With one knee resting on his portmanteau, JÉrÔme Fandor was pulling with all the force of his powerful arms at the straps in order to buckle them up.

It was Sunday, November the thirteenth, and five o'clock in the afternoon. The flat was brilliantly illuminated, and the greatest disorder reigned throughout.

At last Fandor was off for his holiday! Not to risk losing his train, our journalist meant to dine at the Lyons railway station.

"Ouf!" cried he, when he had succeeded in cramming his mass of garments sufficiently tight, and had then closed the portmanteau.

Fandor uttered a sigh of satisfaction. This time there could be no doubt about his departure—the thing was certain. He was casting a final glance round when he stopped short in the middle of the passage.

The door-bell had been rung: evidently someone was at the entrance door. Who was it? What was it? Had something arisen which was going to prevent his departure? He went quickly to the door. He opened it to find a soldier on the landing.

"Monsieur Fandor?" he enquired in a gentle, rather husky voice.

"Yes. What is it you want?" replied the journalist crossly.

The soldier came forward a step: then, as if making an effort, he articulated painfully:

"Will you permit me to enter? I am most anxious to speak to you."

Fandor, with a movement of the hand, signified that the importunate stranger might come inside. He observed the man closely. He was quite young, and wore infantry uniform: his stripes were those of a corporal. His hair was brown, and his light eyes were in marked contrast to the much darker tones of his face. A slight moustache shaded his lip.

The corporal followed Fandor into his study, and stood still with an embarrassed air. The journalist considered him an instant, then asked:

"To whom have I the honour of speaking?"

This question appeared to tear the soldier from a kind of dream. He jumped, then mechanically stood at attention, as if before a superior officer.

"I am Corporal Vinson."

Fandor nodded, tried to remember him, but in vain. The name told him nothing....

"I have not the honour to be known to you, Monsieur, but I know you very well through your articles."

Then he continued in almost a supplicating tone:

"I greatly need speech with you, Monsieur."...

"Another bore," said Fandor to himself, "who wants to get me to give him a recommendation of some sort!"

Our journalist boiled with impatience at the thought of the precious minutes he was losing. He would have to cut his dinner short if he did not wish to miss the night express. Nevertheless, wishing to lessen the unpleasant reception he had given this unwelcome visitor, he murmured in a tone which was cold, all the same:

"Pray be seated, Monsieur: I am listening to you!"

Corporal Vinson seemed greatly agitated.

The invitation was evidently very opportune, for the visitor let himself fall heavily into an arm-chair. Great drops of perspiration were on his forehead, his lips were pallid: at intervals he looked at the journalist, whose impassible countenance did not seem to invite confidences. The poor trooper lost countenance more and more: Fandor remained silent.

At last Vinson managed to say, in a voice strangling with emotion:

"Ah! Monsieur, excuse me for having come to disturb you like this, but I was determined to tell you ... to know you—to express to you ... how I appreciate your talent, your way of writing ... how I like the ideas you express in your paper!... There was your last article, so just, so ... charitable!"

"You are very kind, Monsieur," interrupted Fandor, "and I am much obliged to you; but, if it is the same to you, we might arrange a meeting for another day, because now I am very pressed for time."...

Fandor made as if to rise to emphasise his statement; but Corporal Vinson, far from imitating the movement, sank deeper and deeper in the large arm-chair, into which he had literally fallen a few minutes before, and with an accent of profound anguish, for he understood Fandor's desire to shorten the conversation, he cried with a groan:

"Ah, Monsieur, do not send me away! If I keep silence now, I shall never have the courage to speak—but I must."...

The soldier's countenance was so full of alarm that Fandor regretted his first movement of ill-temper, his show of impatience. Perhaps this man had interesting things to say! He must give the fellow confidence. Fandor smiled.

"Very well," he suggested amiably, "let us have a talk if you really wish it."...

Corporal Vinson considered Fandor a moment, thanking him with a look for his more cordial attitude; then suddenly drawing himself up into a standing position, he shouted:

"Monsieur Fandor ... I am a traitor!"

Though far from expecting so brutal a declaration, Fandor sat tight. He well knew that in such circumstances comments are useless. He rose slowly, approached the soldier, and, placing his hands on the agitated man's shoulders, pushed him back into the arm-chair.

"Control yourself, Monsieur, I beg of you," he said in a kind voice. "You must not upset yourself like this! Be calm!"

Great tears flowed down the corporal's sunburnt cheeks, and Fandor considered him, not knowing how to console so great, so spontaneous a grief.

