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diff --git a/75896-0.txt b/75896-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b465a51 --- /dev/null +++ b/75896-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8178 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75896 *** + + + + + + ARSÈNE LUPIN INTERVENES + + + BY + MAURICE LE BLANC + + + NEW YORK + THE MACAULAY COMPANY + + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + I FOREWORD 9 + II “DROPS THAT TRICKLE AWAY” 13 + III THE ROYAL LOVE LETTER 38 + IV A GAME OF BACCARAT 61 + V THE MAN WITH THE GOLD TEETH 85 + VI TWELVE LITTLE NIGGER BOYS 108 + VII THE BRIDGE THAT BROKE 137 + VIII THE FATAL MIRACLE 164 + IX DOUBLE ENTRY 195 + X ARRESTING ARSÈNE LUPIN 226 + XI AFTERWORD 255 + + + + + + + + +ARSÈNE LUPIN INTERVENES + + +I + +FOREWORD + + +Contrary, perhaps, to the opinion of the Bright Young People in our +midst, the World-before-the-War was not by any means barren of +adventure and excitement. Only, they did things differently then. There +was, in those days, a certain sparkling gaiety, a spontaneity, a chic +sadly lacking from the exploits of a younger generation. There was wit +as well as honor among thieves. Just as really good wine differs from +that modern depravity, the cocktail, so does the finished artistry of +Jim Barnett compare with the outrages of bobbed-hair bandits and +cat-burglars. + +For Barnett had a brain and used it; a sense of humor, and rejoiced in +it. He was independent of revolvers and racing cars and hypodermic +syringes. He made a confidant of no man—or woman. He was an unassisted +conjurer, as it were, performing his little tricks always in the full +glare of the limelight, relying entirely on his own lightning skill to +vanish his watches and evolve his rabbits. + +A curious, memorable figure, Jim Barnett. By profession, a private +detective, principal of the Barnett Agency in the rue Laborde, with a +modest ground-floor office for his headquarters. Unlike others of his +trade, he worked entirely alone. He employed no spies, and saved +himself their possible treachery. He had no secretary for the simple +reason that he kept no records. His telephone rang infrequently, and +when it did he answered it himself. + +In appearance, Barnett was something of a problem. He gave the +impression of a man who is wilfully badly dressed, intentionally +careless of his attire. His coat’s sole claim to respect was its +indubitable antiquity. His trousers—but we will spare possible +heartbreak to the tailors who read this description. He wore his +incongruous monocle like some exotic bloom—its startling aristocracy in +conjunction with the rest of his get-up was that of an orchid in an +onion patch. + +What a contrast to his friend, Inspector Béchoux, that immaculate sprig +of the Paris Police Force. Béchoux was frankly a dandy, devoting all +his off-time to the adornment of his person. Yet he was no fool. Only, +his brain moved in the channels of detective routine, whereas Barnett’s +leaped nimbly from point to point of a mystery until it plucked out the +heart. + +Be it said to Inspector Béchoux’s undying honor that he recognized +Barnett’s gifts quite openly. He even resorted to asking his help in +various problems, and it is the inner history of some of these that +this book now reveals for the first time to the world at large. + +The peculiar feature of all the Béchoux-Barnett cases was always either +their apparent insolubility (e.g., the Disappearance of the Twelve +Little Nigger Boys) or the fact that they seemed solved at the outset +(as in the case of the Man with the Gold Teeth). And the finale of each +presented certain similar features—a dramatic and quite unexpected +eleventh-hour dénouement; a swift adjustment of account between the +innocent and guilty parties; and—a highly satisfactory windfall for +Barnett. Only, as Inspector Béchoux bitterly observed, it was always +the kind of windfall that meant shaking the tree. Barnett’s gifts would +have stripped an orchard.... + +What placed Inspector Béchoux in a serious dilemma was that in every +case Barnett’s position was unassailable from start to finish. His +victims were people who could not be brought to speak a word against +him. You could call it intimidation—blackmail—what you liked. Barnett +merely grinned and fed large checks to his banking account. + +Large checks—and yet the slogan of the Barnett Agency was:— + + + “Information Free. No Fees of Any Kind.” + + +Which was paradoxically true. Barnett’s income was composed not of fees +but of levies. Sometimes he took toll of his clients, sometimes of +their enemies. A certain poetic justice characterized his depredations. +The poor and the innocent had nothing to fear from Jim Barnett. + +And he was undeniably on the side of the law so far as results went. +Only, where it suited his purpose, he meted out his own idea of a +suitable punishment to criminals instead of turning them over to the +police. + +Inspector Béchoux was probably Barnett’s only close friend. Yet all he +knew of him was gleaned from the hours they spent together when Barnett +intervened in one of his cases. He was quite ignorant of Barnett’s +private life—his antecedents—even his identity. For there was always +one mystery which remained unsolved. Who was the man who called himself +“Jim Barnett”? + +There was something about his methods and his amusing buffoonery which +could not fail to recall the King of Crooks—the one man who persisted +in eluding and baffling the Paris police—the man Inspector Béchoux +would have given his life-savings to lay hands on—whom he sometimes, in +his inmost heart, half suspected to be masquerading as “Barnett,” and +then dismissed the suspicion as fantastic. + +It is a long way back to pre-war Paris, and the clash of wits between +Barnett and Inspector Béchoux. In these days, when so much of +admiration and adulation is being misapplied, honor to whom honor is +due! The moment has come when we can openly state that the worthy +Inspector’s instinct was right, and the “interventions” of Jim Barnett +may safely be attributed to their perpetrator—Arsène Lupin! + + + + + + + + +II + +“DROPS THAT TRICKLE AWAY....” + + +The courtyard bell, on the ground floor of the Baronne Assermann’s +imposing residence in the Faubourg St. Germain, rang loudly, and a +moment later the maid brought in an envelope. + +“The gentleman says he has an appointment with madame for four +o’clock.” + +Madame Assermann slit the envelope. Taking out a card, she held it +gingerly between her finger-tips, and read: + + + The Barnett Agency + + Information Free + + +“Show the gentleman into my boudoir,” she drawled. + +Valérie Assermann—the beautiful Valérie she had been called for some +thirty years—still retained a measure of good looks, although she was +now thick-set, past middle-age and elaborately made-up. Her haughty and +at times harsh expression had yet a certain candor which was not +without charm. + +As the wife of Assermann, the banker, she took pride in her vast house +with its luxurious appointments, in her large circle of acquaintances +and in all the pomp and circumstance of her social position. Behind her +back society gossips whispered that Valérie had been guilty of various +rather more than trifling indiscretions. Even hardened Parisian +scandalmongers professed themselves shocked at her behavior. There were +those who suggested that the baron, an ailing old man, had contemplated +getting a divorce. + +Baron Assermann had been confined to his bed for several weeks with +heart trouble, and Valérie rearranged the pillows under his thin +shoulders and asked him, rather absent-mindedly, how he was feeling, +before proceeding to her boudoir. + +Awaiting her there she found a curious person—a sturdily built, +square-shouldered man, well set up, but shockingly dressed in a +funereal frock-coat, moth-eaten and shiny, which hung in depressed +creases over worn, baggy trousers. His face was young, but the rugged +energy of his features was spoiled by a coarse, blotchy skin, almost +brick-red in tone. Behind the monocle, which he used for either eye +indifferently, his cold and rather mocking glance sparkled with a +boyish gaiety. + +“Mr. Barrett?” Valérie asked, on a rising inflection, making no effort +to keep the scorn out of her voice. + +He bowed, and, before she could withdraw it, he had kissed her hand +with a flourish, following this gallantry by a not quite inaudible +click of the tongue—suggesting his appreciation of the perfumed flavor. + +“Jim Barnett—at your service, madame la baronne. When I got your letter +I stopped just long enough to give my coat a brush ... that was +all....” + +The baronne wondered for a moment whether she should show her visitor +the door, but he faced her with all the composure of a man of rank, +and, a little taken aback, she merely said: + +“I’ve been told that you are quite clever at disentangling rather +delicate and complicated matters....” + +He gave a self-satisfied smirk. + +“Yes—I’ve rather a gift for seeing clearly; seeing through and into +things—and people.” + +While his voice was soft, his tone was masterful and his whole demeanor +conveyed a suggestion of veiled irony. He seemed so sure of himself and +his powers that it was impossible not to share his confidence, and +Valérie felt herself coming under the influence of this unknown common +detective, this head of a private inquiry bureau. Resenting the +feeling, she interrupted him: + +“Perhaps we had better—er—discuss terms....” + +“Quite unnecessary,” replied Barnett. + +“But surely”—it was she who was smiling now—“you do not work merely for +glory?” + +“The services of the Barnett Agency, madame la baronne, are entirely +free.” + +She looked disappointed, and insisted: “I should prefer to arrange some +remuneration—your out-of-pocket expenses, at least.” + +“A tip?” he sneered. + +She flushed angrily. Her satin-shod foot tapped the carpet. + +“I cannot possibly ...” she began. + +“Be under an obligation to me? Don’t worry, madame la baronne, I shall +see to it that we end up quits for whatever slight service I may be +able to render you.” + +Was there a note of menace in the suave voice? + +Valérie shuddered a trifle uneasily. What was the meaning of this +obscure remark? How did this man propose to recoup himself? Really, +this Jim Barnett aroused in her almost the same sort of dread, the same +queer kind of nightmare emotion that one might feel if suddenly +confronted with a burglar! He might even be ... yes, he was quite +possibly some undesirable, unknown admirer. She wondered what she had +better do. Ring for her maid? But he had so far dominated her that, +regardless of the consequences, she found herself submitting passively +to his questioning as to what had caused her to apply to his agency. +Her account was brief, as Barnett seemed to be in a hurry, and she +spoke frankly and to the point. + + + +“It all happened the Sunday before last,” she began. “After a game of +bridge with some friends, I went to bed rather early and fell asleep as +usual. About four o’clock—at ten minutes past, to be exact—a noise woke +me and then I heard a bang which sounded to me like a door closing. It +came from my boudoir—this room we are in, which communicates with my +bedroom and also with a corridor leading to the servants’ staircase. +I’m not nervous, so after a moment’s hesitation I got up, came in here +and turned on the light. The room was empty, but this small +show-case”—she indicated it—“had fallen down, and several of the curios +and statuettes in it were broken. I then went to my husband’s room and +found him reading in bed; he said he had heard nothing. He was very +much upset and rang for the butler, who immediately made a thorough +search of the house. In the morning we called in the police.” + +“And the result?” asked Barnett. + +“They could find no trace of the arrival or departure of any intruder. +How he entered and got away is a mystery. But under a footstool among +the débris of the curios some one found half a candle, and an awl set +in a very dirty wooden handle. Now on the previous afternoon a plumber +had been to repair the taps of the washbasin in my husband’s +dressing-room. The man’s employer, when questioned, identified the tool +and, moreover, the other half of the candle was found in his shop.” + +“On that point, then,” interrupted Jim Barnett, “you have definite +evidence.” + +“Yes, but against that is the indisputable and disconcerting fact that +the investigation also proved that the workman in question took the six +o’clock express to Brussels, arriving there at midnight—four hours +before the disturbance which awakened me.” + +“Really? Has the man returned?” + +“No. They lost track of him at Antwerp, where he was spending money +lavishly.” + +“Is that all you can tell me?” + +“Absolutely all.” + +“Who’s been in charge of this investigation?” + +“Inspector Béchoux.” + +“What! The worthy Béchoux! He’s a very good friend of mine. We’ve often +worked together.” + +“It was he who mentioned your Agency.” + +“Yes, because he’d come up against a blank wall, I suppose.” + +Barnett crossed to the window and leaning his head against the pane +thought hard for a few minutes, frowning ponderously and whistling +under his breath. Then he returned to Madame Assermann and continued: + +“You and Béchoux, madame, conclude that this was an attempted burglary. +Am I right?” + +“Yes. An unsuccessful attempt, since nothing has been taken.” + +“That’s so. But all the same there must have been a definite motive +behind this attempt. What was it?” + +Valérie hesitated. “I really don’t know,” she said after a moment. But +again her foot tapped restlessly. + +The detective shrugged his shoulders; then, pointing to one of the +silk-draped panels which lined the boudoir above the wainscoting he +asked: + +“What’s under that panel?” + +“I beg your pardon,” she said in some bewilderment; “what do you mean?” + +“I mean that the most superficial observation reveals the fact that the +edges of that silk oblong are slightly frayed, and here and there they +are separated from the woodwork by a slit: there is every reason to +suppose that a safe is concealed there.” + +Valérie gave a start. How on earth could the man have guessed from such +imperceptible indications.... Then with a jerk she slid the panel open, +disclosing a small steel door. As she feverishly worked the three knobs +of the safe an unreasoning fear came over her. Impossible as the +hypothesis seemed, she wondered whether this queer stranger might +somehow have robbed her during the few minutes he had been left alone +in the room! + +At length, taking a key from her pocket, she opened the safe, and gave +a sigh of relief. There it was—the only object the safe contained—a +magnificent pearl necklace. Seizing it quickly, she twined its triple +strands round her wrist. + +Barnett laughed. + +“Easier in your mind now, madame la baronne? Yes, it’s quite a pretty +piece of jewelry, and I can understand its having been stolen from +you.” + +“But it’s not been stolen,” she protested. “Even if the thief was after +this, he failed to steal it.” + +“Do you really think so?” + +“Of course. Here is the necklace in my hands. When anything’s stolen it +disappears. Well—here it is....” + +“Here’s a necklace,” he corrected her quietly; “but are you sure that +it is your necklace and that it has any value?” + +“What do you mean?” she asked in unconcealed annoyance. “Only a +fortnight ago my jeweller valued it at half a million francs.” + +“A fortnight ago—that is to say, five days before that night.... And +now? Please remember I know nothing; I have not valued the necklace; it +is merely a supposition. But are you yourself entirely without +suspicion?” + +Valérie stood quite still. What suspicion was he hinting at? In what +connection? A vague anxiety crept over her as his suggestion persisted. +As she weighed the mass of heaped-up pearls in her outstretched hand it +seemed to get lighter and lighter. As she looked she discovered +variations in coloring, unaccustomed reflections, a disturbing +unevenness, a changed graduation—each detail more disturbing than the +last, until in the back of her mind the terrible truth began to dawn, +distinct and threatening. + +Jim Barnett gave vent to a short chuckle. + +“Just so. You’re getting there, are you? On the right track at last—one +more mental effort and all is clear as day! It’s all quite logical. +Your enemy doesn’t just steal—he substitutes. Nothing disappears, and +except for the noise of the falling show-case everything would have +been carried out in perfect secrecy and have gone undiscovered. Until +some fresh development occurred, you would have been absolutely unaware +that the real necklace had vanished and that you were displaying on +your snowy shoulders a string of imitation pearls.” + +Valérie was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she hardly noticed the +familiarity of the man’s words and manner. + +Barnett leaned towards her. + +“Well—that settles the first point. And now we know what he stole, +let’s look for the thief. That’s the procedure in all well-conducted +cases. And once we’ve found the thief we shan’t be far from recovering +the object of the theft.” + +He gave Valérie’s hand a friendly pat of reassurance. + +“Cheer up, madame. We’re on the right scent now. Let’s begin by a +little guesswork—it’s an excellent method. We’ll suppose that your +husband, in spite of his illness, had sufficient strength to drag +himself from his own room to this one, armed with the candle, and, +anyway, with the tool the plumber left behind; we’ll go on to suppose +that he opened the safe, clumsily overturned the show-case and then +fled in case you had heard the noise. Doesn’t that throw a little light +on it all? How naturally it accounts for the absence of any trace of +arrival or departure, and also for the safe being opened without being +forced, since Baron Assermann must many a time in all these years have +come in here with you in the evening, seen you work the lock, noted the +clicks and intervals and counted the number of notches displaced—and +so, gradually, have discovered the three letters of the cipher.” + +This “little guesswork,” as Jim Barnett termed it, seemed to appall the +beautiful Valérie as he went on “supposing” step by step. It was as if +she saw it all happening before her eyes. At last she stammered out +distractedly: + +“What you suggest is madness. You don’t suppose my husband.... If +someone came here that night, it couldn’t have been the baron. Don’t be +absurd!” + +“Did you have a copy of your necklace?” he interjected. + +She paused. When she spoke it was slowly, with forced calm. + +“Yes ... my husband ordered one, for safety, when we bought it—four +years ago.” + +“And where is the copy?” + +“My husband kept it,” she replied, her voice a mere whisper. + +“Well,” said Barnett cheerfully, “that’s the copy you’ve got in your +hands; he has substituted it for the real pearls which he has taken. As +for his motive—well, since his fortune places Baron Assermann above any +suspicion of theft, we must look for something