Fantômas by Marcel Allain7/5/2023 ![]() ![]() Its passage was marked by whistling, shaking of fists, even a motorcycle from the Préfecture of Police in hot pursuit but Juve was undismayed and continued to urge on his Automedon: “Drive on! drive on!” screamed Juve once more-and the man started off his taxi at racing speed. The Paris cabby and taxi-man is well used to being mixed up in the most sensational affairs, but the knowledge that he was driving the great Juve, the police officer of genius and gallantry, and that his fare had just arrested Fantômas, put the man in a perfect fever. “Fantômas! Fantômas a prisoner!” stammered the fellow, his face white with excitement, “and you are Juve!” ![]() “Drive on! drive on!” Juve reiterated-and a sharp jolt of the cab told him the driver had realized the news. All Paris, all France, the whole earth would be holding high holiday in a few hours’ time, soon as ever the news should be known-scattered broadcast by the Press, by telephone, by wireless, to the uttermost confines of the universe. Nor was it any exaggeration to say his guarantee would clear the poor Jehu of all pains and penalties for excessive speed and breach of bylaws.įantômas arrested, Fantômas a prisoner-a noxious beast in chains and harmless henceforth-here was the end of a hideous nightmare that had brooded over the world for long years. Hanging halfway out of the window of the taxi he had hailed at the Paris barrier, the renowned police officer was yelling to his driver. “Yes, Juve, by God! Get on, my lad, get on! I’ve just arrested Fantômas.…” ![]() “Perhaps not you, sir, but what about me?” ![]()
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