CHAPTER 235: THE THIEF’S FLIGHT: II

"Ha!" the officer said, understanding the trick immediately. "Bad sign to find the door open! I’d prefer it triple-locked."

The note and pin on the table confirmed the sad truth that Andrea had fled.

But the officer was too experienced to be convinced by a single piece of evidence. He glanced around, checked the bed, shook the curtains, opened closets, and finally stopped at the fireplace.

Andrea had carefully left no footprints in the ashes, but the chimney was still an exit and couldn’t be ignored.

The officer had soldiers bring sticks and straw. They filled the chimney and lit it. Fire crackled and smoke rose like vapor from a volcano, but no prisoner fell down as expected.

The truth was, Andrea had been at war with society since childhood. He was just as clever as any officer and had prepared for the fire. He’d climbed onto the roof and was crouching behind chimney pots.

For a moment he thought he was saved when he heard the officer shout to his men: "He’s not here!"

But when Andrea carefully peeked out, he saw that instead of leaving as expected, they were watching with even more attention.

Now it was his turn to look around. The massive sixteenth-century Town Hall building was on his right. Anyone in the tower could look down and examine every corner of the roof. Andrea expected a soldier’s head to appear at any moment.

If discovered, he knew he’d be lost, the roof offered no escape. He decided to descend, not through the same chimney he’d climbed up, but through a similar one leading to another room. He looked for a chimney with no smoke coming out, found one, and disappeared through the opening unseen.

At the same instant, a window of the Town Hall flew open and a soldier’s head appeared. It remained motionless like a stone decoration, then after a long sigh of disappointment, it disappeared.

The officer, calm and dignified as the law he represented, passed through the crowd without answering the thousand questions thrown at him and reentered the hotel.

"Well?" asked the two soldiers.

"Well, boys," the officer said, "the criminal must have escaped early this morning. But we’ll send word to the Villers-Coterets and Noyon roads and search the forest. We’ll catch him, no doubt."

He’d barely finished speaking in that tone peculiar to military officers when a loud scream accompanied by violent bell-ringing echoed through the courtyard.

"Ah, what’s that?" the officer exclaimed.

"Some traveler seems impatient," the host said. "Which room was that?"

"Number Three."

"Run, waiter!"

The screams and ringing intensified.

"Ah," said the officer, stopping the servant, "whoever’s ringing needs more than a waiter. We’ll attend to them with a soldier. Who’s in Number Three?"

"The young man who arrived last night in a post-coach with his sister. They requested a room with two beds."

The bell rang a third time with another shriek of anguish.

"Follow me, Inspector!" said the officer. "Stay close."

"Wait," said the host. "Number Three has two staircases, inside and outside."

"Good," the officer replied. "I’ll take the inside staircase. Are the rifles loaded?"

"Yes, officer."

"Then you guard the outside. If he tries to escape, shoot him. He must be a serious criminal according to the telegraph."

The officer and inspector disappeared up the inside staircase, accompanied by excited noise from the crowd as word spread about Andrea.

This is what had happened:

Andrea had cleverly descended two-thirds of the chimney, but then his foot slipped. Despite his efforts, he tumbled into the room with more speed and noise than intended.

It would have meant little if the room were empty.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

Two women sleeping in one bed were awakened by the noise. Their eyes fixed on the source of the sound, and they saw a man.

One woman, the fair-haired one, screamed in terror. The other rushed to the bell-rope and rang with all her strength.

Andrea found himself surrounded by misfortune.

"Please," he cried, pale and bewildered, not even seeing who he was addressing. "Please don’t call for help! Save me! I won’t hurt you!"

"Andrea, the murderer!" one woman cried.

"Eugénie! Miss Danglars!" Andrea gasped in shock.

"Help, help!" cried Louise d’Armilly, grabbing the bell from her companion and ringing even more violently.

"Save me, I’m being chased!" Andrea pleaded, clasping his hands together. "Please, have mercy, don’t turn me in!"

"It’s too late, they’re coming," Eugénie said coldly.

"Then hide me somewhere! You can say you were needlessly alarmed. You can turn away their suspicions and save my life!"

The two women pressed close together, pulling the bedclothes tight around them. They remained silent, overwhelmed by fear and disgust.

"Fine," Eugénie finally said. "Go back the way you came, and we’ll say nothing about you, you miserable wretch."

"Here he is, here he is!" a voice shouted from the landing. "Here he is! I see him!"

The officer had looked through the keyhole and spotted Andrea in his pleading posture. A violent blow from a rifle butt burst the lock open. Two more blows forced out the bolts, and the broken door crashed inward.

Andrea ran toward the other door leading to the gallery, ready to rush out, but he stopped short. He stood with his body thrown back, pale, clutching the useless knife in his hand.

"Run!" cried Louise, whose pity returned as her fear diminished. "Run!"

"Or kill yourself!" said Eugénie in the tone an ancient priestess might have used when urging a victorious gladiator to finish his defeated opponent.

Andrea shuddered and looked at the young woman with an expression showing how little he understood such fierce honor.

"Kill myself?" he cried, throwing down his knife. "Why would I do that?"

"You said yourself," Eugénie replied, "that you’d be condemned to die like the worst criminals."

"Bah," Andrea said, crossing his arms. "I have friends."

The officer advanced on him, sword in hand.

"Come now," Andrea said, "put away your sword, friend. There’s no need for drama since I’m surrendering." He held out his hands to be handcuffed.

The young women watched in horror as this shameful transformation unfolded, the gentleman shedding his disguise to reveal the convict beneath.

Andrea turned toward them with an insolent smile. "Do you have any message for your father, Miss Danglars? I’ll probably be returning to the city."

Eugénie covered her face with her hands.

"Oh!" Andrea continued. "No need to be ashamed, even though you chased after me. Wasn’t I nearly your husband?"

With this mocking remark, Andrea left, abandoning the two women to their shame and the whispers of the crowd.

An hour later, they climbed into their coach, both now dressed in women’s clothes again. The hotel gate had been closed to shield them from view, but when the door opened, they had to pass through a crowd of curious stares and whispering voices.

Eugénie closed her eyes. Though she couldn’t see, she could hear the crowd’s sneers reaching her in the carriage.

"Why isn’t the world a wilderness?" she cried, throwing herself into Louise’s arms. Her eyes sparkled with rage like an ancient tyrant who wished he could destroy everyone at once.

The next day they stopped at a hotel in Brussels.

That same evening, Andrea was locked in prison to await his trial.