more intimate ... more +subtle.... Revenge? A desire to torture—to injure—perhaps to punish? +What do you think yourself? After all, a young and pretty woman’s +rather reckless behavior may be very understandable, but her husband is +bound to judge it fairly severely.... Forgive me, madame. I have no +right to pry into the secrets of your private life. I am merely here to +locate, with your help, the present whereabouts of your necklace.” + +“No,” cried Valérie, starting back. “No!” + +Suddenly she felt she could no longer endure this ally who, in the +course of a brief, friendly, almost frivolous conversation, had +fathomed with diabolical ease all the secret circumstances of her life +by a method quite unlike the ordinary methods employed by the police. +And this man was now pointing out with an air of good-natured banter +the precipice to whose edge fate seemed to be forcing her. + +The sound of his sarcastic voice became all at once intolerable. She +hated the mere thought of his searching for her necklace. + +“No,” she repeatedly obstinately. + +He bowed, insolently servile. + +“As you wish, madame. I have not the slightest desire to seem +importunate. I am simply here to serve you in so far as you want my +help. Besides, as things are now, you can safely dispense with my aid, +since your husband is quite unfit to go out and will scarcely have been +so imprudent as to entrust the pearls to any one else. If you make a +careful search, you will probably discover them hidden somewhere in his +room. I need say no more—except that if you should need me, telephone +me at my office between nine and ten any night. And now I respectfully +withdraw, madame la baronne.” + +Again he kissed her hand and she dared not resist him. Then he took his +leave jauntily, swinging along with an irritating air of utter +complacency. The courtyard gate clanged behind him. To Valérie it +brought a curious premonition of doom—as if a prison gate had now +closed upon her. + + + +That evening, Valérie summoned Inspector Béchoux, whose continued +attendance seemed only natural, and the search began. + +Béchoux, a conscientious detective and a pupil of the famous Canimard, +adhered to the approved methods of his profession—and proceeded to +examine the baron’s bathroom and private study in sections. After all, +a necklace with three strands of pearls is too large an object for it +to remain hidden from an expert searcher for very long. Nevertheless, +after a week’s persistent search, including several night visits when, +owing to the baron’s habit of taking sleeping draughts, he was able to +examine even the bed and the bedclothes, Béchoux admitted himself +discouraged. The necklace could not possibly be in the house. + +In spite of her instinctive aversion, Valérie was tempted to get in +touch once more with the impossible man at the Barnett Agency. Despite +the repugnance with which he inspired her, she felt positive he would +know how to perform the miracle of finding the necklace. + +Then matters were brought to a head by a crisis which came suddenly, +though not unexpectedly. One evening the servants summoned their +mistress hastily—the baron lay choking and prostrate on a divan near +the bathroom door. His distorted features and the anguish in his eyes +were indicative of the most acute suffering. + +Almost paralyzed with fright, Valérie was about to telephone for the +doctor, but the baron stammered out the words, “Too late ... it’s ... +too ... late....” + +Then, trying to rise, he gasped out: “A drink ...” and would have +staggered to the washstand. + +Quickly Valérie thrust him back on to the divan. + +“There’s water here in the carafe,” she urged. + +“No.... I want it ... from the tap....” He fell back, exhausted. + +She turned on the tap quickly, fetched a glass and filled it, but when +she took it to him, he would not drink. + +There was a long silence except for the sound of the water running in +the basin. The dying man’s face became drawn and sunken. He motioned to +his wife and she leaned forward—but, doubtless to prevent the servants +hearing, he repeated the word “closer,” and again “closer.” + +Valérie hesitated, as though afraid of what he might want to say, but +his imperious glance cowed her and she knelt down with her ear almost +touching his lips. Then he whispered, incoherently, and she could +scarcely so much as guess what the words meant. + +“The pearls ... the necklace ... you shall know before I’m gone ... you +never loved me ... you married me ... for ... my money....” + +She began to protest indignantly at his making such a cruel accusation +at this solemn moment, but he seized her wrist and repeated in a kind +of confused delirium: “... for my money, and your conduct has proved +it. You have never been a good wife to me—that’s why I wanted to punish +you—why I’m punishing you now—it’s an exquisite joy—the only pleasure +possible to me—and I can die happily now because the pearls are +vanishing away.... Can’t you hear them, falling, dropping away into the +swirling water. Ah, Valérie, my wife ... what a punishment! ... the +drops that trickle away!...” + +His strength failed him again, and the servants lifted him onto his +bed. The doctor came very soon after, and two elderly spinster cousins +who had been summoned settled themselves in the room and refused to +budge. The final paroxysm was prolonged and painful. At dawn Baron +Assermann died, without uttering another word. + +At the formal request of the cousins, a seal was placed on every drawer +and cupboard in the room. Then the long death vigil began.... + +Two days later, after the funeral, the dead man’s lawyer called and +asked to speak to Valérie in private. He looked grave and troubled and +said at once: + +“Madame, I have a most painful duty to perform, and I prefer to get it +over as quickly as possible, while assuring you beforehand that the +injustice done to you was subject to my profound disapproval and +contrary to my advice and entreaty. But it was useless to oppose an +unshakable determination....” + +“I beg you, monsieur,” stammered Valérie, “to make your meaning clear.” + +“I am coming to it, madame la baronne—it is this. I hold a will drawn +up by Baron Assermann twenty years ago, appointing you his sole heiress +and residuary legatee. But I have to tell you that last month the baron +confided to me that he had made a fresh will ... by which he left his +entire fortune to his two cousins....” + +“He made a new will?” cried Valérie. + +“Yes.” + +“And you have it?” + +“After reading it to me he locked it in that desk. He did not wish it +to be read until a week after his death. It may not be unsealed before +that date.” + +Now Valérie realized why, a few years before, after a series of violent +quarrels, her husband had advised her to sell all her own jewelry and +purchase a pearl necklace with the money. Disinherited, with no fortune +of her own, and with an imitation pearl necklace in place of the real +one, she was left penniless. + + + +The day before the seals were to be broken, a car drew up in the rue +Laborde in front of rather dingy premises bearing the sign: + + + The Barnett Agency + + OPEN FROM TWO TO THREE + + Information Free + + +A veiled woman in deep mourning got out of the car and knocked on the +glass panel of the inner door. + +“Come in,” called a voice from within. + +She entered. + +“Who’s that,” went on the voice in the back room, which was separated +from the office by a curtain. She recognized the tones. + +“Baronne Assermann,” she replied. + +“Excuse me, madame. Please take a seat. I won’t keep you a moment.” + +While she waited, Valérie looked round the office. It was comparatively +empty; the furniture consisted of a table and two old armchairs. The +walls were quite bare and the place was innocent of files or papers. A +telephone was the only indication of activity. An ash-tray, however, +held the stubs of several expensive cigarettes, and a subtle fragrance +hung in the air. + +The curtain swung back and Jim Barnett appeared suddenly, alert and +smiling. He wore the same shabby frock-coat, the same impossible, +made-up tie, the same monocle at the end of a black ribbon. + +He seized and kissed his visitor’s gloved hand. + +“How do you do, madame. This is indeed a pleasure. But what’s the +matter? I see you are in mourning—nothing serious, I hope—oh, but how +absent-minded I am—of course—Baron Assermann, was it not? So sad! A +charming man, and such a devoted husband. I should so much have liked +to meet him. Well, well. Let’s see—how did matters stand?” + +As he spoke, he took from his pocket a slender note-book which he +fingered pensively. + +“Baronne Assermann—here we are—I remember. Imitation pearls—husband the +thief—pretty woman.... A very pretty woman.... She is to telephone +me.... Well, dear lady,” he concluded, with increasing familiarity, “I +am still awaiting that telephone call.” + +Once more, Valérie felt disconcerted by this man. Without wishing to +pretend overwhelming sorrow at the death of her husband, she yet felt +sad, and mingled with her sadness was a haunting dread of future +poverty. She had had a bad time during the last days—and her wan face +showed the ravages of terror and futile remorse resulting from her +nightmare visions of ruin and distress.... And here was this +impertinent upstart detective, not seeming to grasp the position at +all.... + +With great dignity she recounted all that had happened, and although +she avoided idle recriminations, she repeated what her husband’s lawyer +had said. + +“Ah, yes; quite so,” interposed the detective, smiling approval. “Good +... that all fits in admirably. It’s quite a pleasure to see how +logically this enthralling and well constructed drama is working itself +out.” + +“A pleasure?” asked Valérie tonelessly. + +“Certainly—a pleasure which my friend Inspector Béchoux must have +enjoyed—for I suppose he’s explained to you....” + +“What?” + +“What? Why, the key to the mystery, of course. Isn’t it priceless? Old +Béchoux must have rocked with mirth!” + +Jim Barnett, at any rate, was laughing heartily. + +“That washbasin trick now—there’s a novelty! It’s certainly farcical +rather than dramatic—but so adroitly worked in—of course I spotted the +dodge at once when you told me about the plumber, and saw the +connection between the repairing of the washbasin and the baron’s +little plans. That was the crux of the whole thing. When he planned the +substitution of the false necklace, your husband arranged a good +hiding-place for the real pearls; it was essential for his purpose. +Merely to deprive you of them and throw them or cause them to be thrown +into the Seine like worthless rubbish, would only have been half a +revenge. For it to be complete and on the grand scale he had to keep +them close at hand, hidden in a spot at once near and inaccessible. And +that’s what he did.” + +Jim Barnett was thoroughly enjoying himself and went on jocularly: +“Can’t you imagine your husband explaining it all to the plumber? ‘See +here, my man, just examine that waste-pipe under my washbasin. It goes +down to the wainscoting and leaves the bathroom at an almost +imperceptible gradient, doesn’t it? Well, reduce that gradient still +more—take up the pipe in this dark corner, so as to form a sort of +pocket—a blind alley, where something could be lodged if necessary. +When the tap is turned on the water will fill the pocket and carry away +the object lodged there. You understand? Then drill a hole about half +an inch in diameter in the wall side of the pipe, where it won’t be +noticed. Yes—there! Done it? Now plug it up with this rubber stopper. +Does it fit? That’s all right then. Now, you understand, don’t you—not +a word to anyone! Keep your mouth shut. Take this and catch the +Brussels express to-night. These three checks you can cash there—one +every month. In three months’ time you may come back to Paris. +Good-bye. That’s all, thanks.’... And that very night you heard a noise +in your boudoir, the imitation pearls were substituted for the real +ones, and the latter secreted in the hiding-place prepared for them in +the pocket of the pipe. Now do you see? Believing that the end has +come, the baron calls out to you: ‘A glass of water—not from the +carafe—from the tap there.’ You obey. And the terrible punishment is +brought about by your own hand as it turns on the tap—the water runs, +carries away the pearls, and the baron stammers out: ‘Do you hear? +They’re trickling away—away!’” + +The baronne listened in distracted silence. What impressed her most in +Burnett’s terrible story was not the full revelation of her husband’s +rancor and hatred, but the one fact which it hammered home. + +“Then you knew the truth?” she murmured at last. + +“Of course,” he replied, “it’s my job. The Barnett Agency, you see....” + +“And you said nothing of this to me?” Her tone was an accusation. + +“But, my dear baronne, it was you yourself who stopped me from telling +you what I knew, or was just about to discover. You dismissed +me—somewhat peremptorily, I fear—and not wishing to be thought +officious, I did not press the matter. Besides, I had still to verify +my deductions.” + +“And have you done so?” she faltered. + +“Yes. Just out of curiosity, that’s all.” + +“When?” + +“The same night.” + +“What! You got into the house that night—into our rooms? I heard +nothing....” + +“Oh, I’ve a little way of working on the quiet.... Even Baron Assermann +didn’t hear me. And yet....” + +“What?...” + +“Well, just to make sure, I enlarged that hole, you see ... the one +through which he had pushed the pearls into the pipe.” + +She started. + +“Then you saw them?...” + +“I did.” + +“My pearls were actually there?” + +He nodded. + +Valérie choked, as she repeated under her breath: “My pearls were there +in the pipe and you could have taken them?...” + +“Yes,” he admitted nonchalantly, “and I really believe that but for me, +Jim Barnett, at your service, they would have dropped away as the baron +intended they should on the day of his death, which he knew was not far +off. What were his words: ‘They’re vanishing ... can’t you hear them? +... drops that trickle away...!’ And his plan of revenge would have +come off—too bad—such a beautiful necklace—quite a collector’s piece!” + +Valérie was not given to violent explosions of wrath, likely to upset +her complexion. But at this point she was worked up to such a pitch +that she rushed up to Barnett and convulsively seized the collar of his +coat. + +“It’s theft! You’re a common adventurer! I suspected it all along—a +crook!” + +At the word “crook” the young man hooted with joy. + +“I—a crook? How frightfully amusing!” + +She took no notice. Shaking with passion, she rushed up and down the +room shrieking: “I won’t have it, I tell you. Give me back my pearls at +once or I’ll call the police!” + +“Oh—how ugly that sounds,” he exclaimed, “and how tactless for a pretty +woman like yourself to behave like this to a man who has shown himself +assiduous in serving you and only wants to coöperate peaceably with you +for your good!” + +She shrugged her shoulders and demanded again: “Will you give me my +necklace?” + +“Of course! it’s absolutely at your disposal. Good heavens, do you +suppose that Jim Barnett robs the people who pay him the compliment of +seeking his help! What do you think would become of the Barnett Agency, +which owes its popularity to its reputation for absolute integrity and +disinterested service? I don’t ask my clients for a single penny. If I +kept your pearls I should be a thief—a crook, as you would say—whereas +I am an honest man. Here, dear lady, is your necklace.” + +He produced a small cloth bag containing the rescued pearls and laid it +on the table. + +Thunderstruck, Valérie seized the precious necklace with shaking hands. +She could hardly believe her eyes; it seemed incredible that this man +should restore her property in this way, and with a sudden fear lest he +was merely acting on a momentary impulse, she made abruptly for the +door without a word of thanks. + +“You’re in rather a hurry all at once,” laughed Jim Barnett. “Aren’t +you going to count them? Three hundred and forty-five. They’re all +there ... and they’re the real ones, this time.” + +“Yes,” said Valérie, “I know that....” + +“You’re quite sure? Those really are the pearls your jeweller valued at +five hundred thousand francs?” + +“Yes; they are the ones.” + +“You’d swear to that?” + +“Certainly,” she said positively. + +“In that case, I’ll buy them from you.” + +“You’ll buy them! What do you mean?” + +“Well, being penniless, you’ve got to sell them. Why not to me, then, +since I can offer you more than anyone else will—I’ll give you twenty +times their value. Instead of five hundred thousand francs, I’ll give +ten million. Does that startle you? Ten million’s a pretty figure.” + +“Ten million!” + +“Exactly the reputed gross amount of the baron’s estate.” + +Valérie lingered at the door, her fingers twisting the handle. + +“My husband’s estate,” she repeated. “I don’t see any connection. +Please explain.” + +With gentle emphasis Jim Barnett continued: “It’s very simple. You have +your choice—the pearl necklace or the estate!” + +“The pearl necklace ... the estate?” she repeated, puzzled. + +“Certainly. As you yourself told me, the inheritance turns on two +wills: the earlier one in your favor and the second in favor of those +two old cousins, who are as rich as Crœsus and apparently +correspondingly mean. But suppose Will Number Two can’t be found, Will +Number One is valid.” + +“But to-morrow,” she said in faltering accents, “they intend to break +the seals and open the desk—and the second will is there.” + +“The will may be there—or it may not,” suggested Barnett, rather +contemptuously. “I’ll go so far as to say that in my humble opinion it +is not.” + +“Is that possible?” she asked, staring at him in amazement. + +“Quite possible—even probable—in fact, I seem to remember now that when +I came to investigate the waste-pipe the evening after our talk, I took +the opportunity of looking round your husband’s rooms as he was +sleeping so soundly.” + +“And you took that will,” she asked haltingly. + +“This rather looks like it, doesn’t it?” + +He unfolded a sheet of stamped paper and she recognized her husband’s +writing as she caught sight of the words: “I, the undersigned, Léon +Joseph Assermann, banker, in view of certain facts well known to her, +do hereby declare that my wife Valérie Assermann shall not have the +slightest claim upon my fortune and that....” + +She read no further. Her voice caught in her throat and falling limply +into an armchair she gasped: + +“You stole that paper—and expect me to be your accomplice.... I won’t. +My poor husband’s wishes must be obeyed....” + +Jim Barnett threw up his hands enthusiastically. + +“How splendid of you, dear lady. Duty points to self-sacrifice, and I +commend you the more when your lot is so especially hard—when for two +old cousins who are quite undeserving of pity, you are prepared to +sacrifice yourself with your own hands to gratify Baron Assermann’s +petty spite. You bow to this injustice to expiate those