-clothes, without an . 
 swering. Probably he did not expect a reply, 
 and his question, doubtless, was merely a form, 
 for he instantly turned the latch and cautiously 
 entered the room. 
 
 " Excuse me. Monsieur Aubry." 
 
 He had set his candle on the night-table, 
 drawn a chair near my bed, and quietly taken 
 his seat in it. The illumination of his face by 
 the light of the candle end gave it a fantastic 
 aspect. He seemed overwhelmed, desperate. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 247 
 
 Letting his head fall into his hands, he 
 sighed : 
 
 " Depend upon it, Monsieur Aubry — there 
 will be trouble." 
 
 I had propped myself on my elbow among 
 the pillows, anxiously. I was watching this man 
 curiously. I was trying to separate his voice 
 from the precisely similar voice of his murdered 
 brother. And, like everybody else, I felt the 
 emotion aroused by this living enigma. Was it 
 Otto who was speaking ? 
 
 He went on slowly in a heartrending voice: 
 
 " This is it! " he said — " I can't bear it any 
 longer ! You have seen, Monsieur Aubry. You 
 have heard them ! They do not believe that it is 
 I! It is horrible!" 
 
 He wiped his forehead with the back of his 
 mutilated hand, then raised his head as if to 
 show some imaginary defiance. 
 
 " If it were only they! Frangois, the black- 
 smith — Franz's old friends — but she — Pauline, 
 my dear wife — You have seen it! Even my 
 little Fritz, who follows his mother's example ! 
 Ah ! think of it ! During the twenty-four hours 
 
248 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 since I have returned to the light of day, I have 
 suffered more than I did the whole endless night 
 of the drama ! It's enough to drive a man mad ! 
 What would you have me say to them ? I don't 
 understand anything, myself ! I can go no far- 
 ther than they 1 Why are they blaming me? " 
 
 This question allowed me to make the follow- 
 ing reply : 
 
 " I don't see that there is anything for which 
 you can be blamed! " 
 
 " Ohl on your part," said he, " I thank you 
 for your confidence^ — ^you are the only one. So, 
 tell me what can make them suppose ..." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Yes ! I beseech you. Let me know, at least, 
 where I stand! " 
 
 And he snuffed the candle with his big 
 spatula-shaped fingers. The cool air from out- 
 side blew in through the large open window. 
 Big black clouds were sweeping across the sky 
 toward the west, coming from the land as if 
 attracted by the neighbouring sea at the hour 
 of the low tide. 
 
 " Do you want me to shut the window? " 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 249 
 
 " No— Otto ! " 
 
 " I am listening to you, Monsieur Aubry! " 
 
 " This is it," I said. " There are some people 
 who believe that you are Franz and that you 
 have killed your brother Otto, in order to take 
 his place! " 
 
 "People say that? Really?" he cried out, 
 with a bewilderment which made the muscles 
 of his face tremble visibly. 
 
 " They say," I went on, " that it would have 
 been very easy for you, after leaving us, to take 
 the sailor Shoepen back on board his ship, to 
 have carried him to the Rue Tete-de-Boeuf and 
 strangled him there— that it would also have 
 been easy for you, after having struck me down 
 in the stable on the Quay Henri IV, to have 
 stabbed Otto with the knife you wrested from 
 Shoepen in the course of the fight with the Dan- 
 ish sailors. They say that, having accomplished 
 your double crime, under the circumstances pur- 
 posely planned to create the confusion that you 
 desired, you carried the body of Otto in front 
 of Pauline Mutel's shop, and after having placed 
 your empty belt around his waist, in order to 
 
250 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 give the motive of robbery an appearance of 
 certainty, and having cut off his little finger to 
 prevent his identification, you had the horrible 
 courage to subject yourself to the same ampu- 
 tation. 
 
 " After this, certain of impunity, it was quite 
 possible for you to introduce yourself into 
 Simon's gobe through the opening halfway up 
 the cliff which you knew — and there await the 
 progress of events." 
 
 " What events ? " he asked with a bewildered 
 manner. 
 