Amidst his despair, Corporal Vinson stammered out:

"Yes, Monsieur, it's because of a woman—you will understand—you who write articles in which you say that there should be pity for such unfortunates as I am—for one is a miserable wretch when a woman has you in her clutches, and you have no money—and then, with that sort, once you have started getting mixed up in their affairs, you are jolly well caught—you have to do as you are told—and always they ask more and more of you.... Ah, Monsieur, the death of Captain Brocq is a frightful disaster! As for me.... If I have turned traitor—it is their fault."...

The corporal murmured some unintelligible words, pronouncing names unknown to Fandor; but our journalist was rejoicing more and more at this outpouring.

Suddenly he got the impression that the mysterious happenings, the obscure drama he had been on the fringe of for some days past was becoming clear, that the veil of ignorance was being torn away. Fandor had the sensation of being a spectator, before whose eyes a curtain was slowly rising which until then had concealed the scenery of the play.

The corporal continued, stammeringly:

"Ah, Monsieur, you do not know what it is to have for your mistress such a woman as ... she whom I love, ... such a woman as ... Nichoune! Nichoune! Ah, all ChÂlons knows what she is like. Her wickedness is well known ... but for all that, there is not a man who."...

Fandor interrupted:

"But, my good corporal, why are you telling me all this?"

"Why, Monsieur," replied Vinson, after a pause and a piteous look, "because—it's because ... I have sworn to tell you everything before I die!"

"Hang it all! What do you mean to do?" asked Fandor.

The corporal replied simply, but his tone was decisive:

"I mean to kill myself!"

From this moment it was Fandor who, far from wishing to start off for his train—he had given up any idea of leaving for the South that evening—was bent on getting from the soldier further details about his life.

Fandor now learned that the corporal had been in the service some fifteen months. He had been among the first conscripts affected by the new law of two years' compulsory service, and had been sent to the 214th of the line, in garrison at ChÂlons. Owing to his qualities he had been much appreciated by all his superior officers. As soon as he had finished his classes, he obtained his corporal's stripes, and in consideration of his very good handwriting, and also owing to the influence of a commandant, he got a snug post as secretary in the offices of the fortress itself.

Vinson was thoroughly satisfied with his new situation; for, having been brought up in his mother's petticoats, and practically the whole of his adolescence having been passed behind the counter of the maternal book-shop, he had much more the temperament of a clerk than of an active out-of-doors man.

The only sport which he enjoyed was riding, riding a bicycle, and the only luxury he allowed himself was photography.

Time passed. Then, one Sunday evening, he went with some comrades to a ChÂlons music-hall.

Vinson's chief companions were some non-commissioned officers, a little better off than he was.... Without being lavish in their expenditure, these young fellows did not reckon up their every penny, and, not wishing to be behindhand, Vinson had sent to his mother for money again and again, and she had kept him in funds.

On this particular evening, after the concert, they had invited some of the performers to supper in a private room, and Vinson, in the course of the entertainment, was attracted, fascinated, by a tall girl with dyed hair, emaciated cheeks, and brilliant eyes, whose flashy manners smacking of some low suburb, had subjugated him completely.

Vinson made an impression on the singer, for she did not respond to the advances of a swaggering sergeant, reputed generous, but turned her attentions to the modest corporal.

They talked, and they discovered they were affinities. The result was they found themselves at daybreak on the deserted boulevard of ChÂlons. The corporal's leave did not expire till the evening of the following day. Nichoune offered him hospitality: they became lovers.

Vinson's heart was in this liaison: he persuaded himself that the chain that bound them was indissoluble. The singer's idea was to profit by it. Her demands for money were constant: she harried her lover for money.

Little by little, Vinson's mother cut off supplies: the corporal, incapable of breaking with Nichoune, ran up debts in the town.

"But," went on Vinson, "this is only the beginning. I have told you this, Monsieur, with the hope of excusing myself to a certain extent for what I did later on. My actions were the outcome and consequences of my difficulties."

"Something serious?" questioned Fandor.

"You shall judge of that, Monsieur."

Vinson went on with his confession in a firmer tone. Fandor realised that the corporal had decided to make a clean breast of it.

"It sometimes happened after I had had a scene with Nichoune, and had quitted her in a fury, that I would go for a long bicycle ride into the country, taking my shame and rage with me. On a certain Saturday, bestriding my faithful bike, I went for a spin along the dusty high-road which runs past the camp. After going at high speed, I dismounted, seated myself under a tree in the shade, by the side of a ditch, and was falling asleep. It was summer, the sun was pouring down. A cyclist stopped in front of me with a punctured tyre. He asked me to lend him the wherewithal to repair it; and whilst the solution was drying we started talking.