youthful +peccadilloes. The beautiful Valérie is to forego the luxury to which +she is entitled and be reduced to abject poverty. But, before you +finally make this choice, madame, I beg you to weigh your decision +carefully and realize all it means. Let me be quite plain: if that +necklace leaves this room, the lawyer receives Will Number Two +to-morrow morning and you are disinherited.” + +“And if it stays?” + +“Well, there’s no will in that desk and you inherit the whole +estate—ten million francs in your pocket, thanks to Jim Barnett.” + +His sarcasm was obvious, and Valérie felt like a helpless animal +trapped in his ruthless grasp. There was no way out. If she refused him +the necklace, the will would be read out next day. He was relentless, +and would turn a deaf ear to any entreaties. + +He stepped into the back room for a moment and then returned from +behind the curtain, calmly wiping off his face the grease paint with +which he had covered it, like an actor removing his make-up. His +appearance was now completely changed—his face was fresh and +young-looking, with a smooth, healthy skin. A fashionable tie had +replaced the made-up atrocity. He had changed the old frock-coat and +baggy trousers for a well-cut lounge suit. And his attitude of smiling +confidence made it clear he did not fear denunciation or betrayal. In +return, Valérie knew he would never say a word to anyone, even to +Inspector Béchoux—the secret would be kept inviolate. + +He leaned towards her and, laughing, said: “Well—I believe you’re +looking at it more reasonably now. That’s good! Besides, who’ll know +that the wealthy Baronne Assermann is wearing imitation pearls? Not one +of your friends will ever suspect it. You’ll keep your fortune and +possess a necklace which everyone will think is genuine. Isn’t that +lovely? Can’t you just see yourself leading a full and happy life, with +plenty of opportunity for fun and flirtation? Aha!” He waggled a jovial +forefinger in her angry face. + +At that moment Valérie had not the slightest desire for fun or +flirtation. She glared at Jim Barnett with suppressed fury, and, +drawing herself up, made her exit like a society queen withdrawing from +a hostile drawing-room. + +The little bag of pearls remained on the table. + + + +“And they call that an honest woman!” said Jim Barnett to himself, his +arms folded in virtuous indignation. “Her husband disinherits her to +punish her for her naughty ways, and she disregards his wishes! There’s +a fresh will—and she filches it! She deceives his lawyer and despoils +his old cousins. Tut, tut! And how noble is the part of the lover of +justice who chastises the culprit and sets everything to rights again!” + +He slipped the necklace deftly back into its place in the depths of his +pocket, finished dressing, and then, his monocle carefully adjusted, +and a fat cigar between his teeth, he left the office, and went forth +in search of fresh amusement. + + + + + + + + +III + +THE ROYAL LOVE LETTER + + +There was a knock at the door of the modest office in the rue Laborde. + +It roused Jim Barnett of the Barnett Agency from his doze in the +comfortable armchair, where he sat awaiting clients. + +“Come in!” he cried, and, as the door opened to admit his visitor, +“why, Inspector Béchoux, how nice of you to look me up! How are you?” + +In both manner and appearance, Inspector Béchoux was a striking +contrast to the usual type of detective. He aimed at sartorial +elegance, exaggerated the crease in his trousers, had a pretty taste in +ties and was very particular about the starching of his collars. He had +a curious waxen pallor. In build, he was small, lean, and seemingly +weedy. Oddly enough, he had the muscular arms of a heavyweight +champion—arms which gave the impression of having been tacked haphazard +on to his limp frame. He was intensely proud of those arms. Though +quite a young man, his bearing was most self-assured. His eyes gleamed +alert and intelligent. + +“I happened to be passing,” he announced, “and, knowing your clock-like +habits, I thought: ‘This being old Barnett’s consultation hour, he’s +sure to be there. Why not drop in....’” + +“And ask his advice,” finished Jim Barnett. + +“Perhaps,” admitted the Inspector, to whom Barnett’s perspicacity was a +never-failing source of surprise. + +Seeing his hesitation, Barnett spoke again: “What’s up, old son? +Finding it a bit difficult to consult the oracle to-day?” + +Béchoux smote the table with his clenched fist; no mean blow, with his +great arm to back it. + +“Fact is, I’m a bit stumped. We’ve worked together on three cases now, +Barnett—you as a private detective and I as a police inspector—and each +time I haven’t been able to help feeling that your clients—Baronne +Assermann, for instance—ended by regarding you with a very jaundiced +eye.” + +“As if I’d taken advantage of my opportunity to blackmail them,” +Barnett interrupted, fiddling with his eternal monocle, and smiling +sardonically. + +“No, I don’t mean....” Béchoux forgot his resolve to find out just what +had happened in the case of Baronne Assermann. + +Barnett clapped him on the shoulder. + +“Inspector Béchoux, you’re forgetting the slogan of this firm: +‘Information Free.’ I give you my word of honor that I never ask my +clients for a penny and I never accept a penny from them.” + +Béchoux breathed more freely. + +“Thanks,” he said. “I’m glad to have that assurance. My professional +conscience will only allow me to avail myself of your coöperation on +certain conditions. You understand, don’t you? But if you don’t mind my +asking the question, there’s one thing I feel I must know. Just what +financial backing have you in the Barnett Agency?” + +“I have a sleeping partner—a philanthropist.” Barnett’s tone was remote +and casual. + +“Is he anybody I know?” + +“I rather think so. In fact, I’m almost certain. For even a police +inspector must at some time have heard the name of—Arsène Lupin!” + +Béchoux jumped. + +“That’s no name to jest about, Barnett.” + +Inspector Béchoux’s existence was dominated by two emotions—his +admiration for Barnett’s detective ability and his fierce hatred of +Arsène Lupin. Béchoux was one of Caminard’s little band and fully +shared that great man’s bitterness, especially as he had himself +suffered humiliating defeats at the enemy’s hands. He still smarted +with resentment at the memory of these, and never forgot that Arsène +Lupin had added insult to injury by robbing him more than once of the +lady of his choice. + +“We won’t discuss the fellow,” he said gruffly, “unless there’s a +chance of my laying hands on him.” + +“Or I,” and Barnett blandly extended his own hands—oddly enough, at the +level of his nose! “But let’s get to work. Whereabouts is your new +job?” + +“Near Marly. It’s the business of the murder of old Vaucherel. You’ve +heard about it?” + +“Only vaguely.” + +Barnett’s attitude was one of acute detachment from anything so mundane +as murder. + +“I’m not surprised. The newspapers aren’t giving it much space yet, +though it’s infernally baffling....” + +“He was done in with a knife, wasn’t he?” After all, Barnett’s +detachment was only assumed. + +“Yes. Stabbed between the shoulder-blades.” + +“Any finger-marks on the knife?” + +“None. We found a piece of paper in ashes; it was probably wrapped +round the handle by the murderer.” + +“Any clews?” + +Inspector Béchoux shook his head. “Vaucherel’s room was a bit +disordered. Some of the furniture had been knocked over and the drawer +of a table had been broken open, but we don’t know why that was done or +what’s missing.” + +“Where have they got to on the inquest?” + +“They’re confronting a retired official called Leboc with the Gaudu +cousins—three ne’er-do-weel blackguards of poachers. Without any real +evidence, each side is accusing the other of the murder. Want me to run +you over there in my car? Nothing like a good, stiff cross-examination, +you know!” + +“Right you are.” Barnett rose, albeit reluctantly. + +“Just one thing, Barnett. Formerie, who’s conducting the inquiry, hopes +to attract attention and get a Paris appointment. He’s a touchy sort of +chap and he won’t stand for your usual bright bedside manner with the +law, so cut out the flippancy.” Béchoux’s tone was eloquent with +painful memories of Barnett’s past exploits. + +“I promise to treat him most respectfully,” replied Barnett, “and I +never break my word!” + +Half-way between the village of Fontines and Marly Forest, in a copse +separated from the forest by a strip of ground, stands a one-storied +house with a small kitchen garden, surrounded by a low wall. Eight days +before Béchoux’s conversation with Jim Barnett, the cottage was still +inhabited by a retired bookseller, old Vaucherel, who never left his +little domain of flowers and vegetables except to browse in the +bookstalls along the Paris quays. He was very miserly and reputed a +rich man, although frugal in his habits. He had no visitors except his +friend, Leboc, who lived at Fontines. + +The reconstruction of the crime and the examination of Leboc were over, +and the inspection of the garden had begun, when Jim Barnett and +Inspector Béchoux alighted from their car. Béchoux made himself known +to the gendarmes guarding the cottage gate and, followed by Barnett, he +joined the examining magistrate and the deputy just as the latter had +halted before an angle of the wall. The three Gaudu cousins were there +to give their evidence. They were all three farm-hands of just about +the same age; they bore no facial resemblance to one another save for a +similar sly stubbornness of expression. The eldest Gaudu was speaking: + +“Yes, your worship, that’s where we jumped over when we ran to the +rescue, as you might say.” + +“You were coming from Fontines?” + +“Yes, your worship, from Fontines. We were on our way back to work, +about two o’clock it must have been. It was like this: we were chatting +with Mère Denise close by at the edge of the copse, when we heard +screams. ‘Somebody’s crying for help,’ I says. ‘It’s from the cottage.’ +Old Vaucherel, that we knew as well as anything, your worship. So we +ran like mad. We climbed over this here wall—a nasty bit of work, with +all them broken bottles on top—and we were across the garden in no +time, as you might say.” + +“Where exactly were you when the front door flew open?” + +“Right here,” said the eldest Gaudu, leading the way to a flower-bed. + +“That means about twenty yards from the porch,” said the magistrate, +pointing to the two steps leading up to the hall. “And from where you +stood you saw——” He paused expectantly. + +“Monsieur Leboc himself ... I saw him as clear as I see you, your +worship ... he was rushing out, as if the devil was at his heels—or the +police, for that matter, which they soon may be—and when he saw us he +bolted straight back again.” + +“You’re quite sure it was he?” + +“I swear to God it was!” + +The other two men took a similar oath. + +“You can’t have been mistaken?” + +“Why, he’s been living near our place for five years now, down the end +of the village,” the eldest Gaudu stated. “I’ve even delivered milk at +his house!” + +The magistrate gave an order. The door of the hall opened and a man +came out. He was about sixty, and wore a brown drill suit and a straw +hat. His face was pink and smiling. + +The three Gaudus spoke simultaneously. + +“Monsieur Leboc!” + +Their choral affirmation made Leboc’s entrance grotesquely like +something in musical comedy. + +The deputy whispered, “It’s obvious there can’t be any mistake at such +close range and the Gaudu cousins can’t have gone wrong on the identity +of the fugitive—which means, of the murderer.” + +“Quite so,” said the magistrate. “But are they speaking the truth? Was +it Monsieur Leboc they saw? Now we’ll go on.” + +The party went into the house and entered a big room whose walls were +literally lined with books. There were just a few sticks of furniture; +a large table—the one whose drawer had been broken into; and an +unframed full-length portrait of old Vaucherel—a life-size daub by some +unskilled artist who had yet managed to invest his subject with a +certain verisimilitude. + +A dummy lay stretched on the floor to represent the victim of the +tragedy. + +The magistrate resumed his examination. + +“When you came on the scene, Gaudu, you did not see Monsieur Leboc +again?” + +“No, your worship. We heard groans from this room and rushed in at +once.” + +“That means that Monsieur Vaucherel was still alive?” + +“Hardly that, as you might say. He was lying face down with a knife +stuck right in the middle of his back ... we knelt down by him ... the +poor gentleman was trying to speak.” + +“Could you catch what he said?” + +“No, your worship. We could only make out the name of Leboc—he said it +over several times—‘Monsieur Leboc, Monsieur Leboc ...’ like that. Then +a kind of shudder passed over him and he was gone. After that we +searched everywhere, but Monsieur Leboc had vanished. He must have +jumped out of the kitchen window, which was open, and made off down the +little gravel path. It goes straight to his house and the trees hide it +all the way.... Then we all went together to the gendarmes ... and we +told them all about it....” + +The magistrate asked a few more questions, made the three cousins +formulate even more definitely their charge against Monsieur Leboc, and +then turned his attention to the latter. + +Monsieur Leboc had listened without attempting to interrupt. His +perfect calm was unruffled by any display of indignation. He gave the +impression of finding the Gaudus’ story so utterly absurd that he did +not for a moment doubt that the magistrate would take a precisely +similar view of it. Why bother to refute such a tale? + +“Have you anything to add, Monsieur Leboc?” + +“Nothing further.” + +“Then you still maintain——” + +“I maintain what you, monsieur, know as well as I to be the truth. All +the villagers you have examined have testified that I never go out +during the daytime. At midday I have my lunch sent in from the inn. +From one to four I sit at my window reading and smoking my pipe. The +day in question was fine. My window was open, and five people—no less +than five—saw me, as on any other day, from the garden gate.” + +“I have summoned them to appear later on.” + +“I’m glad to hear it. They will repeat their evidence. Since I am not +ubiquitous and cannot at one and the same moment be here and in my own +house you must admit that I could not have been seen leaving the +cottage, that my poor friend Vaucherel could not have spoken my name in +his agony, and therefore that these three Gaudus are unmitigated +scoundrels.” + +“And you turn the murder charge against them, don’t you?” + +“Oh! Merely a matter of surmise....” + +“On the other hand, an old woman, Mère Denise, who was out gathering +firewood, states that she was talking with the men when they first +heard the screams.” + +“She was talking with two of them. Where was the third?” + +“A little way behind.” + +“Did she see him?” + +“She thinks so ... she isn’t positive....” + +“In that case, what proof have you that the third Gaudu wasn’t right +here, committing the murder? What proof have you that the other two, +posted near, didn’t climb the wall, not to rush to the victim’s help +but to smother his cries and finish him off?” + +“If that were so, why should they accuse you personally?” + +“I have a small shoot and the Gaudus are incorrigible poachers. It was +thanks to me that they were twice caught in the act and sentenced. Now, +as they’ve got to accuse some one to shift suspicion from themselves, +they’re getting their own back.” + +“Merely surmise, as you said yourself. Why should they want to kill +Vaucherel?” + +“How should I know?” Leboc shrugged his shoulders. + +“You have no idea what it was that may have been stolen from the drawer +in the table?” + +“None, your lordship. My friend Vaucherel was not rich, whatever people +may have said. I happen to know that he had entrusted his savings to a +broker and kept no money in the house.” + +“Nor anything valuable?” + +“Nothing whatever.” + +“What about his books?” + +“They aren’t worth anything, as you can see for yourself. He always +wanted to collect first editions and old bindings, but he could never +afford it.” + +“Did he ever mention the Gaudu cousins to you?” + +“Never. Much as I long to avenge my poor friend’s death, I have no wish +to speak anything but the strict truth.” + +The examination went on. The magistrate questioned the cousins closely, +but at the finish the confrontation showed no results. Having cleared +up a few minor points, the magistrates adjourned to Fontines. + +Monsieur Leboc’s property, at the end of the village, was no bigger +than the cottage. The garden was enclosed by a very high, neatly +clipped hedge. The white-painted brick house faced on to a tiny, +perfectly circular lawn. As at the cottage the distance from gate to +porch was between fifteen and twenty yards. + +The magistrate asked Monsieur Leboc to take up his position as on the +fatal afternoon. Monsieur Leboc thereupon seated himself at the window, +a book on his knees, and his pipe in his mouth. + +Here again no mistake was possible. Anyone passing the gate and +glancing towards the house could not fail to see Monsieur Leboc +distinctly. The five witnesses who had been summoned—laborers and +shopkeepers of Fontines—repeated their evidence in such a way that it +was quite impossible to doubt Monsieur Leboc’s whereabouts between +midday and four o’clock on the day of the crime. + +The magistrates did not attempt to hide their bewilderment from the +inspector, and Formerie, to whom Béchoux had introduced Barnett as a +detective of exceptional ability, could not help saying: + +“A complicated case, monsieur. What do you make of it?” + +“Yes, what do you make of it?” echoed Béchoux, signing pointedly to +remind Barnett of the need for tact. + +Jim Barnett had followed the whole investigation at the cottage in +silence. Béchoux had kept asking him questions, to which he had only +replied with nods and muttered monosyllables. Now he answered +pleasantly: + +“A most complicated case, monsieur.” + +“Ah, you think so too. All things considered, the allegations of the +two parties balance each other. On the one hand, we have Monsieur +Leboc’s alibi. It is incontestable that he could not have left his +house that afternoon. On the other hand, the story of the three cousins +impresses me favorably.” + +“That’s so. One side or the other is acting an abject farce. But which +side? Can the three Gaudus, bad characters of brutal aspect, be +innocent? Or may the smiling Monsieur Leboc, all candor and calm, be +guilty? Or are we to take it that the appearance of the actors in this +drama is an indication of their respective rôles, Monsieur Leboc being +innocent and the Gaudus guilty?” + +“After all,” Monsieur Formerie concluded with some satisfaction, +“you’re no nearer seeing daylight than we are.” + +“Oh, yes, I am!” Jim Barnett declared, a twinkle in his eye. + +Monsieur Formerie bit his lip. + +“That being so,” he observed icily, “perhaps you will be so good as to +tell us what more you