 " That is, to be able to give, before the court, 
 in your story, which was exactly the opposite of 
 the one I have just briefly told you, the appear- 
 ance of undeniable truth." 
 
 Otto was seized with convulsive trembling. 
 I saw his heavy eyelids swell. Large tears 
 rolled down his red cheeks, which fairly quiv- 
 ered with rage. 
 
 To look at this man, so agitated, with staring 
 eyes, I asked myself, as every one would have 
 done in my place: 
 
 " Is it Franz who is weeping? " 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 251 
 
 But I had no time to analyse my feelings at 
 that minute. He rose, uttered a sound like a 
 wounded animal, his throat choked by an inex- 
 pressible horror, and said simply: 
 
 " And it is Franz, my unfortunate brother, 
 murdered by a ruffian — it is Franz whom they 
 dare to accuse of so horrible a crime ! " 
 
 To listen to this protest, in place of the denial 
 which I had expected, I felt completely upset 
 and asked myself: 
 
 "Is it Otto who is speaking? " 
 
 The clouds had scattered in the sky, which 
 was streaked with clear openings. I saw his 
 face flooded with tears. And, in my increasing 
 anxiety, I repeated: 
 
 " Is it Franz who is weeping? " 
 
 If the man who was weeping before me was 
 Franz, that is, so marvellous a dissembler. Jus- 
 tice, in the absence of material proof, would 
 never get the better of him, and it would be 
 useless for Monsieur Theodule to play Sherlock 
 Holmes, he would always lack the little finger 
 with the silver ring to baffle a criminal so abso- 
 lutely master of himself. 
 
252 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 But If the man who was speaking to me with 
 such agitating despair was really Otto van Bry- 
 mans, Ifelt that he was Irremediably in the hands 
 of a blind justice, and I saw only too clearly 
 the results, far more agonising and terrible than 
 all which had previously happened — ^to which the 
 hypothesis which I had been the first to face 
 might lead . . . the hypothesis now haunting 
 every one: the judge, the prosecuting attorney, 
 Pauline Mutel, my wife; the landlady, Fran- 
 cois, the blacksmith — Pauline Steurs, every man 
 and woman, and against which I was struggling 
 as vainly as this man ! 
 
 The man had risen. He was pacing up and 
 down the room, like a wild beast In a cage. 
 Pressing his clenched fists upon his temples, he 
 sobbed : 
 
 " But how can I prove to them that I . . . 
 am myself? " 
 
 His shadow, thrown upon the wall by the 
 light of the smoky candle, was struggling, writh- 
 ing, like a figure in a cinematograph. He was 
 wailing : 
 
 " And you think this is life I I have scarcely 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 253 
 
 come out of one nightmare before I go into an- 
 other. You believe that a brain less strong than 
 mine would not have been able to resist what 
 has happened. But could I expect to find in my 
 home my own wife so changed in regard to me 
 — and even my little boy. My wife and my 
 little boy who avoid me — whom I fill with hor- 
 ror 1 It's enough to drive a man mad I You 
 may well suppose that I have only one desire: 
 to get away from here — to go back to Antwerp, 
 to my native country, as soon as possible. I 
 said so this morning to Pauline. She looked at 
 me with astonishment — and did not even answer I 
 If this is to last, I would rather go and break 
 my head upon the pebbles of the beach, from the 
 top of the cliffs ! " 
 
 I stopped him by saying in a stifled voice : 
 " Don't do that. Otto ! It would be giving still 
 more probability to the supposition of those who 
 assert that you are Franz I They would not fail 
 to say : ' It is remorse for his crime . . . ' " 
 He interrupted me, with a dazed expression : 
 " Remorse I What remorse? " 
 " The police . . . " I was going on. 
 
254 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 Then this man burst into a laugh which made 
 his face terrible : 
 
 " The police! What police? I have nothing 
 to do with the police, I suppose ! ... If you 
 imagine that that disturbs me I . . . No more 
 than the questions of the blacksmith . . . and 
 others. It is solely on account of my wife and 
 my little Fritz ! " 
 
 And he repeated : 
 
 " My wife! ... my little boy! " 
 
 And, in repeating these two words, I will 
 swear that he looked like a person under the 
 influence of some hallucination. 
 