"This individual was about thirty; elegantly dressed; and from the way he expressed himself, one could see that he was a man accustomed to good society.

"He told me he was making a tour, and was now doing the neighbourhood about Reims and ChÂlons.

"'Not very picturesque country,' I remarked.

"But he retorted;

"'It is interesting—the roads, for example, are complicated!'

"I began to laugh at this, and as he insisted on the difficulty he had to find his way in these parts, I offered to let him look at my Staff-office map. I carried a copy in my blazer.... Ah, Monsieur—how well Alfred played his little comedy! That is what he called himself, at least, that was the name he was known by—the only name I have ever known. He seemed absolutely stupefied at the sight of this map, ordinary though as it was, and seemed set on buying it from me. I did not want to part with it. He offered five francs for it. I expressed my astonishment that he would not wait till he got to ChÂlons, where he could procure one like it for the sum of twenty sous.

"'Bah!' declared Alfred, 'It gives me pleasure to pay you that sum—it is a way of thanking you for having lent me the use of your cycle outfit.'

"My faith, Monsieur Fandor, I was too beggared to say 'No!' so I accepted the money, while making excuses for myself: my plea being that a soldier is not a rich man.

"I pass over details. It is sufficient to say that when we returned to ChÂlons together, we were such good friends that he asked me to dine with him. When he saw me back to barracks, Alfred pressed a loan on me. I had told him about Nichoune, and about the pecuniary difficulties I was in, for by this time, I had full confidence in him. He slipped a twenty-franc piece into my hand with an air of authority: 'When you become a civilian again,' said he, 'you will easily be able to pay me back; and besides, to salve your pride, I am going to ask you shortly to do me a few services. I often have little things done. I shall entrust the doing of them to you, and shall pay you accordingly.'...

"You understand, Monsieur Fandor, that there was no reason for refusing, that I could see, especially as he made the offer very nicely, and that it came in the nick of time, at the very moment when—I have to admit it—I would have done anything for money....

"After this we met frequently. Alfred used to send me invitations, and often he included Nichoune. He never would let me pay for anything; and, I must confess, that the greater part of the time I should have found it very difficult indeed to pay a sou!

"We always met at some appointed place outside the town: he would not stay in ChÂlons longer than he could help, because he said the air there was bad for his delicate lungs. He was particularly interested in aviation, and he was for ever getting me to pilot him about the aviation camp.

"'You who draw so well,' he would say; 'make me a plan of this apparatus!... Explain to me how these huts are constructed!'

"He would question me as to the effectives of the regiments, ask me details as to estimates, statements, and returns which passed through my hands in the offices.

"Finally, one day, as I had no inkling of what he was really aiming at, Alfred put me on to it!"...

The corporal stopped. His throat was strained and dry.

Fandor brought him a glass of water, which he swallowed at a gulp. With a grateful look he continued:

"'Vinson,' said Alfred to me, 'I have confidence in you, and you know how discreet I am! Very well, I have a superb piece of business in hand which ought to bring us in a great deal of money. A stranger with whom I came into contact recently, who is a very good fellow, who has been obliged to leave his country owing to troubles that were brought on him, possesses a document, a very interesting one, which would be much valued at the Staff Headquarters of the Sixth Corps. He needs money and would be willing to sell it. I tried to buy it from him, but I have not the necessary funds. I was seeking a solution of the difficulty, when this stranger asked me to procure him some photographs of the ChÂlons barracks, in exchange for which he would give me his document. He needs these photographs for postcard purposes. If we could supply him with them in three days, not only will he give us his important paper, but he will pay twenty francs for each proof as well!'

"Ah, Monsieur Fandor, this story did not hang together, but I was actually weak enough to believe it! Or at least I tried to make myself believe it. Besides, this proposal of Alfred's came just in time: I had not a sou to my name! Nichoune was making a terrible row, and I hardly dared venture into the streets, I had so many creditors.

"I tried to square matters with my conscience: telling myself that there was nothing compromising connected with these photographs: in fact, views of our barracks are to be found in any album on sale, however small.

"Later on, I learned that this was a method they employed to decoy the guides, to draw them securely into their toils. They first of all give them very insignificant things to do, in order not to frighten them, and pay a high price: it is afterwards that they fasten you up tight. You shall see how."...

Fandor nodded. It was nearly time to catch the train, but he thought no more of the CÔte d'Azur! He was too interested in the corporal's confession, and felt that by letting him speak he would learn more, he would learn much. He therefore encouraged Vinson to continue. The corporal asked nothing better.