have been able to discover.” + +“I will certainly do so at the proper moment. To-day, monsieur, all I +can do is to beg you to call a new witness.” + +“A new witness? But—what’s his name?” + +“I really don’t know.” + +“What’s that? You don’t know?” + +Monsieur Formerie was wondering whether this super-detective was +ragging him. Béchoux showed signs of anxiety. Was Barnett going to pull +a hornet’s nest about his ears at the start? + +At last Jim Barnett leaned over to Monsieur Formerie and pointing to +Monsieur Leboc, who was still puffing conscientiously at his pipe by +the window, he whispered: + +“In the inner compartment of Monsieur Leboc’s pocketbook there is a +visiting card pierced with four small holes in lozenge formation. That +card will give us the name and address of our new witness.” + +This ridiculous oracular pronouncement was hardly calculated to restore +Formerie’s equilibrium, but Inspector Béchoux did not hesitate to act. +Without giving any reason, he ordered Monsieur Leboc to hand over his +pocketbook. He opened it and took out a visiting card pierced with four +holes arranged in a lozenge and bearing the name: Miss Elizabeth +Lovendale, with an address in blue pencil: Grand Hotel Vendôme, Paris. + +The two magistrates looked at one another in amazement. Béchoux fairly +beamed, while Monsieur Leboc, utterly unembarrassed, exclaimed: + +“Good gracious! What a search I had for that card! And so did poor +Vaucherel!” + +“Why should he have been looking for it?” + +“Really, your lordship, you can’t expect me to know that. I expect he +wanted the address.” + +“Then what are the four holes doing?” + +“Oh, I made those to mark the four points I scored in a game of écarté. +We often played écarté together, and I must have picked this visiting +card up without thinking and put it in my pocketbook.” + +Leboc gave this plausible explanation in a perfectly natural manner and +it seemed to satisfy Formerie. What remained unexplained was how on +earth Jim Barnett could have guessed that such a card was hidden in the +pocketbook of a man he had never seen before in his life. + +And Barnett himself furnished no elucidation. He merely smiled and +insisted that they should call Elizabeth Lovendale as a witness. This +they agreed to do. + + + +Miss Lovendale was out of town and did not put in an appearance for a +week. The inquiry was at a standstill for that time, although Formerie +zealously pursued his investigations, the memory of Jim Barnett egging +him on. + +“You’ve riled him,” Béchoux told Barnett on the afternoon when they +were all assembled again at the cottage. “So much so that he’s +determined to decline your assistance.” + +“Ought I to clear out?” Barnett asked. “I don’t want to cloud any one’s +sky—not even Formerie’s!” + +“No, you can stay,” Béchoux told him. “Anyway, I fancy he’s come to a +definite decision.” + +“All the better. It’s sure to be the wrong one. There’s a good time +coming!” + +“Don’t be so disrespectful, Barnett!” + +“Oh, all right, I’ll be respectful and, of course, absolutely +disinterested. Nothing in hand or pocket. But, I must say, a little +more Formerie will about finish me!” + +Monsieur Leboc had been waiting half an hour when a car drew up and +Miss Lovendale got out. Monsieur Formerie came up briskly. + +“How do you do, Mr. Barnett,” he said. “Any more bright ideas?” + +“Perhaps, monsieur,” was Barnett’s cautious reply. + +“Well, wait till you’ve heard mine. But first we must get through with +your witness. Absolutely irrelevant and a sheer waste of time, you’ll +be glad to hear. Still, it can’t be helped.” + +Elizabeth Lovendale was a dowdily dressed, middle-aged Englishwoman, +her slight eccentricity of manner heightened by her dishevelled hair. +She spoke French fluently, but so volubly that she was hard to +understand. + +At once, before any question could be put to her, she launched forth: + +“That poor Monsieur Vaucherel! Murdered! Such a nice man, if he was a +bit queer. And you want to know whether I knew him? Oh, not well. I +only came here once—on business. I wanted to buy something from him. We +disagreed about the price. I was going to have another appointment with +him after seeing my brothers. My brothers are well known in +London—Lovendale and Lovendale, Limited, the big provision merchants.” + +Monsieur Formerie strove to stem this flow of eloquence. + +“What was it you wanted to buy, mademoiselle?” + +“A little scrap of paper—nothing but a scrap of paper. Sentimental +value only, as people say. But it was worth a lot to me and I made the +mistake of telling him so. It all goes back to my great-grandmother, +Dorothy Lovendale. She was a beauty and much admired by King George the +Fourth. She kept eighteen love-letters that he wrote her and hid them, +one in each volume of an eighteen-volume calf-bound edition of +Richardson’s works. When she died, the family found every volume except +the fourteenth, which was missing, together with the letter inside of +it—the fourteenth letter and the most interesting, for it was known to +prove that the lovely Dorothy had stepped aside from virtue’s +path,”—Miss Lovendale lowered her eyes discreetly so as not to meet +Barnett’s look of amusement—“just nine months before the birth of her +eldest son. You can understand what it would mean to us to get that +letter back! Why, it would prove our royal descent!” + +Formerie was growing more and more impatient. + +Elizabeth Lovendale took a deep breath, and went on with her story. + +“After searching and advertising for nearly thirty years, I learned one +day that among a number of books sold at auction was the fourteenth +volume of the set of Richardson. I flew to the purchaser, a second-hand +bookseller on the Quai Voltaire, who referred me to Monsieur Vaucherel +who had just bought the book. Monsieur Vaucherel produced the precious +volume, and, like a fool, I told him that the letter I was after must +be in the back of the binding. He examined it closely and changed +color. Then, of course, I realized my stupidity. If I had kept quiet +about the letter he would have sold me the book for fifty francs. I +offered him a thousand. Monsieur Vaucherel, shaking with excitement, +asked ten thousand. I agreed. We both lost our heads. It was like a +nightmare auction. Twenty thousand—thirty—finally he demanded fifty +thousand francs, yelling like a madman, with his eyes blazing. ‘Fifty +thousand,’ he cried, ‘not a sou less—that will buy me all the books I +want—the rarest and finest—fifty thousand francs!’ He wanted a deposit +then and there—a check. I said I would come back. He let me go and I +saw him lock the book into the drawer of this table.” + +Elizabeth Lovendale went on embellishing her statement with much +unnecessary detail. Nobody paid any attention to her. All eyes were for +the contorted countenance of the magistrate. He was obviously the prey +of somewhat violent emotion and was quite overwhelmed with excessive +jubilation. At last he managed to get out: + +“In short, mademoiselle, you are asking for the return of the +fourteenth volume of Richardson’s collected works?” + +“I am.” She looked at him with sudden hope. + +“Then here it is,” he cried, and with a theatrical gesture he produced +a small calf-bound book from his pocket. + +“Not really!” cried Miss Lovendale. + +“Here it is,” he repeated. “But King George’s love-letter isn’t there. +I should have noticed it. But I’ll wager I can find it if I was able to +discover the missing volume that people have been after for the past +century. The man who stole the one indubitably stole the other.” + +Monsieur Formerie paced the room, his hands behind his back, enjoying +his triumph. Suddenly he drummed on the table and spoke again. + +“Now we know the motive for the murder. Someone overheard the +conversation between Vaucherel and Miss Lovendale and saw where +Vaucherel had put the book. A few days later that person murdered +Vaucherel to rob him of the book so that he could later on dispose of +the fourteenth letter. Who was it? Why, Gaudu, the farm-hand, whose +guilt I never doubted. I searched his house yesterday and noticed a +large crack between the bricks of the fireplace. Hidden in a hole +behind this crack I found a book, which obviously belonged to Monsieur +Vaucherel’s library. Miss Lovendale’s story, coming as it does, proves +the accuracy of my deductions. The Gaudu cousins will be placed under +arrest, the scum, as the murderers of poor old Vaucherel and the +criminal accusers of Monsieur Leboc.” + +Monsieur Formerie solemnly shook hands with Monsieur Leboc as a mark of +his esteem and was effusively thanked by the latter. Then he gallantly +escorted Elizabeth Lovendale to her car and returned, rubbing his hands +together. + +After this, everybody made for the Gaudus’ house, whither the three +cousins were being brought under escort. It was a brilliant day. +Monsieur Formerie, walking between Barnett and Béchoux, with Leboc +bringing up the rear, was full of satisfaction. The coveted Paris +appointment loomed ever nearer on his horizon. + +“Well, well, Barnett,” he remarked, “very neatly done, eh? Not quite +what you expected, though. After all, you were inclined to be hostile +to Monsieur Leboc, weren’t you?” + +“I admit, monsieur,” Barnett confessed, “that I allowed my line of +reasoning to be influenced by that confounded visiting card. Would you +believe it? That card was lying on the cottage floor during the +confrontation, and I actually saw Leboc drawing stealthily nearer and +nearer till he got his right foot on it. When we left the place, he had +it stuck to the sole of his boot. Afterwards he detached it and slipped +it into his pocketbook. Well, the imprint of his right sole on the damp +ground showed me that the said sole had four spikes arranged in a +lozenge. That meant that our friend Leboc, knowing that he had +forgotten the card lying on the floor, and anxious to keep Elizabeth +Lovendale’s name and address out of things, hit upon this neat little +dodge. And really, it’s thanks to the visiting card that——” + +Monsieur Formerie burst out laughing. + +“My dear Barnett, don’t be childish! Why all these pointless +complications? You shouldn’t waste your energy ferreting out mares’ +nests. It’s a thing I never do. For goodness sake let’s stick to the +facts as we find them and refrain from distorting them to fit +impossible theories.” + +The party was by now near Monsieur Leboc’s house which was on their way +to the Gaudus’. Monsieur Formerie took Barnett’s arm and went affably +on with his curtain lecture. + +“Where you went wrong, Barnett, was in refusing to admit the +incontrovertible truth that, after all, one man cannot be in two places +at the same moment. Everything turns on that—Monsieur Leboc, smoking at +his window, couldn’t be at the same time committing a murder at the +cottage. Here we have Monsieur Leboc just behind us. There is the gate +of his house, three yards away. I say it’s impossible to conceive a +miracle by which Monsieur Leboc could be at once behind us and at his +window.” + +Suddenly Formerie stood still in his tracks, choking, helpless and +amazed. + +“What is it?” Béchoux asked. + +Formerie pointed towards the house. + +“There!... Look!...” + +Through the bars of the gate, twenty yards away, beyond the lawn, they +could see Monsieur Leboc smoking his pipe, framed in the open +window—Monsieur Leboc who nevertheless was standing with the group in +the road. + +A nightmare vision—a hallucination! It was incredible. Who could be +impersonating the real Leboc, whom Formerie had by the arm? + +Béchoux had opened the gate and was running to the house. Formerie +followed him, shouting threats at Leboc’s extraordinary double. But the +figure in the window never heeded nor stirred. How should it heed or +stir, since, as they could see on drawing closer, it was merely a +picture, a painted canvas fitting the window-frame exactly and +presenting a tolerably life-like profile of Monsieur Leboc smoking his +pipe. It was daubed in the same style as the portrait of Vaucherel +hanging in the cottage. Obviously the same artist had painted both. + +Formerie wheeled round. The mask of smiling placidity had dropped from +Monsieur Leboc’s face; the man had collapsed utterly under this +unforeseen blow. He began a maudlin confession. + +“I lost my head—I never meant to stab him—I only wanted to share in +with him, fifty-fifty.... He refused—I didn’t know what I was doing. I +never meant to stab him.” + +His whining trailed off and Jim Barnett’s voice, now harsh and +scathing, was raised in mocking inquiry. + +“What do you say to that, Monsieur Formerie? Nice lad, Leboc, all ready +with a perfect alibi! How were the unobservant passers-by to doubt the +reality of the Monsieur Leboc they only saw at a distance? Personally, +I suspected something like this when I saw the portrait of old +Vaucherel. I wondered if the same artist could have painted Leboc. I +didn’t have to look hard—Leboc was too sure he’d fooled us all. The +canvas was rolled up and hidden in the corner of a shed under a heap of +rusty tools. I only had to nail it in place at the window a little +while ago, after Leboc had gone to answer your summons. That’s how a +man can simultaneously murder abroad and smoke his pipe at home!” + +Jim Barnett was ruthless. His grating voice flayed the hapless +Formerie. + +“Just look what a clean sheet Leboc had. What a ready answer about the +visiting card—the four holes marking his score at écarté. And the book +he hid the other day in the Gaudus’ fireplace. I was shadowing him! And +the anonymous letter he sent you—for that was what got you going. +Leboc, you scoundrel, I’ve had some real amusement out of you. D’you +hear, my bright lad?” + +Formerie was pale but restrained. After a prolonged scrutiny of Leboc, +he murmured: + +“I’m not surprised ... shifty eyes ... a slippery way with him.... What +a rogue!” His wrath overflowed. “You blackguard, I’ll see you get +yours! Now then, where’s that letter?” + +Leboc, stricken helpless, stammered: + +“In the bowl of the pipe that’s hanging on the wall in the room on your +left. I haven’t cleaned it. The letter’s there.” + +They rushed into the room. Béchoux fell upon the pipe and shook out the +ashes. But the bowl was quite empty. Leboc seemed utterly overcome and +Formerie’s temper broke out again. + +“You liar—you confounded faker! But you’re going to tell me where that +letter is—at once!” + +At that moment the inspector met Barnett’s gaze. Barnett was smiling a +happy, childlike smile. Béchoux’s fists clenched convulsively. He began +to understand that the Barnett Agency was gratuitous in a peculiar +fashion all its own. Dimly he saw how Jim Barnett, while protesting +truthfully that he never asked his clients for a penny, could afford to +live in comfort as a private detective. + +He drew close to him and muttered: + +“You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you? The Arsène Lupin touch!” + +“What?” Barnett was all wide-eyed innocence. + +“The way you spirited that letter away!” + +“So you guessed my weakness? I always had a passion for the autographs +of royalty!” + + + +Three months later there called upon Elizabeth Lovendale, then in +London, a highly distinguished gentleman, who assured her that he could +lay hands on King George’s love-letter to great-grandmother Dorothy. +His price was a mere bagatelle of a hundred thousand francs. + +There were lengthy negotiations. Elizabeth took counsel with her +brothers, the renowned provision merchants. They haggled, refused to +pay, and finally gave in. + +The highly distinguished gentleman pocketed his hundred thousand francs +and appropriated, into the bargain, an entire vanload of choice +groceries which disappeared into the void! + + + + + + + + +IV + +A GAME OF BACCARAT + + +Jim Barnett, making his way out of Rouen railway station, was met by +Inspector Béchoux, who clutched his arm and led him quickly away. + +“We haven’t a minute to lose. Things may take a turn for the worse at +any moment!” + +“I should be much more impressed with the gravity of the situation,” +Barnett remarked with profound logic, “if I knew what it was all about. +I came in answer to your wire and in complete ignorance of the +excitements awaiting me.” + +“You arrived according to plan—my plan,” said Inspector Béchoux +complacently. + +“Can this mean, Béchoux”—Barnett paused to strike a dramatic +attitude—“can this mean that you’ve got over the little affair of King +George the Fourth’s love-letter and no longer distrust me?” + +“I still distrust you, Barnett, just as I distrust the way the Barnett +Agency settles accounts with its clients. But there’s nothing in this +case for you, old man. For once in your career you’ll have to give your +services gratis.” + +Barnett’s lips pursed to a soft whistle. The prospect did not seem to +daunt him. Béchoux gave him a swift sidelong glance, already uneasy and +wishing that he could manage to dispense with the private detective’s +assistance. + +They turned into the station yard. A private car was drawn up, waiting +and in it sat a handsome woman with a pale, tragic face. Tears stood in +her eyes and her lips were pressed together in a desperate effort at +self-control. She opened the car door and Béchoux introduced his +friend. + +“Madame, this is Jim Barnett. I told you of him as the only man who +might be able to save you. Barnett, let me introduce Madame +Fougeraie—the wife of Monsieur Fougeraie, the engineer. Madame +Fougeraie’s husband is on the verge of being arrested on a charge of——” +He paused dramatically. + +“Of what?” + +“Murder.” + +Jim Barnett’s tongue clicked in ghoulish appreciation. The horrified +Béchoux stammered an apology for his friend. + +“Forgive him, madame. He always feels so utterly at home on a really +serious case.” + +The car was already speeding towards the quays of Rouen. It turned left +and drew up in front of a big building. + +They all got out and went up in a lift to the third floor, on which +were the premises of the Norman Club. “Here,” said Béchoux waving a +hand to indicate the palatial precincts, “is the rendezvous where the +biggest merchants and manufacturers of Rouen and the district meet to +talk, read the papers and play cards, especially on Friday, which is +Stock Exchange day. As nobody is about in the morning except the +cleaners, there is plenty of time for me to tell you on the spot about +the drama that has just been enacted here.” + +They passed down a passage into a large, comfortably furnished room +with a thick pile carpet. This, with two similar adjoining rooms, lined +the façade of the third floor of the building. These rooms were +intercommunicating, and the third led into a much smaller circular +room, with only one window, opening on to a big balcony, which +overlooked the banks of the Seine. They passed into the third large +room. + +There they all sat down, Madame Fougeraie a little withdrawn near a +window, and Béchoux spoke: + +“Now listen. A few weeks ago, on a Friday night, four members of this +club sat down after a good dinner to play poker. They were all friends, +mill-owners and manufacturers at Maromme, a big industrial centre near +Rouen. Three of the men were married and the fathers of families: +Alfred Auvard, Raoul Dupin, and Louis Batinet. The fourth, Maxime +Tuillier, was a younger, unmarried man in the same set. + +“Towards midnight a fifth member joined them—a rich, young idler, Paul +Erstein by name. The five started playing baccarat now that the rooms +were deserted. Paul Erstein, an enthusiastic and regular player, held +the bank.” + +Béchoux pointed to one of the tables in the room, and went on: + +“They were playing there, at that table. At first it was a quiet +game—they had begun playing half-heartedly for want of something better +to do—but gradually it warmed up, after Erstein had ordered two bottles +of champagne for the party. From that moment luck was on the banker’s +side—shocking, unfair, maddening luck. Paul Erstein had it all his own +way. The others were exasperated and did their utmost to break the run, +without success. Contrary to all common sense, they would none of them +give in, with the result that at four o’clock in the morning the +Maromme manufacturers had lost all the money they were bringing from +Rouen to pay their hands. In addition, Maxime Tuillier had given Paul +Erstein his I.O.U. for eighty thousand francs.” + +Inspector Béchoux drew a long breath and continued: + +“Suddenly there was a coup de théâtre, a strange turn given to +Fortune’s wheel by Erstein’s own happy-go-lucky generosity. He divided +his winnings into four shares, corresponding exactly to the other men’s +losses, then subdivided those into thirds, and proposed having three +final deals. This meant that each of his opponents was to play him +individually double or quits on each of the three bundles of notes. +They took him on. Paul Erstein lost all three deals. The luck had +turned. After an all-night battle there were neither winners nor +losers. + +“‘All the better,’ said Erstein, standing up. ‘I felt a bit ashamed of +myself, winning like that. Lord! what a head I’ve got! Must be the heat +of the room. Anyone coming to smoke a cigarette with me on the +balcony?’ + +“He stepped into the Round Room. For a few minutes, the four friends +remained at the table, gaily discussing the phases of the game. Then +they decided to leave the club. After crossing the other two rooms, +they warned the watchman dozing in the anteroom: + +“‘Monsieur Erstein is still there, Joseph. But he’s sure to be going +soon.’ + +“Then they left, at exactly thirty-five minutes past four. They went +back to Maromme in Alfred Auvard’s car, as on most Friday nights. The +club servant, Joseph, waited for another hour. Then, tiring of his +vigil, he went in search of Paul Erstein, and found him lying in the +Round Room, twisted and inert. He was dead.” + +Inspector Béchoux paused again. Madame Fougeraie’s head was bowed. Jim +Barnett accompanied his friend into the Round Room, cast a searching +glance over everything, and spoke: + +“Now then, Béchoux, let’s get down to it. What has the inquest +revealed?” + +“The inquest has revealed,” answered Béchoux, “that Paul Erstein was +struck on the left temple with a blunt instrument which must have +felled him at a blow. There was no sign of a struggle except that his +watch was broken. The hands pointed to five minutes to five, that’s to +say, twenty minutes after the departure of the other players. There was +no indication of theft; a signet ring and a wad of notes had not been +taken; nothing was missing. Finally, there was absolutely no trace of +the murderer, who could not have come or gone by way of the anteroom, +since Joseph had not moved from his post.” + +“Then,” said Barnett, “there is no clue?” + +“There is just one.” Béchoux hesitated, then went on: “It’s pretty +important. At the inquest, one of my colleagues called the coroner’s +attention to the fact that the balcony on the third floor of the next +building is very close to the balcony of this room. The magistrates +entered the building in question, the third floor of which is the +Fougeraies’ flat. They found that Monsieur Fougeraie had left home that +morning and had not returned. Madame Fougeraie took the magistrates +into her husband’s room. The balcony of that room is the one contiguous +to the balcony of the Round Room. Look!” + +Barnett stepped out through the open French window. + +“The distance is about four feet,” he observed. “Quite easy to get +across. But there’s nothing to prove that it was done.” + +“Wait a moment,” said Béchoux. “D’you see those flower-boxes at the +edge of the Fougeraies’ balcony? They still contain the earth with +which they were filled last summer. They’ve been searched. In one of +them, just below the surface, with the earth freshly turned above it, +we found a knuckle-duster. The coroner has established that the shape +of this weapon corresponds exactly to the wound inflicted on Erstein. +There were no finger-prints distinguishable, as it had been raining +steadily since the morning. But the charge seems pretty well-founded. +Monsieur Fougeraie, seeing Paul Erstein in the brilliantly lighted room +opposite, must have sprung on to the club balcony; then, after +murdering his victim with the knuckle-duster, he hid his weapon in the +flower-box. + +“But what motive had he for the crime? Did he know Paul Erstein?” + +Béchoux shook his head. + +“Then why——?” + +During Béchoux’s reconstruction of what had happened, Madam Fougeraie +had got up and come over to where the two men stood. Her grief-stricken +face worked pitifully. She kept back her tears with a visible effort. +In answer to Barnett’s question, she said in a voice that trembled: + +“It is for me to answer, monsieur. I will be brief and perfectly frank, +and then you will understand my fears. No, my husband did not know Paul +Erstein. But I knew him. I had met him several times in Paris at a +friend’s house, and from the start he made love to me. I am devoted to +my husband”—poor Madame Fougeraie gave a choking sob—“I have always +been faithful to him. Although I was sensible of Paul Erstein’s +attraction, I resisted it. But, weakly, I gave in to the extent of +meeting him several times in the country some way out of Rouen.” + +“And you wrote to him?” + +She nodded miserably. + +“And your letters are now in the hands of his family?” + +“Of his father.” + +“Who, I suppose, is determined the letters shall be read in court so +that his son’s death shall be avenged at all costs.” + +“Yes. Those letters prove the harmless character of our relations. +But—they prove that I met Paul Erstein without my husband’s knowledge. +And in one of them I wrote: ‘I beg of you, Paul, do be reasonable. My +husband is extremely jealous and very violent. If he should suspect me +for an instant, he would be capable of doing almost anything.’ So you +see, monsieur, that letter would considerably strengthen the case +against my husband. Jealousy would provide the police with the motive +they want. It would explain the murder and the discovery of the weapon +in the flower-box just outside my husband’s room.” + +“Are you yourself sure, madame, that Monsieur Fougeraie suspected +nothing?” + +She nodded. + +“And you believe him innocent?” + +“Oh, there can be no doubt—no doubt at all!” she cried impulsively. + +Barnett, meeting her steadfast gaze, realized how this woman’s +conviction of her husband’s innocence could have influenced Béchoux to +the extent of making him her ally despite the public prosecutor and his +minions, and despite professional etiquette. + +Barnett asked a few more questions, was lost in thought for some +moments, and at last announced solemnly: + +“Madame, I can hold out no hopes. Logically, your husband must be +guilty. It is for me to try to disprove logic.” + +“Do see my husband,” Madame Fougeraie besought him. “He will be able to +explain——” + +“That’s quite useless, madame. I cannot help you unless I first of all +put your husband right out of the running in my own mind, and work on +the basis of your belief in his innocence.” + +The preliminaries were over. Barnett was in the ring at once, and, +accompanied by Inspector Béchoux, called on the victim’s father. With +Erstein senior he came straight to the point: + +“Monsieur, I am looking after Madame Fougeraie’s interests for her. You +are turning over your son’s correspondence to the prosecution, aren’t +you?” + +“To-day, monsieur.” + +“You have no hesitation in ruining the life of the woman your son loved +so dearly?” + +“If that woman’s husband was my son’s murderer, I shall be sorry for +her sake, but my son’s death shall be avenged.” + +“Wait five days, monsieur. Next Tuesday the murderer shall be +unmasked.” + +Against his will, Erstein made the concession. + +Barnett’s procedure in those five days of grace often disconcerted +Inspector Béchoux. He took—and made Béchoux take—the most irregular +steps, interviewed and organized a band of helpers, and spent money +like water. However, he seemed dissatisfied, and, contrary to habit, +was taciturn and inclined to sulk. + +On Tuesday morning he had a talk with Madame Fougeraie and told her: + +“Béchoux has got the prosecution to agree to a reconstruction of the +events of the fatal night, in detail, at the Norman Club, and it’s to +take place this afternoon. They have summoned both you and your husband +to appear. I implore you to control yourself, whatever happens, and to +try to appear almost indifferent.” + +She looked at him trustingly, through unshed tears. + +“Is there any hope...?” she faltered. + +“I don’t know myself. As I told you before, I am simply playing your +hunch that Monsieur Fougeraie is innocent. I shall try to prove his +innocence by demonstrating a possible theory, but it’s a difficult +business. Even admitting that I am on the right track, as I believe I +am, the truth may yet elude us up to the very last moment.” + + + +The public prosecutor and the examining magistrate who had investigated +the case proved to be a conscientious pair. They put their trust in +facts alone and refrained from interpreting these in the light of +preconceived theories. + +“With such men,” said Béchoux, “I have no fear of your starting a row +or employing your usual bright badinage. They have very kindly given me +carte blanche to act as I see fit—or rather as you see fit—and don’t +you forget it.” + +“My dear Béchoux,” replied Barnett, “I never indulge in badinage except +when victory is within my grasp, which is not the case to-day.” + +The third room at the Norman Club was crowded. The magistrates talked +together at the threshold of the Round Room; then they went into it, +but came out again in a little while. The manufacturers waited in a +group. Policemen and inspectors came and went. Both Paul Erstein’s +father and Joseph, the club servant, stood apart from the rest. +Monsieur and Madame Fougeraie were together in a corner. He looked +gloomy and preoccupied; she was even paler than usual. It was common +knowledge now that the police had decided to arrest the engineer. + +One of the magistrates addressed the four men who had played baccarat +with Paul Erstein: + +“Gentlemen, we are about to reconstruct what took place on the fatal +Friday night. Will each of you please take up the position in which he +sat at this table so that we have the game of baccarat exactly as it +was played? Inspector Béchoux, you will hold the bank. Have you asked +these gentlemen to bring exactly the same sums in notes as they had +with them on the occasion in question?” + +Béchoux nodded and sat down in the middle seat, with Alfred Auvard and +Raoul Dupin on his left and Louis Batinet and Maxime Tuillier on his +right. Six packs of cards were put out. The cards were cut to him and +he shuffled. + +Then an odd thing happened. Immediately, just as on that tragic night, +luck favored the banker. With the same ease as Paul Erstein, Béchoux +won. He won steadily, automatically, as it were, in an unbroken run, +without any of the fluctuations and turns of fortune which had, after +all, characterized the original game. This mechanical continuity gave +the scene a strange, cinematographic quality. The game might have been +a fantastic “quick motion” picture of what had originally taken place. +The atmosphere of the proceedings began to tell on the players. Maxime +Tuillier seemed ill at ease and twice made mistakes in his play. Jim +Barnett grew irritated by the young man and at last officiously took +his place at Béchoux’s right hand. + +Ten minutes later—for the film-like speed of the game accelerated +unchecked—more than half the banknotes produced for the game by the +four friends were stacked on the green cloth in front of Béchoux. +Maxime Tuillier, as represented by Jim Barnett, began handing over +I.O.U’s. + +The pace quickened again. The end of the game came soon. Suddenly +Béchoux, as Paul Erstein had done, divided his winnings into four wads +of notes, proportionate to the other men’s losses, and subdivided each +wad into three, thus leading up to Erstein’s dramatic offer of “double +or quits” on three deals. + +His opponents’ eyes never left him. The four men were evidently +stricken by the memory of that other game. + +Three times Béchoux dealt on the two tableaux. + +And three times, instead of losing, like Paul Erstein, Béchoux won! + +A murmur of surprise rose from the onlookers. The miraculous +reconstruction of the original game had been unaccountably flawed. The +luck should have turned—but it had remained in the banker’s favor. +Supposing—the thought slipped into being—supposing this was indeed a +miracle, and this new ending to the game was not new at all? + +“I am sorry,” said Béchoux, his words oddly remote as he continued to +act his rôle of banker. He stood up, first pocketing all the banknotes. + +Then, as Paul Erstein had done, he complained of a headache and +expressed his wish that someone would come out on the balcony with him. +He went out, lighting a cigarette. + +The other men remained motionless, with set faces. The cards lay +scattered on the table. + +Then, and only then, Jim Barnett rose from his chair. But now, by some +wizardry, his face and his general appearance had taken on the outward +semblance of Maxime Tuillier, whom he had so lately supplanted in the +game of baccarat. Maxime Tuillier, clean-shaven, about thirty, wearing +a tight-fitting, double-breasted coat.... Maxime Tuillier, looking +morose and dissatisfied.... Jim Barnett was the young man to the life! + +He went slowly towards the Round Room, moving like an automaton, his +expression an alternating study in callous ruthlessness and frightened +indecision—the expression of a man on the verge of doing something +terrible, but a man who might yet perhaps take to his heels with the +deed unaccomplished. + +The players could not see his face, which was turned away from them. +But the magistrates saw it. And they forgot Jim Barnett, the skilled +impersonator, and thought only of Maxime Tuillier, the ruined gambler, +who was going to join his triumphant opponent. His face, which he +apparently strove to compose, gave ample indication of his mental +turmoil. Was he about to make a plea, a demand, or—a threat? When he +opened the door of the Round Room, he was once more master of his +emotions; he had regained his self-control. + +The door closed behind him. + +The staging of the imaginary “reconstruction” of the drama had been so +vivid that everyone waited in silence. The other players also waited, +staring at that closed door behind which was being repeated what had +taken place on the night of the tragedy—behind which it was not Barnett +and Béchoux who were playing their respective rôles of murderer and +victim, but Maxime Tuillier and Paul Erstein pitted against one +another. + +After what seemed an eternity, the murderer—there was nothing else to +call him—came out. He staggered back to his friends, his eyes wild with +horror. In one hand he held the four bundles of notes. One he threw +down on the table. The other three he pressed upon the three players, +saying in queer, strained tones: + +“I’ve been having a talk with Erstein. He asked me to give you back +this money. He doesn’t want it. Let’s go home.” + +A yard or so away Maxime Tuillier, the real Maxime Tuillier, leaned on +a chair for support. His face was pale and drawn. His jaw had fallen. +Jim Barnett turned and spoke to him in his normal voice. + +“Am I right, Monsieur Tuillier? The scene has been reproduced correctly +in all essential details, hasn’t it? My rendering of the part you +played the other night was pretty accurate? Don’t you think I’ve +reconstructed the crime rather cleverly—your crime?” + +Maxime Tuillier seemed not to hear the words. His head was bowed; his +arms hung limp. He was a mere husk of a man, all the life gone out of +him. He reeled drunkenly, sagged at the knees, and collapsed on the +chair. + +Barnett was at him at once, jerking him roughly to his feet. + +“You admit it? But anyway, nothing can save you. I can prove +everything. First, that knuckle-duster—you always carried one. Then, +you were ruined by your losses at baccarat that night. Investigations +have established the fact that you were in financial straits. You had +no money with which to meet your creditors at the end of the month. You +were on the verge of bankruptcy. When you followed Erstein into the +Round Room, you struck out, murderously. Afterwards, not knowing what +to do with your weapon, you climbed over on to the other balcony and +hid it in the flower-box. Then you altered the hands of the dead man’s +watch to establish your alibi, and joined your friends!” + +But Barnett’s eloquent denunciation was unnecessary. Maxime Tuillier +made no attempt at denial. Overwhelmed by the terrible burden of crime +under which he had labored for weeks, he stammered out the confession +of his guilt like a man in delirium. + +The onlookers were roused almost to frenzy. The examining magistrates +bent over the murderer and took down his involuntary, unprompted +confession. Paul Erstein’s father tried to hurl himself upon his son’s +slayer. Fougeraie’s voice was raised excitedly. But the most rabid were +Maxime Tuillier’s three friends. One in particular, the eldest and most +influential, Alfred Auvard, volleyed abuse: + +“You unspeakable blackguard! You made us believe that poor Erstein had +returned the money to us—when really you had stolen it after murdering +him!” + +He flung the notes at Maxime Tuillier’s head. The other two, equally +indignant, trampled the loathsome money underfoot. + +By degrees order was restored. Maxime Tuillier, half fainting and +uttering groans, was carried out of the room. An inspector gathered up +the banknotes and handed them to the magistrates. The latter requested +the Fougeraies and old Erstein to withdraw. They then complimented Jim +Barnett on his extraordinary powers of deduction. + +“Tuillier’s collapse and confession,” he told them, “are quite +commonplace features in the case. Its originality, the real mystery +that lifts it out of the usual run of such crimes, lies in something +quite different. So now, although this is none of my business, please +allow me——” + +Barnett, turning to the three manufacturers