 He had moved forward to the window-sill. 
 The livid sky made a screen behind him. His 
 shadow, enlarged out of all proportion, gave 
 me a sense of fear. He seemed to be reflect- 
 ing. Making an aimless movement, he said in 
 a hoarse voice : 
 
 " The robbers would have done better to kill 
 me on the spotl " 
 
 Then, as if under the spur of some irresistible 
 impulse : 
 
 " It would be just as well to end it at once." 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 255 
 
 And he threw his leg over the sill. 
 With a bound I was out of bed, crying: 
 "Otto! . . . Otto! . . . don't do that 1 " 
 I had upset the candle on the night-table and 
 
 was plunged in darkness. 
 
 Through the open window, the man had 
 
 leaped from the second story down into the 
 
 road and vanished in the gloom. 
 
XXIV 
 
 IN WHICH THE GENTLEMAN WITH THE LIGHT EYES 
 
 COMES TOO LATE TO EXERCISE HIS 
 
 REAL PROFESSION 
 
 Otto van Brymans' wife was now filling the 
 
 house with her cries. She who had shut herself, 
 
 until then, in a stern silence was now succeeding 
 
 her dumb terror by a noisy expression of fright. 
 
 " You will alarm your little Fritz! " I said 
 
 to her. 
 
 I had hurriedly thrown on my clothes. She 
 
 had lighted two lanterns. Her hands were 
 
 trembling, her voice faltered . . . 
 
 " Which way did he go, Monsieur Aubry? " 
 
 " I could not tell in the darkness." 
 
 " Hush ! Listen I " she said, holding her 
 
 breath, " some one is knocking at the door of 
 
 the restaurant." 
 
 I listened. The blows on the oak door were 
 
 redoubled. We had the same thought, the same 
 256 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 257 
 
 passing relief, the same hope. If it were He! 
 Perhaps he had reconsidered the matter, after 
 his impulse of madness ! 
 
 And, without asking who was knocking at 
 this late hour, she rushed to the door and 
 opened it. 
 
 It was not Otto I 
 
 " What is it you want? " she demanded in a 
 surly tone. 
 
 The stranger replied: 
 
 " Look here I I've met with an accident to 
 my motor-cycle. It is impossible to go farther. 
 Have you a room? " 
 
 Pauline Steurs was going to bang the door in 
 the intruder's face. I stopped her movement. 
 I had recognised the voice of Monsieur 
 Theodule. 
 
 I raised the lantern I was holding in my hands 
 above my head, so as to throw the light full 
 upon his face. 
 
 " Come in I" I said. . . . "You have ar- 
 rived at the right time." 
 
 The landlady of the tavern had no leisure to 
 show her astonishment at seeing me speak to the 
 
258 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 traveller as an acquaintance. . . . The latter 
 had pushed his machine into the hall and, tak- 
 ing off his leather gloves, held out his hand 
 to me. 
 
 " You look very much upset." 
 
 " There is good reason for it I " I re- 
 plied. 
 
 I had not the trouble of continuing. 
 
 Frangois, the blacksmith, who, from over the 
 way, had noticed this going and coming, ap- 
 peared to ask out of curiosity what was hap- 
 pening. His wife had accompanied him. Pau- 
 line Steurs burst into sobs, wailing to her: 
 
 *' You will take care of the boy, Ludivine ! 
 Ah! this would surely be the last of the mis- 
 fortunes I " 
 
 I had drawn Monsieur Theodule aside into a 
 corner of the kitchen. 
 
 " If Otto van Brymans has carried out his 
 plan," I said, " you will have a very good chance 
 of finding him dead ! " 
 
 Monsieur Theodule fairly jumped. 
 
 " What are you saying? " 
 
 " Let your machine stay here. It would only 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 259 
 
 be in your way in following the very bad road 
 which leads to the cliffs. Accompany us on foot, 
 if you feel inclined to do so." 
 