"The photographs taken, I rejoined Alfred, who had told me to be sure to get leave for forty-eight hours, whatever happened. Alfred dragged me to the railway station; he had two tickets. We went off to Nancy, where, said he, we should find the purchaser. At Nancy, no one; whoever it was, had gone to a street in one of the suburbs. We waited in a little flat. Towards four in the afternoon Alfred said to me: 'Bah! Don't let us hesitate any longer. If the stranger has not come, it is because he is waiting for us elsewhere—I know where—let us go to meet him—at Metz!"

"'At Metz!' I cried. 'But we should have to cross the frontier, and I have not ...'

"Alfred interrupted me, laughing. He opened a press and brought out civilian clothes, then he took wigs from a drawer, and a false beard. At the end of half-an-hour we were disguised; an hour later we were in Lorraine. We left the train there. It was there that, for the first time, I began to be afraid, for it seemed to me that when leaving the station at Metz, Alfred exchanged a quick glance with the policeman on duty. Ah, Monsieur Fandor, how I have regretted this journey! Directly we were in a foreign country, Alfred's attitude towards me changed: he was no longer the friend, he was the master. He had got me, the rogue, and jolly tight too!

"'Where are we going?' I asked.

"Alfred chuckled.

"'By jove! can't you guess?' he replied. 'Why, we are going to the Wornerstrasse, to visit Major Schwartz of the Intelligence Department.'

"'I shall not go!' I declared.

"Alfred's look was a menace.

"'You will come,' said he, in a low voice. 'Consider! If you refuse, at the end of five minutes the police will have unmasked you!'...

"There was nothing else to be done. I knew this Intelligence Department already, by reputation. Alfred had spoken to me about it. It was a vast suite of rooms on the first floor of a middle-class house, where a number of men in civilian clothes were at work. They all bore the military stamp. We had to wait in a large room filled with draughtsmen and typewriters, and on the wall hung a map, on a huge scale, of the frontier of the Vosges.

"Alfred sent in his name.

"A few minutes afterwards we were ushered into an office. A big man, seated behind a table heaped with bundles of papers, scrutinised us over his spectacles: he was bald, and wore a thick square-cut fair beard. He examined the photographs without a word, threw them carelessly on a set of shelves, and took from his drawer ten louis in French money, which he counted out to me. Of any document in exchange there was, of course, no question! I thought everything was finished, and I was preparing to leave this abominable place when the big man put his hand on my arm. It was Major Schwartz himself, the chief of the spy system there—I learned that later. He said to me in very correct French, with hardly a trace of accent to betray his origin:

"'Corporal Vinson, we have paid you lavishly for information of no value, but you will have to serve us better than that, and we shall continue to treat you well.'

"I thought I should have fainted when I heard my name pronounced by this man. It was clear he already knew my rank and name.... He knew much more than that—as the conversation which followed let me see. He informed me that he wished to obtain a complete statement of the organisation of the dirigibles and aeroplanes; he must have the characteristics of all the apparatus; a list of the Flying Service Corps: he exacted even more confidential information still—where the aviators and the aircraft were to be moved if mobilisation took place—the whole bag of tricks, in fact!"

"And," asked Fandor, hesitating a little, "you have ... supplied him with all this?"

In a voice so low as to be barely audible, and blushing to the roots of his hair, Vinson confessed:

"I supplied it all!"

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Not yet, Monsieur—listen:

"Alfred had gone back with me as far as Nancy, where I had put on my uniform again; then I returned to ChÂlons quite by myself.

"I asked myself if it would be possible to get clear away from the terrible set I was mixed up with. Try as I might, I could not manage it. Every day Alfred harried me, threatened me: I had to obey him. Then almost on the top of this came the affair of Captain Brocq."

Fandor had been waiting for this. He had foreseen that he was going to learn what the connecting link was, which united the adventures of Corporal Vinson with the drama of the Place de l'Étoile, but his expectations were not fulfilled.... True enough, Vinson, through the mysterious intervention of his redoubtful friends, was to enter into relations with Captain Brocq, to whom he had been recommended, how or in what terms he did not know.

The business hung fire for several weeks, and this was owing to Vinson himself, whose moods alternated from one of shrinking disgust to one of bravado courage.

"At times," said he, "I wished to break with them at any cost, and become honest once more; but, alas, I was always under the evil influence of Nichoune, who was a very close friend of Alfred, and the pair of them encouraged me to tread the traitor's path without faltering. Then, without breathing a word, I put in a request through the proper channel for a change of garrison. I hoped to get sent either to the West or the South; above all, I was bent on leaving the Sixth Corps, on flying from the frontier neighbourhood, and finishing my service in some district or region where it would be impossible for them to make me their spy tool. But, I do not know how—was it through Nichoune?—I expect so, because I had unluckily confided this secret to her one evening—Alfred got wind of what I was up to. He flew into a fearful rage. Suddenly he quieted down, and began to laugh.