who were talking together +in low tones, went up to them and tapped Monsieur Auvard gently on the +shoulder. + +“A word with you, my friend. Something tells me you can throw a little +light on one aspect of this case that remains obscure.” + +“In what connection, pray?” asked Auvard coldly. + +“In connection with the part which you and your friends play in it, +monsieur.” + +“But we don’t come into it at all!” + +“Not actively, of course, I quite see that. But there are some features +which, I am sure you will agree with me, present a disconcerting series +of contradictions. For instance, you declared on the morning after the +murder that the game of baccarat had ended with three deals in your +favor, which cancelled your losses and broke up the card party. Well, +the facts don’t happen to bear out your statement.” + +Monsieur Auvard answered him defiantly: + +“That’s so. But there’s been a misunderstanding. Actually, those last +three deals only increased our losses. When Erstein left the table, +Maxime, who seemed perfectly self-possessed, followed him into the +Round Room for a smoke, while we three remained here, talking. When +Tuillier came back, nearly ten minutes later, he told us that Erstein +had never been in earnest over the game, that it had merely been a +series of flukes following on the champagne, to be treated as a joke. +He therefore insisted on returning the money to us, but pledged us to +secrecy. If anything ever came out, we were to say that the end of the +game had evened things up unexpectedly.” + +“And you accepted such an offer! As a present from Paul Erstein which +he had absolutely no reason to make you!” cried Barnett. “And having +accepted it, you didn’t even bother to thank him! And you found it +perfectly natural that Erstein, who was an inveterate gambler, inured +to gain and loss alike, should suddenly be ashamed to profit by his +luck! How unlikely!” + +“It was four in the morning. We were all overwrought. Maxime Tuillier +gave us no time for reflection. Anyhow, what reason had we to doubt his +word? We didn’t know then that he had just murdered Erstein and robbed +him.” + +“But next day you learned of the murder.” + +“Yes, but we naturally thought it had happened after our departure from +the club—it made no difference to Erstein’s last action on earth—the +restoration of our losses—nor to his wish that we should hold our +tongues about it.” + +“And you never for one moment suspected Maxime Tuillier?” + +“Why should we have suspected him? He is a member of the club. His +father was a friend of mine and I’ve known him practically all his +life. Of course we had no suspicions.” + +“Are you positive?” + +Barnett rapped the words out in ironic incredulity. Alfred Auvard +hesitated, glanced at the other two men, and then countered haughtily: + +“Your questions, sir, are in the nature of a cross-examination. What do +you think we’re here for anyway?” + +“In the eyes of the law you’re here as witnesses. But in mine——” + +“In yours——?” + +“That’s just what I’m going to explain now.” Quietly Barnett took the +floor, toying with the string of his monocle. + +“The whole of this case is really dominated by one factor—the +confidence you people inspired. Practically speaking, the crime could +have been an outside or an inside job. Yet those investigating at once +turned to the outside for the simple reason that one does not normally +suspect such a monument of respectability and righteousness as is +constituted by four wealthy manufacturers of unblemished reputation. If +one of you, say, Maxime Tuillier, had played a game of écarté with Paul +Erstein alone, he would naturally and undoubtedly have been suspected. +But there were four of you, and Tuillier was temporarily saved by the +silence of his friends. It would never occur to anyone that three men +of your standing could be guilty of complicity in a crime! Yet you were +guilty—and that was what I guessed from the start.” + +Alfred Auvard started forward. + +“You must be mad. Do you seriously suggest that we were Tuillier’s +accomplices?” + +“Oh, no. Obviously, you had no idea of what was going on in the Round +Room after Tuillier joined Erstein there. But you did know that he had +followed him in a peculiar frame of mind! And when he came back, you +knew that something had happened.” + +“We knew nothing of the sort.” + +“Oh, yes, you did, and that Tuillier must have used force of some kind. +There had not necessarily been a crime of violence, but there had +certainly not been merely a friendly conversation. I repeat, it was +quite evident that Maxime Tuillier must have used force to get back +that money for you.” + +“Preposterous!” + +“Not at all. When a coward like your friend kills a man, his face is +bound to betray him. It is impossible that you should have utterly +failed to notice his expression of horror when he came back after +committing the crime.” + +Both Batinet and Dupin were trembling, but Auvard kept up his +blustering attitude. + +“I protest that we noticed nothing.” + +“None so blind....” Barnett shrugged his shoulders and smiled +unpleasantly. + +“What do you mean by that?” + +“You didn’t want to see. Because you had got your money back. I know +you are all rich men. But that game of baccarat had shaken you +considerably. Like all occasional gamblers, you had the feeling that +your money had been stolen from you, and when it was returned, you +accepted it without troubling to inquire too closely into the methods +by which your friend had recovered it. You clung desperately to +silence. That night, as you drove back to Maromme together, in spite of +the urgent need for you to agree upon a safer version of the evening’s +episode, not one of you dared speak a word. I have that from your +chauffeur. And the next day—and the days after that—when the crime had +been discovered, you avoided meeting each other, for fear of finding +your secret thoughts confirmed.” + +“This is mere conjecture.” Auvard was indignant still, but his two +friends were on the verge of collapse. + +“Not conjecture, but certainty,” Barnett corrected him gently. +“Certainty based on facts acquired by exhaustive inquiries among the +people who know you. For you to accuse your friend was to expose your +own criminal weakness in the beginning. It meant turning the +searchlight of public opinion on yourselves and your families, and +damaging your reputations for honorable dealing with your fellow-men. +It meant a scandal. So you kept silent and cheated justice while you +shielded your friend Maxime.” + +Jim Barnett had been so vehement and telling in his accusation that for +a moment Monsieur Auvard wavered. But, suddenly changing his tactics, +the bewildering Barnett did not follow up his advantage. He merely +laughed and said: + +“Cheer up, Monsieur Auvard. I succeeded in undoing your friend Tuillier +because he was a weakling and suffering the agonies of remorse. I did +it by faking the cards in the game of baccarat we had here just now. +The accuracy of the reconstruction unnerved him. But I had no more real +proof against him than I have against you, and you are not the sort to +give in without showing fight. All the more so as your complicity in +the crime is so vague and negative, very much up in the air when it +comes to hard facts. So you have nothing to fear. Only”—he came closer +to his man, and thrust his face into the other’s—“only, I did not want +your peace of mind to be too complete. By your silence and your +astuteness, the three of you managed to cloak your actions from the +light of the law, so that people lost sight of your own more or less +voluntary complicity in the crime. We can’t have that, though. You must +never cease to be conscious that to a certain extent you shared in the +committal of the murder. Had you only prevented your friend from +following Paul Erstein into the Round Room, as you should have done, +Paul Erstein would not be dead to-day. And had you come forward at the +outset and told what you knew, Maxime Tuillier would not have come +within an ace of escaping his deserts. + +“Now it is for you to clear yourselves as best you may, messieurs. +Somehow, I don’t think the law will be too hard on you. Good-day.” + +Jim Barnett took his hat, and, disregarding the manufacturers’ protest, +spoke to the magistrates: + +“Messieurs, I promised Madame Fougeraie that I would help her and I +promised Paul Erstein’s father to unmask the murderer. My work is +done.” + +The magistrates were half-hearted in their valedictory handshake. +Probably Barnett’s words had fallen none too pleasantly on their ears +and they did not feel particularly inclined to follow his lead. + +To Inspector Béchoux, who had followed him on to the landing, Barnett +was just a wee bit more expansive: + +“Those three chaps can’t be touched. They’re safe as houses. Blasted +bourgeois bolstered up by bullion!” he almost blew bubbles in his +wrath. “They’re pillars of society, all right, and all the case against +them is the inferences to be drawn from my deductions. Too fine a +thread for the law to noose them in, I’m afraid. Never mind, I’ve +brought my case off well.” + +“And honestly,” approved Béchoux, adding, sotto voce, the words “for +once!” + +Barnett’s eyebrows arched interrogatively. + +“I must own,” Béchoux admitted, “that there were moments when I feared +for those banknotes. You could have snaffled them so easily.” + +“What do you take me for, Inspector Béchoux? A common thief?” Barnett’s +tone was one of outraged innocence. + +He left his friend and went out of the building and on to the +Fougeraies’ flat next door. There he was effusively thanked. With great +dignity he refused to take any reward for his services. + +Afterwards he called on Paul Erstein’s father and there exhibited the +same spirit of disinterested philanthropy. + +“The services of the Barnett Agency are free,” he told his clients. +“That is the secret both of its efficiency and of its integrity. We +work for glory only.” + +Jim Barnett settled his hotel bill and ordered them to send his bag to +the station. Then, presuming that Béchoux would accompany him back to +Paris, he walked along the quayside to the club building. On the first +landing he halted abruptly. The inspector was hurtling down the stairs. +The moment he saw Barnett he cried out angrily: + +“Got you, curse you!” + +He jumped the remaining stairs at a bound and thrust his fingers inside +Barnett’s coat collar. + +“What have you done with those notes?” + +“Doh, ray, me, fah——” began Barnett. + +“Banknotes!” the inspector screamed. “The notes you had when you were +acting Tuillier’s part upstairs.” + +“What’s all this? Do let go my collar. That’s better. Why, I gave those +notes back. Surely you remember? A little while ago you were even +congratulating me on my honesty!” + +“I wouldn’t have if I’d known what I know now!” said Béchoux grimly. + +“And what is this new knowledge that makes you change your tune?” +chanted Barnett. + +“The notes you gave back are forgeries—counterfeit—snide!” Béchoux was +frothing at the mouth. “You’re a rotten swindler!” he shouted. “You +needn’t think you’re going to get away with it, either. You’re going to +return the genuine notes to me at once! You can’t bluff me!” + +He choked, and Barnett’s raucous laugh rent the air. + +“The thieving skunks!” he exclaimed. “Well, well, well. So they threw +forged notes at their young friend. The sweeps! We get them to bring +their wads along and they turn out to be stage money!” + +“But don’t you understand?” Béchoux shrieked dancing with rage. “That +money belongs to Paul Erstein’s heirs. He had won it before he was +killed. The others must make restitution.” + +Barnett’s merriment overflowed. + +“Isn’t that too bad! So they’re to be fleeced twice over. Poetic +justice being visited on the scoundrels!” + +Béchoux’s teeth chattered with fury. + +“You liar! You changed those notes yourself. And now you’ve collared +the cash. Thief! Crook!” + + + +As the magistrates were leaving the club they caught sight of Inspector +Béchoux gesticulating speechlessly, frantically. And before him, arms +folded, convulsed with laughter, there leant against the wall—“Jim +Barnett!” + + + + + + + + +V + +THE MAN WITH THE GOLD TEETH + + +Jim Barnett held back a corner of his office window-curtain and peered +into the street, his face on a level with those of the passers-by. +Suddenly he was seized with a paroxysm of uncontrollable mirth and sank +weakly back into his armchair. + +“Almost too beautiful,” he murmured ecstatically. + +“To think the day should come when Béchoux——” He subsided into fresh +guffaws. + +“What’s the joke?” was Inspector Béchoux’s immediate demand on entering +the office. + +As Barnett did not at once reply, he fixed him with a stony glare. + +“What—are—you—laughing at?” + +“Why, at your coming here, of course! After our dust-up at the club in +Rouen you actually feel you can seek me out again! What is our police +force coming to?” + +Béchoux looked so crestfallen that Barnett made a valiant effort to +restrain his own unseemly laughter. But he could not control himself +completely and his utterance continued to be punctuated by explosive +chuckles. + +“Awfully sorry, old chap, but it really is funny! You, the instrument +of the law, presenting me with yet another pigeon for my plucking. Who +is it this time? Dare I hope for a millionaire? Or am I in for the +Minister of Finance? Don’t mind me. I’m not particular. Really, though, +it’s frightfully decent of you, old chap! Pardon my familiarity. Cheer +up, now, and try not to look like a decayed zebra. Spit it out!” +(Barnett’s idiom was deplorably vulgar.) “What’s up? Someone in trouble +again?” + +Béchoux, struggling to regain his composure, nodded his head. + +“Yes. It’s the very worthy curé of a parish in the suburbs.” + +Regardless of grammar, “Who’s he killed?” asked Barnett with interest. +“One of his flock?” + +“Oh, no, not that!” + +“You mean he’s been polished off by a parishioner? Then, really, I fail +to see how I can assist him!” + +“No, no. You’re getting it all wrong. I—he——” + +“I really think,” said Barnett kindly, “you’d do better not to attempt +to talk at all. You can’t apparently achieve coherence, and I hate +people who splutter in my face.” He made great play with a virulent +bandana. “Without further ado, lead me to your worthy suburban curé. I +am ever ready to hit the trail with Béchoux for my guide.” + + + +The little village—it is no more—of Vaneuil straggles down a hollow and +then up the three green hillsides which frame its old Romance church. +Behind the church lies a tranquil country graveyard, which is bordered +on the right by the hedge of a large estate surrounding a big +farmhouse, and on the left by the wall of the rectory. + +Béchoux, accompanied by Barnett, entered the latter building, walked +straight into the dining-room and there presented his friend to the +Abbé Dessole. He introduced Barnett as the one detective whose bright +lexicon knew not the word “impossible.” + +The abbé certainly appeared to be a worthy—and probably a simple—man. +He was middle-aged, plump, pink, and unctuous. His anxiety was written +large on a face that must usually have worn an expression of unruffled +placidity. Barnett observed his rather puffy hands, the rolls of fat at +wrist and neck, the fat paunch distending the cheap, shiny cassock. + +“Père Dessole,” said Barnett, “I know nothing about whatever it is that +troubles you. My friend, Inspector Béchoux, has so far merely told me +that he first made your acquaintance a long while ago. Could you now +give me a brief résumé of the facts of the case, avoiding all +irrelevant detail?” + +The Abbé Dessole must have prepared his story, for immediately, without +a moment’s hesitation, his deep bass voice boomed from the depths of +his double-chin and he began: + +“First, monsieur, I must tell you that the humble priests officiating +in this parish act at the same time as custodians of a church +treasure—the bequest in the eighteenth century of the lords of the +Château Vaneuil. + +“This treasure included two gold monstrances, two crucifixes, some +candelabra, and a tabernacle, making in all—or, rather, as I must +unfortunately say, which made in all nine valuable pieces which people +even came here from a distance to see. Personally”—the Abbé Dessole +mopped his brow and resumed: “Personally I must say that I always felt +the custody of this treasure to be a perilous trust, and in fear and +trembling I exercised every possible care in the discharge of my duty. +From this window you can see the apse of the church, and the vestry +where the treasure was kept. The walls of the vestry are exceptionally +thick, and it has just the one great oak door opening into the chancel. +I am the only person with a key to it, and that key is enormous. In +addition to that, I am the possessor of the only existing key to the +chest in which the treasure was locked. No one but myself ever acted as +cicerone to the visitors who came to see the treasure.” + +He waggled a fat forefinger at Barnett and his tone took on added +weight. + +“My bedroom window, monsieur, is less than fifteen yards away from the +barred dormer window which lights the vestry from above. Unknown to a +soul, I used, every night, to stretch a rope from my room to the vestry +so that any attempt at burglary would ring a bell at my bedside. As an +additional precaution, I always took the most precious piece in the +collection—a gem-studded reliquary—to my own room. Well, last night——” + +The Abbé Dessole again mopped his brow. The sweat poured off him as he +continued the unfolding of the tragedy. + +“Last night, towards one o’clock, I sprang out of bed, staggering in +the dark and only half-awake. I had been roused, not by the ringing of +my bell, but by a noise which might have been caused by something being +dropped on the floor. I called out: + +“‘Who’s there?’ + +“There was no reply, but I could feel the presence of someone standing +quite close to me, and I was sure the intruder had climbed in at the +window, for I felt the night air blowing in. I groped for my +flashlight, found it, and switched it on. Then, just for a second, I +had a glimpse of a distorted face showing white between a grey slouch +hat and a brown, turned-up collar. And in the man’s mouth, which was +moving silently, I could distinctly see two gold teeth, on the left +side of the jaw.” + +A flicker of interest crossed Barnett’s face. + +“The man at once struck my arm a sharp blow so that I dropped the +flashlight.... I rushed forward, but—he wasn’t there! It was just as if +I myself had spun round before moving, for I bumped into the +mantelpiece over my fireplace, which is exactly opposite the window. By +the time I had managed to find matches and strike a light there was no +one in the room. A ladder had been left propped against the ledge of +the balcony—one of my own ladders taken out of the shed. I got into +some clothes and ran to the vestry. The treasure was gone!” + +For the third time the abbé wiped his streaming countenance. He was +pitifully moved. + +“Of course,” said Barnett, “you found the dormer window broken and your +bell-rope cut through? Which proves, doesn’t it, that the thief was +someone familiar with this place and with your habits? And after your +discovery you were on his track at once?” + +“I even yelled ‘Thief!’ which was a mistake on my part, as it was the +sort of thing to rouse the neighborhood and create a sensation. And +heaven knows,” he said gloomily, “this affair is bound to make a stir +for which I shall be blamed by my superiors. Luckily, the only person +who heard my shouting was my neighbor, Baron de Gravières. He has lived +next door to me for twenty years now, engaged in the personal +management of his estate. He absolutely agreed with me that, before +notifying the police and lodging a formal complaint, it was advisable +to try to recover the stolen property. As he has a car, I asked him to +motor to Paris and bring back Inspector Béchoux.” + +“And I was on the spot by eight in the morning,” said Béchoux, swelling +with pride. “By eleven I had my case.” + +“What’s that?” ejaculated Barnett in surprise. “You’ve caught the +thief?” + +Béchoux pointed pompously to the ceiling, rather in the manner of one +indicating the path to paradise. + +“He’s up there, locked in the attic, and Baron de Gravières is mounting +guard.” + +“Fine! A masterpiece of detection! Tell me all, Béchoux, but in tabloid +form, since life is brief.” + +“A bare statement of facts will suffice,” said the inspector, whose +speech could achieve almost telegraphic condensation in the moment of +victory: “(a) I found numerous footprints on the damp ground between +the church and the vicarage; (b) An examination of said footprints +proved that there was only one burglar, who first carried his haul from +the vestry some distance away, since he returned to the attack by the +vicarage steps; (c) The burglar, having waked Père Dessole, hurriedly +retraced his steps, collected his loot and fled along the highroad. His +tracks vanished near the Hippolyte Inn.” + +“Immediately,” interrupted Barnett, “you cross-examined the +innkeeper....” + +“And the innkeeper,” continued Béchoux, “on my inquiring for a man with +a grey hat, a brown overcoat, and two gold teeth, told me at once that +the description exactly fitted a certain Monsieur Vernisson. This man, +he said, was a traveller in pins, known in Vaneuil as Monsieur +Quatre-Mars, because he was in the habit of coming each year on the +Fourth of March. The innkeeper told me that he had got in the day +before at midday, had stabled his gig, eaten his lunch, and then gone +off to call on his customers. I asked when he had got back, and the +innkeeper told me about two in the morning, as usual. After that, I +ascertained that the man in question had only been gone forty minutes +and was driving in the direction of Chantilly.” + +“Whereupon,” said Barnett, “you followed in his train?” + +“The baron drove me in his car. We soon caught up with friend Vernisson +and, though he protested, we forced him to put his gig about and come +along with us.” + +“Ah, then he maintains his innocence?” + +“Scarcely that. But all we can get out of him is ‘Don’t tell my +wife!... My wife must never learn of this!’” + +“What about the treasure?” + +The abbé sighed dolorously and Béchoux’s triumph grew less pronounced. + +“It wasn’t in the gig.” + +“But you nevertheless find the evidence quite conclusive?” + +“Oh, absolutely. Vernisson’s shoes correspond exactly to the footprints +in the graveyard. Besides, the curé can swear to having encountered the +man there late that afternoon. There can be no doubt at all.” + +“Well then,” said Barnett a trifle impatiently, “what’s bothering you? +Why call me in?” + +“Oh, that’s an idea of the curé’s,” said Béchoux, looking a bit +disgruntled. “There’s a minor point in the case on which we disagree.” + +“Minor! That’s only in your opinion,” said the Abbé Dessole, whose +handkerchief was by now wringing wet. + +“What’s the trouble, father?” asked Barnett. + +“Well,” the priest hesitated. “It’s about——” + +“Yes?” encouraged Barnett. + +“About those gold teeth. Monsieur Vernisson certainly has two gold +teeth, only”—he faltered—“only, they’re on the right side of his mouth +... whereas those I saw were on the left!” + +Jim Barnett could not restrain his hilarity. He burst into loud +laughter. As the Abbé Dessole stared at him in blank amaze, he pulled +himself together and exclaimed: + +“On the right side! Too bad! But are you sure you weren’t mistaken?” + +“Positive!” + +“But you had met the man——” + +“In the graveyard. Yes, that was Vernisson. But it couldn’t have been +the same man who came in the night, since Vernisson’s gold teeth are on +the right side, and the burglar’s were on the left.” + +“Perhaps he had changed them over to make it more difficult,” Barnett +suggested joyously. “Béchoux, do bring in the prisoner.” + +Two minutes later Monsieur Vernisson was ushered in. He was forlorn and +crushed looking, his melancholy aspect intensified by the depressed +droop of his moustache. His escort, Baron de Gravières, was a well +set-up specimen of the gentleman-farmer class, and carried a revolver. +The prisoner, who looked dazed began moaning: + +“I don’t understand ... a broken lock ... what does it all mean?” + +“You’d better confess,” advised Béchoux, “instead of whining like +that.” + +“I’ll confess anything you like, if only you’ll promise not to tell my +wife. That I can’t allow. I have to meet her next week at Arras. I must +be there, and I can’t have her know anything of this.” + +He was so frightened and upset that in his distress his mouth fell open +and the gleam of the two gold teeth was apparent. Jim Barnett came up +to him, inserted thumb and forefinger, and pronounced gravely: + +“They’re not a bit loose. There’s no getting away from it, this chap’s +teeth are on the right side. And here’s Père Dessole saying he saw them +on the left.” + +Inspector Béchoux was livid. + +“That makes no difference! We’ve caught the thief. He’s been coming to +the village for years preparing the ground for this robbery. The +thing’s as clear as day. The curé must be wrong!” + +The Abbé Dessole solemnly extended his arm. + +“I call upon God to witness that I saw the teeth on the left!” + +“On the right!” + +“On the left!” + +“Time!” cried Barnett. “Now then, you two, you won’t get anywhere with +this ‘Katy Did’ business. What is it you’re after, father?” + +“A satisfactory explanation.” + +“And if you don’t get it?” + +“Then I shall turn the case over to the police as I ought to have done +in the beginning. If this man is not guilty, we have no right to detain +him. I maintain that the burglar’s gold teeth were on the left side of +his mouth.” + +“Right!” bawled Béchoux. + +“Left!” the abbé insisted. + +“Neither right nor left,” was Barnett’s dictum. He was in his element. +“Father, I promise you to produce the thief here, to-morrow morning at +nine, and he will tell you himself where to find the treasure. You, +Béchoux, shall spend the night in this armchair, the baron in that one +and we will tie Monsieur Vernisson to this one. Béchoux, will you wake +me at a quarter to nine? I drink chocolate with my breakfast. See that +there’s toast—and I like my eggs lightly boiled.” + +By the end of that day, Barnett had been seen all over the place. He +was seen making a minute examination of each tombstone in the graveyard +in turn. He was seen searching the curé’s bedroom. He was seen +telephoning from the post-office. He was seen at the Hippolyte Inn, +where he dined with the proprietor. He was seen striding along the +highroad and strolling in the fields. But those who observed his +actions could only guess at their purport. + +He did not return until two o’clock next morning. The baron and the +inspector were sitting very close to the man with the gold teeth, their +snores reverberating in competitive crescendo. When he heard Barnett +come in, Monsieur Vernisson groaned. + +“Mustn’t let my wife get to know of this....” + +Jim Barnett flung himself down on the floor and was fast asleep at +once. + + + +At a quarter to nine precisely Béchoux woke Barnett. Breakfast was +ready. Barnett wolfed four bits of toast, three cups of chocolate, and +a couple of eggs. Then he invited his audience to gather round and +said: + +“Father, behold me punctual to the appointed hour. Now, Béchoux, I’m +going to demonstrate the extreme unimportance of all your professional +sleuth stuff—footprints, and cigarette ends, and so forth—when +confronted with the actual facts of the case as reconstructed by an +alert intelligence, spurred by intuition and ballasted with +experience.” He bowed modestly, seemingly unconscious that he was a +trifle mixed in his metaphors. “We’ll begin with Monsieur Vernisson.” + +“Anything—you can do anything—so long as you don’t tell my wife,” +stammered the wretched commercial traveller, a wreck from anxiety and +insomnia. + +So Jim Barnett launched forth. + +“Eighteen years ago Alexandre Vernisson, who was then already a +traveller in pins, met here, in Vaneuil, a girl called Angélique, the +little dressmaker of the village. It was a case of love at first sight +on both sides. Monsieur Vernisson got several weeks’ leave from his +employers. He courted Mademoiselle Angélique, and they eloped. She +loved him dearly and was his devoted companion until her death, two +years later. He was quite inconsolable, and although later on a forward +young woman called Honorine got him to marry her, his memories of +Mademoiselle glowed the brighter, since Honorine, a jealous shrew, +never ceased nagging at him and reproaching him with his two years’ +idyll, which had somehow come to her knowledge. Hence the pathetic +pilgrimage in secret to Vaneuil which Alexandre Vernisson has made +without fail each year. That’s so, isn’t it, Monsieur Vernisson?” + +“Have it your own way,” muttered the latter, “only don’t tell....” + +Jim Barnett went on: + +“So, each year, Monsieur Vernisson plans his rounds so as to call at +Vaneuil in his gig, unknown to Madame Honorine. He kneels beside the +tomb of Angélique on each anniversary of her death, for it was here in +this graveyard she was buried according to her dying wish. He revisits +the places where they walked together on the day they first met, and +returns to the inn at two in the morning, just as on that occasion. Not +far from where we are sitting at this moment you can see the humble +headstone with the inscription that gave me the explanation of Monsieur +Vernisson’s movements: ‘Here lies Angélique who died on March the +fourth.’ Alexandre loved her and mourns for her!” + +The worthy abbé’s eyes filled with tears. + +“You can see now why Monsieur Vernisson is so afraid lest Madame +Honorine should learn of his present plight. What would her attitude be +on hearing that her faithless husband is suspected of theft on account +of his late beloved?” + +Poor Monsieur Vernisson was mourning openly—partly no doubt for +Angélique, and even more at the thought of his wife’s wrath. His +concern was all with this aspect of the affair, and he seemed oblivious +of the main issue. Béchoux, the baron and the Abbé Dessole all listened +intently. + +“This,” Barnett went on, “solves one of the problems confronting us—I +mean Monsieur Vernisson’s exactly timed visits to Vaneuil. This +solution leads us logically up to that of the second riddle—who stole +the treasure? The two are interdependent. You will readily admit that +the existence of such a valuable collection is likely to rouse the +imagination and excite the cupidity of many people. The idea of +stealing it must have occurred occasionally to both visitors and +villagers. Though, thanks to your precautions, father, the theft was +made pretty difficult, yet the obstacles are quite easily surmounted by +anyone who happens to know the exact nature of those precautions, and +who has for years enjoyed the advantage of being able to spy out the +land, plan the burglary and avoid all danger of discovery. For the crux +of this kind of case is—that the thief should go unsuspected. And to +avoid suspicion, there is no better stratagem than to fix suspicion on +someone else ... on this man, for instance, who pays furtive annual +visits to the graveyard on a fixed date, who covers up his movements +and invites suspicion by his very secrecy. Thus, slowly, laboriously, +the plot takes shape. A grey hat, a brown overcoat, shoeprints, gold +teeth—all these characteristics are the subject of minute observation +by someone. This comparatively unknown commercial traveller is to be +the culprit, while the real thief goes free. By the real thief I mean +that mysterious someone who, secretly, perhaps in the friendly guise of +a frequent visitor at the rectory, plots his ingenious manœuvre year +after year.” + +Barnett was silent for a moment. Bit by bit he was bringing the truth +to light. Monsieur Vernisson began to assume an expression of +martyrdom. Barnett’s hand went out to him. + +“Madame Vernisson shall not know a thing about your pilgrimage, +Monsieur Vernisson. Forgive the misunderstanding through which you have +been made to suffer so grievously. And forgive me for having ransacked +your gig last night and unearthed the rather amateurish hiding-place +under the seat where you keep Mademoiselle Angélique’s letters along +with your private papers. You are a free man, Monsieur Vernisson.” He +loosed the other’s bonds. + +The commercial traveller stood up. + +“One moment, please!” protested Béchoux, roused to indignation by +Barnett’s dénouement. + +“Say on, Béchoux.” + +“What about the gold teeth?” cried the inspector, “There’s no getting +away from them. Père Dessole undoubtedly saw two gold teeth in the +burglar’s mouth. And Monsieur Vernisson has two gold teeth—here, on the +right side. What do you make of that?” + +“Those I saw were on the left,” the abbé corrected him. + +“On the right, father.” + +“On the left, I swear.” + +Jim Barnett laughed yet again. + +“Shut up, both of you. You’re squabbling over a trifle. Good lord, +Béchoux, here are you, a police inspector, stumped by a potty little +problem. Why, it’s positively elementary, my poor friend. It’s the sort +of thing they ask the Lower Third.... Father, this room is an exact +replica of your bedchamber, isn’t it?” + +“It is. My bedroom is directly overhead.” + +“Well, father, would you be so kind as to close the shutters and draw +the curtains. Monsieur Vernisson, lend me your hat and coat.” + +Jim Barnett clapped the gray slouch hat on his head and donned the +brown overcoat, turning up the collar. Then, when the room was quite +dark, he produced a flashlight from his pocket and stood in front of +the curé, projecting the beam of the torch into his own open mouth. + +“The man! The man with the gold teeth!” faltered the Abbé Dessole, +staring hard. + +“On which side are my gold teeth, father?” + +“On the right side. But—those I saw were on the left!” + +Jim Barnett’s flashlight clicked out. He seized the abbé by the +shoulders and spun him round quickly several times. Then he switched on +the torch again suddenly and said in a tone of command: + +“Look ahead of you,... straight ahead. You can see the gold teeth, +can’t you? On which side are they?” + +“On the left,” said the abbé, utterly dumbfounded. + +Jim Barnett drew back the curtains and opened the shutters. + +“On the right ... on the left ... you’re not quite sure, after all! +Well, father, that explains what happened the other night. When you +jumped out of bed, with a sleep-dazed brain, you never realized that +you were facing away from the window and standing directly before the +fireplace, so that the intruder, instead of being in front of you, was +actually behind you. Therefore, when you switched on your flashlight, +its beam fell not on him but on his reflection in the mirror! I’ve just +brought about a repetition of the phenomenon by spinning you round and +making you giddy. Do you see now? Or shall I dot the i’s of elucidation +by reminding you that a mirror when it reflects an object shows you the +right and left sides reversed? That is how you happened to see the gold +teeth on the left side when they were really on the right.” + +“Yes!” cried Inspector Béchoux, in triumph. “But that only proves that +I was right, and yet Père Dessole was not wrong in maintaining his +assertion. Therefore it’s up to you to produce a new man with gold +teeth to take the place of Monsieur Vernisson.” + +“Quite unnecessary, I assure you.” + +“But you must admit that the burglar is a man with gold teeth?” + +“Have I got gold teeth?” demanded Barnett, and took from his mouth a +small piece of gold paper, which still bore the imprint of two of his +teeth. + +“Here’s your proof. I hope you find it properly convincing. With +shoe-prints, a grey hat, a brown overcoat and two gold teeth, someone +has fabricated an indisputable Monsieur Vernisson for your benefit. And +how simple it is! One only has to get hold of a little bit of gilt +paper—like this, which I got from the same shop in Vaneuil, where a +whole sheet of it was purchased about three months ago, by the—Baron de +Gravières.” + +Barnett’s words, which he let fall quite casually, seemed to reëcho in +the amazed silence which followed them. As a matter of fact, Béchoux, +who had followed Barnett’s line of argument pretty closely, was not +altogether surprised at the climax. But the Abbé Dessole looked as +though he would choke at any moment. His eyes were fixed on his +estimable parishioner, the Baron de Gravières, who sat with heightened +color, but said not a word. Barnett gave Monsieur Vernisson back his +hat and coat. The latter mumbled as he took his leave: + +“You promise faithfully, don’t you, that Madame Vernisson shall never +hear of this? It would be terrible if she got to know ... you can +imagine....” + +Barnett escorted him to the door and returned beaming. He rubbed his +hands together gleefully. + +“A good run and a quick kill. I feel thoroughly braced. You see how +it’s done, Béchoux? Just the same method I applied to the other cases +where we’ve worked together. Never begin by accusing the man you +suspect. Don’t ask him to furnish an alibi. Don’t even take any notice +of him. But, while he thinks himself perfectly safe, reconstruct the +case step by step in his presence. This drives him to a mental +reënaction of the part he played in it. He sees what he had thought +buried in dark oblivion dragged to light. He feels himself cornered, +hopelessly involved, quite unable to fight against the proofs of his +guilt. The ordeal is such a strain on his nerves that it scarcely +occurs to him to utter a word in self-defense or protest. Isn’t that +so, baron? I take it we are all agreed. There’s no point in going over +it all again, is there? You are satisfied that my deductions are +correct?” + +Baron de Gravières was evidently undergoing the exact ordeal described +by Barnett, for he made no attempt to confront his adversary or to +conceal his own distress. His attitude was that of a criminal caught +red-handed. + +Jim Barnett came over and tendered affable reassurance. + +“You need have no fears, monsieur. Abbé Dessole, who is anxious at all +costs to avoid a