 The man confronting me was no longer either 
 the correspondent of / Know Everything nor 
 the pseudo'-archffiologist, but an Inspector of 
 Police, openly, who perceives his prey escaping 
 him at the exact moment when he believes he 
 is about to lay his hand upon it I 
 
 In two or three curt sentences he made me 
 recall to mind the circumstances which had pre- 
 ceded Otto's departure. 
 
 He behaved as if he were demented. 
 
 "Follow me! Let us make haste I Perhaps 
 we shall be able to get there before he takes 
 the law into his own hands ! " 
 
 " Weill " I said, " so there is still the same 
 misunderstanding? ... It is Franz after 
 whom you will run, while we are all going to the 
 help of Otto!" 
 
 " Is this gentleman coming with us? " asked 
 Pauline Steurs, through her tears. 
 
 " Yes . .. . this gentleman is coming with 
 us!" 
 
26o THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 The blacksmith anxiously approached me, in 
 his turn. 
 
 " You had not foreseen this ! " he said . . . 
 " neither you, nor anybody else . . . and yet, 
 on thinking . . . this could not fail to hap- 
 pen . . . whether it was one, or whether it 
 was the other I " 
 
 Monsieur Theodule, like a man of fore- 
 thought, asked: 
 
 " Where does the mayor of Biville live?" 
 
 It was Frangois, the blacksmith, who an- 
 swered : 
 
 " The mayor is Mattard — the farmer — ^but 
 he has been at Offranville, hunting, since the 
 day before yesterday! However, I am the 
 deputy of the parish, and if his place must be 
 filled, I shall be here I" 
 
 And I noticed the care which Providence had 
 taken to use, in the search for Otto, the police- 
 man charged with arresting Franz, the magis- 
 trate of Biville appointed to establish the sui- 
 cide which I feared, Pauline Steurs, his wife 
 ; . . and I, his last friend. 
 
 We set out in the darkness. Francois guided 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 261 
 
 us, holding the lantern in his hand. Otto van 
 Brymans' wife clung to my arm. Monsieur 
 Theodule, very impatient, walked beside us, 
 thoroughly irritated by this mischance I And 
 I saw that Dick, the spaniel, had followed us in 
 the fields. 
 
 Through the darkness the blacksmith's voice 
 alternated with Pauline Steurs'. Every two min- 
 utes they uttered in turn the same plaintive 
 call: 
 
 "Otto! . . . Otto!" 
 
 And echo alone answered them: 
 
 "Otto! . . . Otto!" 
 
 Monsieur Theodule had the audacity to shout 
 in imitation: 
 
 " Franz ! " 
 
 And echo alone, still in imitation, answered 
 him: 
 
 "Franz!" 
 
 The wind from the open sea had begun to 
 sweep large, threatening clouds across the low- 
 ering sky. Before reaching the cliffs, I thought 
 that we had lost Dick, or that he had returned 
 to the house. I whistled to him ; and at the end 
 
262 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 of five minutes the dog again joined us, at full 
 speed. 
 
 It was to me that his demonstrations were ad- 
 dressed. He leaped up to my shoulders, seemed 
 to want to hold me by my coat, to drag 
 me, to make me turn back, to try to lead 
 me. . . . 
 
 We could guide ourselves sufficiently well, 
 by the help of the lanterns, to climb down the 
 winding staircase, cut in the living rock, which 
 led to the beach. Only Monsieur Theodule, not 
 knowing the difficulties of the descent, walked 
 cautiously — and only Dick would not descend 
 at all. It was useless for me to call, to coax, 
 nothing would avail. 
 
 We explored the shingle, in vain. 
 
 Frangois and Pauline Steurs had resumed 
 their alternate call: 
 
 "Otto I . . . Ottol" 
 
 Their poor, weak cry of distress was lost in 
 the tremendous uproar of the waves and the 
 furious wind. 
 