"'Ah, my boy, I am going to play a good joke on you!'

"It was a terrible joke—it is that still, Monsieur! Listen to what happened! I got my exchange all right: it is on that account I have eight days' leave; but next Monday, November 21st, before midday, I must report to my new regiment. But this regiment, the 257th Infantry, is in garrison at Verdun!... You grasp it?"

"I begin to," murmured Fandor.

"At Verdun," continued Vinson, who had risen, and was walking to and fro, pressing his head between his hands, a prey to an indescribable anguish.... "At Verdun! That is to say at the frontier itself! That means I shall be in the thick of all that lot—at their mercy!... Oh, the trick had been well thought out, carefully contrived! I have got away from the wasp's nest only to tumble into the middle of the swarm! Oh, Monsieur, I am losing my head absolutely! I feel that they have me tight, that it is impossible to get free of them and, what is more, I am afraid of being taken up ... yes. These last few days at ChÂlons I have been terrified: I believe that they suspect me, that they suspect Nichoune, that my superiors have me under supervision! Directly after the announcement of Captain Brocq's assassination appeared in the papers, all this descended on me as swiftly as a tempest. Oh, I am lost! Lost!!... I wished to come and make an open confession of all my shame to you that, by means of an article in your paper, you may put young soldiers on their guard, those who, owing to a mad infatuation for some abominable women, or through need of money, should be disposed to follow my wretched example some cursed day or other—yes, my damnable example!"

The corporal fell down in the middle of the room, fell down like a crumpled rag: he sobbed.

Fandor pitied this miserable creature who had sunk so low. He raised him gently.

"Vinson," he declared, "you must not die. Remember you have a mother! Listen! Be brave! Summon your courage! Tell your chiefs everything—everything!"

The wretched man shook his head.

"Never! Never, Monsieur—I could not do it. Think, Monsieur: it is the vilest of vile things I have done—I, a soldier of France—of France, Monsieur!... You spoke of my mother! It is because of her I wish to kill myself! You must know that she is an Alsatian!... She would go mad—mad, Monsieur, if she learned that her son has betrayed France!... This evening Corporal Vinson will no longer exist—it will be well finished with him!"

There was a great silence.

Fandor, with his arms folded and anxious brow, was pacing up and down his study, seeking a solution of this frightful problem, asking himself what was to be done.... He saw that this miserable Vinson was caught in the wheels of a terrible machine, from which it was almost impossible to snatch him into safety. Nevertheless, his conscience revolted at the idea that he should do nothing to avert this wretched lad's suicide. He must stop Vinson—he must certainly save him from himself at any price, save him doubly!

Then Fandor saw further than this.

He perceived that good may come out of evil: perhaps through Vinson and his relations with this nefarious nest of spies, they would succeed in clearing up the dark mystery surrounding the death of Captain Brocq. Evidently all these happenings were interconnected!...

With his mind's eye, Fandor saw this foreign spy system under the form of an immense—a vast spider's web. Could one but lay hands on the originator of the initial thread, or the master-spider himself, then they could strike at the extreme ends of this evil tissue.

Fandor admonished Vinson for a long time. Our journalist was now eloquent, now persuasive: he heaped argument on argument, he appealed to his self-respect, to duty! When at last he saw that the young corporal hesitated, that a faint gleam of hope appeared, that a vague desire for rehabilitation was born in him, he stopped short and demanded abruptly:

"Vinson, are you still bent on killing yourself?"

The corporal communed with himself a moment, closed his eyes, and, without a touch of insincerity, replied in a steady voice:

"Yes, I have decided to do it."

"In that case," said Fandor, "will you look on the deed as done, and take it that you are no longer in existence?"

The corporal stared at Fandor, speechless, absolutely dumbfounded. Fandor made his idea more definite.

"From this moment you do not exist any more, you are nothing, you are no longer Corporal Vinson."...

"And then?"...

But Fandor must have a definite promise.

"Is this agreed to?"...

"I agree."

"Swear it!"

"I swear it!"

"Very well, Vinson, you now belong to me, you are my property, my chattel; I am going to give you my instructions, and they must be strictly obeyed, carried out!"

The miserable soldier seemed crushed to the earth; but with a movement of his head he signified that he was prepared to do whatever the journalist ordered.