 The blacksmith, who soon wearied of a 
 search without result, said: 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 263 
 
 " We might as well look for a needle in a 
 haymow ! " 
 
 Monsieur Theodule himself admitted that it 
 would be better to wait until daybreak. 
 
 So we went back to the staircase in the cliffs. 
 We must have formed a strange procession with 
 our lanterns, in the darkness, in the presence of 
 the bellowing sea. 
 
 I was surprised to find Dick, who welcomed 
 me with still more eager demonstrations than 
 when I went away. 
 
 But I was thoroughly perplexed when, on the 
 way home, Dick deliberately refused to let go 
 of the tail of my coat, which he had taken in 
 his mouth. 
 
 He dragged me to the right — in spite of 
 my resistance — to a path that led between two 
 hedges. 
 
 " Where are you going? You are taking the 
 wrong way. Monsieur Aubry I " the blacksmith 
 warned me. 
 
 "No! "I said, " follow mc!" 
 
 Pauline Steurs, without knowing why, re- 
 peated : 
 
264 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 " Let us follow Monsieur Aubry 1 " 
 
 And Monsieur Theodule assented: 
 
 " Yes . . . yes ... let us follow the 
 dog I" 
 
 At the end of forty paces, Dick released me. 
 He was running before us with his nose close 
 to the ground, as if on the track of game. 
 
 We soon lost sight of him. But we speedily 
 heard him. We heard, in the tragic darkness, 
 in the haunting silence, a prolonged howl, his 
 death howl — the howl the good spaniel had ut- 
 tered on the threshold of the inn of The Thiev- 
 ing Magpie the morning he saw me set out in 
 the company of his master, Otto, and Franz, the 
 fish-dealer ! 
 
 We all had the same presentiment. We 
 quickened our pace, and crossed, this time guided 
 solely by the barking of the dog, an orchard of 
 thick-set apple trees which made the darkness 
 more dense. — We stumbled in the grass at every 
 step, striking against some tree-trunk. 
 
 At last Monsieur Theodule, who now pre- 
 ceded us, uttered a cry 
 
 Monsieur Theodule, the first of the party, had 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 265 
 
 just discovered, hanging from the main bough 
 of a cherry tree, by the aid of Franz's famous 
 belt — the body of Otto van Brymans swaying in 
 the wild wind, amid the darkness. 
 
 We were to form, at this moment, a group 
 whose tragedy was unlike that of the one which 
 confronted the sea ! 
 
 Pauline Steurs, mad with terror, had thrown 
 herself into my arms! I felt her shuddering 
 upon my breast, distracted, on the verge of 
 fainting. . . . and I believe that I pressed 
 her tenderly to my heart, and that I kissed her, 
 as I would a sister in sorrow. 
 
 Monsieur Theodule had swiftly unbuckled the 
 leather belt. 
 
 With the help of Francois, he had laid the 
 body on the grass, and kneeling near the inert 
 form, he slowly moved the light of the lantern 
 over the face, whose eyes were already fixed and 
 glassy — the countenance which was so exactly the 
 visage of Franz upon the slab in the Morgue! 
 
 Monsieur Theodule knew the first remedies 
 to be applied in such a case. . . . But all these 
 efforts were useless. 
 
266 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 He soon recognised it, with a gesture of de- 
 spair, to which was added a remark which would 
 not have been expected under such circum- 
 stances : 
 
 " This is decidedly bad luck." 
 
 Frangois, the blacksmith, uttered a heavy sigh. 
 
 " My poor friend I His brain was not strong 
 enough to bear the loss of Franz, his unfortu- 
 nate brother ! " 
 
 But I heeded neither the policeman's words, 
 nor the blacksmith's remark. 
 
 My attention was otherwise attracted. My 
 attention and, I may say, distracted as the poor 
 woman might be, the attention of Pauline 
 Steurs were arrested by the attitude — the atti- 
 tude, there is no other word — of Dick, the span- 
 iel, whose instinct — surely a disconcerting fact — 
 was neither superior, nor inferior to our intel- 
 ligence. 
 
 Dick was now licking the hand of the corpse. 
 
 Dick, with genuine howls of grief, was 
 mourning his master. 
 
 Dick, in a word, with his instinct seemed to 
 recognise Otto, dead, when he had hesitated, 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 267 
 
 like human beings with their intelligence, to 
 recognise him, living. 
 
 And this sudden change in the instinct of an 
 animal caused me more suffering than all the 
 rest — more than the alteration of Francois's 
 opinion — more than the last farewell cry of Pau- 
 line Steurs, before at this spectacle she fainted 
 in my arms — a cry of irresistible pity, a cry of 
 absolution, perhaps — a human cry, unquestion- 
 ably. 
 
 "Otto! ... my poor Otto!" 
 
XXV 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 It is very probable that I shall never again see 
 the little village of Biville-sur-Mer, on the side 
 of the Eu road, three kilometers from the beach, 
 where, in the humble cemetery which surrounds 
 the church now rest, side by side, Otto and 
 Pranz van Brymans. 
 
 A single gravestone, a wooden cross, is 
 erected to their memory. Having always lived 
 together, they lie in the same tomb, so alike, 
 even more alike -than during their lives, with 
 their right hands each now lacking the little 
 finger I 
 
 There is no farther error possible, no more 
 barren discussions. The same epitaph covers 
 them with its eternal ambiguity : 
 
 Here Rest the Van Brymans Brothers 
 
 It is very probable that I shall never again see 
 Pauline Steurs, who has returned to her native 
 
 368 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 269 
 
 region, at Borgerhout, with her little Fritz, 
 after having sold the landed property which 
 she had inherited from her uncle Leopold, as 
 well as the tavern of The Thieving Magpie, to 
 Frangois, the blacksmith, who, though already 
 too old to strike the anvil, has all the qualifica- 
 tions required to make an excellent innkeeper, 
 the love of appetisers and the passion for 
 dominoes. 
 
 It is probable that I shall never return to 
 Dieppe, where Pauline Mutel kept a little shop 
 to earn her living in the Place Moulin-a- 
 Vent. She has retained too frightful a remem- 
 brance of this city. And since she has once 
 more become my lawful wife, I am the hap- 
 piest of men. I had this year, at the Na- 
 tional, a great success of curiosity with her 
 portrait. 
 
 I ask myself, as I did formerly, if the hidden 
 purpose, the secret design of this tragedy was 
 not solely our reunion, after a three-years' 
 divorce ? 
 
 Yes, I am well aware of the disproportion 
 there would be between the cause and the effect, 
 
270 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 as I formerly said to Monsieur Marathon, con- 
 cerning the tragedy itself. 
 
 In the end, our reunion must be the only re- 
 sult — I could willingly say the only appreciable 
 result. 
 
 And Pauline does appreciate It with a grate- 
 ful fervour which perhaps I do not entirely de- 
 serve. We have forgiven each other the mutual 
 wrongs that a stupid court of justice had con- 
 ferred upon us in relation to one another 1 I was 
 impelled to act in this manner, not through pity, 
 but by what I believed to be my strict duty. 
 
 And I even think that, aside from my duty, 
 an irresistible sympathy led me to it. 
 
 I cannot remember even now, without great 
 pleasure, the surpassing joy which I brought to 
 the poor woman, who, after all, had been, she 
 above all, only a victim of Franz, when after the 
 burial of the van Brymans brothers and the 
 closing of the investigation which ended in no 
 ground for prosecution, I went to see her in the 
 Place Moulin-a-Vent, and told her what I had 
 not had the courage to say on the day of my 
 release. 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 271 
 
 " Let us fly together 1 Let us forget this city 
 where you have been so unhappy." 
 
 I can still see the scene just as it occurred. I 
 see Pauline Mutel burst into tears and kneel 
 beseeching my forgiveness for a past which I 
 had no occasion to pardon, and blessing me as 
 her deliverer. 
 
 I can still see our preparations for departure 
 from the Rue Tete-de-Boeuf — our haste to leave 
 this city, to which a letter from the artist Albert 
 Lebourg had brought me as an artist, a 
 dilettante. 
 
 I see once more Maitre Croulebarbe, my de- 
 voted counsel, coming to bid me farewell 
 with a very dejected manner, and saying to 
 me: 
 
 " You do well to go away from here. Mon- 
 sieur Aubry. You have everybody against you 
 . . . those who take sides with Franz, as well 
 as those who uphold Otto I However the mat- 
 ter may be classed. Judge Marathon and the 
 prosecuting attorney are always contending over 
 it . . . from pure love of arguing. But 
 where they do agree, to be sure, is to admit that, 
 
272 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 morally, you are the principal person who is re- 
 sponsible, in the affair." 
 
 " I ? " I exclaimed, startled. 
 
 " Yes, you I It is you who have given those 
 who maintain that Franz hung himself, driven 
 to the deed through remorse for his abominable 
 crime, the first reasons for this hypothesis. 
 
 " It is again you, by your last attitude, who 
 furnish the others, those who believe that Otto 
 could not survive the grief of having lost his 
 brother, the appearance of being in the right 1 
 
 " Monsieur Theodule, himself, tells whoever 
 cares to listen that you have impeded the course 
 of justice and rendered impossible, at the last 
 minute, a search which bid fair to be crowned 
 with success within forty-eight hours! Mon- 
 sieur Marathon has flung his Conan Doyle into 
 the fire and sent to the deuce the Sherlock 
 Holmeses, from under whose feet you and the 
 last of the van Brymans brothers have fairly cut 
 the ground away. 
 
 " You have a personal enemy in the prosecut- 
 ing attorney, and you are doing well to leave 
 the city, as well as Madame Pauline Mutel, who 
 
THE MISSING FINGER 273 
 
 could not continue her business a week longer, 
 without being an object of public prosecution. 
 A crime has been committed . . . " 
 
 I remember that just at this point I inter- 
 rupted my lawyer, who had never been so much 
 imposed upon, and said to him : 
 
 " A crime has been committed — evidently, my 
 dear Maitre, you can say nothing better, and 
 you can say nothing more! But it is no fault 
 of mine if people were unwilling, either to un- 
 derstand me at first or to comprehend me after- 
 ward. — They would not listen to me when I 
 declared : ' I deny you all authority to conduct 
 an investigation of which only the surviving van 
 Brymans brother holds all the clues in his hand I ' 
 And they would not comprehend me afterward, 
 when I added : ' Innocence has aphony, and it is 
 human folly to try to make it speak ! ' And it is 
 now — really it is high time — that people grant 
 what I have said a forced attention! If the 
 prosecuting attorney, the judge, the excitable 
 population of the city — divided into two camps, 
 those who side with Otto and those who side 
 with Franz — if each of these had a little 
 
274 THE MISSING FINGER 
 
 philosophy— a little of yours and a little of mine 
 — each would accept your formula, which is the 
 good, the only true one. 
 
 " A crime has been committed . . . and 
 the most extraordinary thing is, not that the 
 name of the assassin will never be revealed, but 
 that the victims also will remain concealed, 
 whatever may be the pretension of knowing 
 either the one or the other 1 " 
 
 And is not this the only conclusion to give to 
 the tragical adventure in which I was involved, 
 led by fate or by chance, as the reader will be- 
 lieve — according to his choice? 
 
 THE END 
 
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 N.B.» BIBLIO CLAST « N^B. ♦ BIBllO SNITCH • N.t 
 THIS BOOK IS LOANED YOU, READER, TO AMUSE, 
 TO READ, TO TEACH, TO STUDY, NOT ABUSE. 
 DONt DOfi m EARS, DONt PENCIL ITS INSIDE, 
 DONtTURN IT DOWN NOR OPEN ITTOOWIDE. 
 
 WHY SPOIL ITS LOOKS AND 6IVE ITS BACK THE'BENDS"? 
 
 READ PROMPTLY AND RErURN,IT MAY HAVE OTHER FRIENDS.