scandal, only asks you to return the treasure. Once +that’s back in its place, the incident can be regarded as closed.” + +The baron raised his head, stared a moment at the man who had compassed +his downfall, and, under Barnett’s relentless gaze, murmured: + +“There will be no prosecution? Nothing more will be said? I have your +promise, father?” + +“I shall say nothing, I promise,” said the Abbé Dessole. “I shall blot +everything from my memory the minute the treasure is restored. But I +can hardly believe, even now, that you stole it, monsieur le baron—that +you, whom I trusted as I would myself, should turn criminal—it’s +incredible!” + +With the awed humility of a child confessing his sins and gaining +relief by the recital, the baron whispered: + +“It was too much for me, father. My thoughts kept coming back to that +treasure lying there, so close ... so close ... I resisted the +temptation ... I didn’t want to be a thief.... Then, the whole thing +seemed to take shape in my brain of its own accord....” + +“I can hardly believe it!” the abbé repeated sorrowfully. +“Surely—surely——” + +“It’s true enough. I had lost money in rash speculation. I had nothing +left to live on. Two months ago, father, I stored all my valuable +antique furniture, with several grandfather clocks and some fine +tapestries in my garage. I meant to sell them ... that would have been +my salvation. But I couldn’t bear to part with them ... and the fourth +of March was so near. Temptation assailed me ... the idea of carrying +out the plan that had come to me. I fell ... forgive me....” + +“I forgive you,” said the Abbé Dessole, “and I shall pray the Lord to +be merciful in His punishment to you.” + +The baron stood up and said in a firm voice: + +“Now, will you please come with me?” + +They all walked along the highroad, like men out for a stroll. The Abbé +Dessole mopped his brow. The baron’s tread was heavy and his bearing +bowed. Béchoux felt acute anxiety. He had little doubt that Barnett, +after deftly unravelling the threads of the case, had cheerfully helped +himself to the treasure. + +In high feather, Barnett held forth at his side: + +“How on earth you came to miss the real thief, Béchoux, beats me. You +must be blind. I saw at once that Monsieur Vernisson couldn’t have +plotted the crime at the rate of one trip a year; that it was much more +likely to be the work of a resident, and preferably of a neighbor. When +I saw the neighbor!... Why, the baron’s house commands an unimpeded +view of church and rectory. He was familiar with the curé’s various +precautions. He knew all about Monsieur Vernisson’s annual pilgrimage +on the fourth of March. Then....” + +But Béchoux was not listening. He was too much taken up with his fears, +which solemn meditation did nothing to mitigate. + +Barnett went jestingly on: + +“Then, when I was sure of my case, I denounced the criminal to his +face. I had no actual proof at all—nothing that would stand in a court +of law. But I observed my man’s face as I built up the story of what +had happened and saw that he was almost beside himself. Ah, Béchoux, +that’s a grand and glorious feeling! And you see where it has landed +us?” + +“Yes, I see ... or rather, I soon shall see ... you in clover and me in +the soup, I expect,” said Béchoux, morbidly resigned to the ultimate +doom. + +Baron de Gravières had led them the length of several ditches on his +estate, and they were now taking a narrow grass path across a field. He +stopped short a few minutes later, near a clump of oaks. + +“There,” he said in a staccato voice, “in that field on the right ... +in the haystack.” + +Béchoux’s mouth wore a twisted smile. Feeling he might as well get it +over, he darted to the haystack, followed by the others. + +The haystack was quite a small one. In a minute, Béchoux had tumbled +the top layer to the ground. Then he rummaged in the hay, working like +a ferret. Suddenly he gave a shout of triumph. + +“Here they are! A monstrance!” his arm brandished it clear of the hay. +“A candlestick! A sconce!” he burrowed fiercely. “Six things ... no, +seven.” + +“There should be nine!” cried the abbé. + +“Nine there are! Why, they’re all here! Bully for you, Barnett. Bless +you, old son.” + +Overcome with joy, and gathering the beloved objects to his ample +bosom, the abbé murmured: + +“Mr. Barnett, you have my profound thanks. Heaven will reward you.” + +Barnett’s inscrutable smile at this remark was perhaps indicative of +his belief in the old saying: “Heaven helps those who help themselves.” + +Inspector Béchoux had been right in expecting an unpleasant surprise, +only it came a little later. + +On their return, as the baron and his companions again skirted the +farm, they heard cries coming from the orchard. The baron rushed to the +garage, in front of which three of his employees stood gesticulating. + +He guessed at once what had happened. The door of the small stable +adjoining the garage had been forced open and all the valuable antique +furniture, the grandfather clocks and the tapestries stored there—the +baron’s last resources—had disappeared. He reeled back, stammering: + +“This is ghastly! When did it happen?” + +“Last night,” said a servant. “We heard the dogs barking about eleven +o’clock.” + +“But how could all the things have been spirited away?” + +“In your car, sir.” + +“In my car! They’ve stolen that too....” + +The wretched baron sank into the arms of the priest, who comforted him +as best he could. + +“God’s punishment has not tarried, my poor friend. Accept it with a +contrite heart....” + +Béchoux advanced on Barnett with clenched fists, ready to spring and +strike. + +“You must notify the police, monsieur le baron,” he rasped, in a tone +of fury. “I can assure you that your furniture is not lost.” + +“Of course not,” agreed Barnett amicably. “But to prefer a charge would +be most dangerous for the baron.” + +Béchoux continued his measured advance. His eyes were steely, and his +attitude one of threat. But Barnett drew him gently aside. + +“Don’t you realize what would have happened without me? The curé would +not have got his treasure back. The innocent Vernisson would be in jail +and Madame Vernisson would know all about her unfortunate husband’s +backsliding. The only thing left for you in the circumstances would +have been to jump into the Seine.” + +Béchoux sank limply down upon a tree stump. He was inarticulate with +rage. + +“Quick, quick!” cried Barnett. “Something to pull Béchoux round.... +He’s not feeling well!” + +Baron de Gravières gave an order. A bottle of old wine was opened. +Béchoux drank down one glass, the curé another. The baron finished the +bottle.... + + + + + + + + +VI + +TWELVE LITTLE NIGGER BOYS + + +Monsieur Gassire’s first waking thought that morning was for the safety +of the bundle of securities which he had brought home the previous +evening. He stretched out an exploring hand, and encountered the bundle +still safely on the little table by his bed. + +His mind set at rest, he proceeded to get out of bed and begin the +business of dressing for the day. + +Nicolas Gassire was a short, corpulent man with a shriveled hawk-face. +He was an outside broker doing business in the Invalides quarter of +Paris, with a sound clientele of worthy bourgeois. These latter +entrusted their savings to him and were rewarded by the singularly +attractive profits he netted for them, in part from lucky speculations +and in part from his own little private business of money-lending. + +He had a flat on the first floor of a narrow old house of which he was +the owner. This flat comprised a hall, his bedroom, a dining-room which +he used as his office, and another room in which his three clerks +worked. Right at the back there was the kitchen. + +Gassire’s economy led him to do without a servant. Every morning at +eight the concierge, a stout, cheerful, active woman, came up with his +post and petit déjeuner—a cup of coffee and a croissant, which she laid +on his desk—and then cleaned up the flat. + +On the morning in question the concierge departed at half-past eight, +and Monsieur Gassire, as was his custom, breakfasted in leisurely +fashion, opened his letters and glanced through the morning paper while +he awaited the arrival of his clerks. + +Suddenly, just five minutes before nine, he thought he heard a noise in +his bedroom. Remembering the bundle of securities which he had left in +there, he jumped up, overturning his coffee-cup in his agitation. In a +twinkling he was in the other room, but—the bundle of securities had +vanished! At the very same moment he heard the hall-door on the landing +slam violently. + +Monsieur Gassire tried to open it, but it was a spring lock and he had +left the key on his desk. He was afraid that if he went to get it the +thief would escape without being seen. + +He therefore opened the hall window, which gave on the street. It was +physically impossible for any one to have had time to leave the +building. In any case, the street was empty. + +Mastering his excitement, Monsieur Nicolas Gassire refrained from +crying “Thief!” But, a minute later, when he caught sight of his head +clerk coming towards the house from the direction of the neighboring +boulevard, he beckoned furiously to him. + +“Hurry up, Sarlonat!” he cried, leaning out of the window. “Come in, +lock the street door and don’t let any one out. I’ve been robbed!” + +As soon as his commands had been obeyed, he hastened downstairs, +panting and distraught. + +“Tell me, Sarlonat, have you seen anybody?” + +“Not a soul, monsieur.” + +He hurried to the concierge’s little room, which was wedged between the +foot of the stairs and a small, dark courtyard. She was sweeping the +floor. + +“Madame Alain, I’ve been robbed!” he cried. “Is any one hiding here?” + +“Why, no, monsieur,” faltered the poor woman in utter bewilderment. + +“Where do you keep the key to my flat?” + +“I put it here, monsieur, behind the clock. Anyhow, no one could have +taken it, for I’ve not stirred out of my room this last half-hour.” + +“That means that instead of coming down the thief must have run +upstairs. Oh, this is terrible, terrible!” + +Nicolas Gassire went back to the street door. His other two clerks had +just come on the scene. Hurriedly, in a few breathless words, he gave +them their orders. They were to let no one enter or leave the house +until he came back. + +“You understand, Sarlonat? No one.” + +He dashed upstairs and into his flat. In an instant he had grabbed hold +of the telephone. + +“Hello!” he bawled into the mouthpiece, “hello! Put me through to the +Préfecture!... No, I don’t mean police headquarters, you fool, I mean +the café de la Préfecture ... what number is it?... How should I +know?... Hurry!... Give me information.... Oh, be quick, be quick, +can’t you!” + +Dancing with rage the little man at last succeeded in getting on to the +proprietor of the café, and thundered: + +“Is Inspector Béchoux there? Then call him to the telephone—at once. +Hurry ... hurry! I want him on business. There’s no time to lose.... +Hello!... Inspector Béchoux? This is Gassire speaking, Béchoux.... Yes, +I’m all right ... at least, I’m not ... I’ve just been robbed of some +securities—a whole bundle.... I’m waiting for you.... What’s that? Say +it again!... You can’t come? You’re off on your holiday? Holiday be +hanged, man! Béchoux, you must come, as quickly as possible! Your +twelve African mining shares were in the bundle!” + +Monsieur Gassire heard a volcanic monosyllable at the other end, which +fully reassured him on the score of Inspector Béchoux’s purpose and +promptitude. Indeed, it was barely a quarter of an hour before +Inspector Béchoux arrived, running, his face a study in abject anxiety. +He rushed up to the stockbroker. + +“My Nigger Boys! My Twelve Little Nigger Boys! All my savings! What’s +become of them?” + +“Stolen, along with the bonds and shares of other clients ... and all +my own securities.” + +“Stolen?” + +“Yes, from my bedroom, half an hour ago!” + +“Damnation! But what were my Nigger Boys doing in your room?” + +“I took the bundle out of the safe at the Crédit Lyonnais yesterday to +deposit it at another bank, nearer here. And I made the mistake of——” + +Béchoux’s hand descended heavily on the other’s shoulder. + +“I shall hold you responsible, Gassire. You will have to make good my +loss.” + +“How can I? I’m ruined.” + +“What do you mean? You have this house.” + +“Mortgaged to the hilt!” + +The two men faced each other, convulsed with rage and shouting +unintelligibly. + +The concierge and the three clerks had also lost their heads, and were +barring the way to two girls from the top floor, who had just come down +and were quite determined to be allowed out. + +“Nobody shall leave this house!” roared Béchoux, beside himself with +fury. “Nobody shall leave this house until my Twelve Little Nigger Boys +are restored to me!” + +“Perhaps we’d better call in help,” suggested Gassire. “There’s the +butcher’s boy ... and the grocer ... they’re both dependable.” + +“Not for me,” the inspector pronounced with decision. “If we need some +one else we’ll telephone the Barnett Agency in the rue Laborde. Then +we’ll notify the police. But for the moment that would be sheer waste +of time. Action is what we want!” + +He tried to control himself and to regain the pontifical calm that best +befits a police inspector. But he was trembling from head to foot, and +his quivering mouth betrayed his distress. + +“Keep your head,” he told Gassire. “After all, we have the whip hand. +Nobody has left the house. The thing is to retrieve my little Nigger +Boys before any one can find a way of sneaking them out of the +building. That’s all that really matters.” + +He turned to the two girls and began to question them. He ascertained +that one was a typist who copied reports and circulars at home. The +other gave lessons in flute-playing, also at home. They were both +anxious to get out and do their marketing before lunch, but Béchoux was +adamant. + +“I’m sorry,” he said, “but this door stays closed for the morning. +Monsieur Gassire, two of your clerks shall mount guard here. The third +can run errands for the tenants. In the afternoon the latter will be +allowed out, but with my permission only in each case, and all parcels, +boxes, baskets or packages of any kind will be submitted to a rigorous +search. You have your orders. Now, Monsieur Gassire, it is for us to +get to work. The concierge will lead the way.” + +The building was so planned as to make investigation easy. There were +three upper stories, with a single flat on each floor. This made four +flats in the house, counting that on the ground floor, which was +temporarily unoccupied. Monsieur Gassire lived on the first floor. On +the second dwelt Monsieur Touffémont, an ex-Cabinet Minister. The top +floor was partitioned off into two flatlets, occupied by Mademoiselle +Legoffier, the typist, and Mademoiselle Haveline, who taught the flute. + +That morning Monsieur Touffémont had left at half-past eight for the +Chambre des Députés, where he was president of a commission. Since his +flat was cleaned by a woman who came in daily at lunch-time and had not +yet arrived, they decided to await his return. + +First, then, they explored the girls’ rooms thoroughly, and satisfied +themselves that the missing securities were not there. + +Next they searched every corner of the attic at the top of the house, +getting up there by means of a ladder. + +After this, choking with dust, they came downstairs again and searched +the courtyard and Monsieur Gassire’s own flat. + +Their efforts went unrewarded. In bitterness of spirit, Béchoux brooded +over the unkind fate that had overtaken his Twelve Little Nigger Boys. + +Towards noon Monsieur Touffémont came in. He proved to be an earnest +parliamentarian, burdened with the type of portfolio proper to the use +of an ex-Cabinet Minister. His industry commanded the respect of all +parties in the house, and his rare but masterly interventions could +make a Cabinet tremble apprehensively. + +With measured tread he approached the concierge’s room and asked for +his letters. Gassire came up to him and told him of the theft. + +Touffémont gave him that grave attention he seemed to bestow even on +the most flippant utterances. Then he promised his coöperation if +Gassire decided to call in the police, and urged at the same time that +they should search his flat. + +“You never know,” he said. “Someone might have got in with a skeleton +key.” + +Accordingly they searched the flat, but here again they drew a blank. +Béchoux and Gassire tried to keep one another’s courage up by voicing +each in turn his meed of hope and comfort, but their words rang hollow +and their faces grew drawn and pale. + +At last they thought they would go in search of refreshment to a small +café just opposite, so placed that they could keep an eye on the home +all the time. But when they got there, Béchoux found he had no +appetite. The Twelve Little Nigger Boys lay heavy on his stomach. +Gassire said that he felt dizzy. No, he wouldn’t take anything, thank +you. They both went over and over what had happened, trying to find +some ray of reassurance in the prevailing gloom. + +“It’s quite obvious,” said Béchoux. “Someone got into your flat and +stole the securities. Well, as the thief can’t have escaped from the +building, that means that he or she is still in the house.” + +“Absolutely,” agreed Gassire. + +“And if he or she is in the house, my Twelve Little Nigger Boys are +there too. Hang it all, they can’t have flown out through the roof!” + +“Not unless they were nigger angels,” suggested Gassire. + +“So,” Béchoux went on, ignoring him, “we are forced to the conclusion +that——” + +He never finished the sentence. Suddenly a look of terror came into his +eyes, and he stared speechless at someone who was jauntily approaching +the house opposite. + +“Barnett!” he whispered. “Barnett! How did he get to know of this?” + +“You mentioned him, and the Barnett Agency in the rue Laborde,” Gassire +confessed, not without hesitation, “and I thought that, in the +appalling circumstances, it was just worth giving him a ring.” + +“You fool!” spluttered Béchoux. “Who’s in charge of the case, anyhow? +You or me? Barnett has nothing to do with this. We must be on our guard +against him or there will be the devil to pay. Let Barnett in on this? +Not much!” + +Béchoux was quite sure in his own mind that Barnett’s assistance would +prove the last straw. Jim Barnett in the house and on the case would +only mean that, if the mystery were solved, a bundle of securities, +including Twelve Little Nigger Boys of vital import to their owner, +would surely vanish into thin air. + +He tore across the street, and, as Barnett raised his hand to the bell, +he seized his arm and said in trembling tones: + +“Get out! Hop it! We don’t want your help. You were called in by +mistake. Cut along now, and be quick about it.” + +Barnett gave him an astonished stare full of reproach and childlike +innocence. + +“My dear Béchoux, what’s the matter? Tell your Uncle Barnett! You seem +a trifle rattled, old lad. Still sore about the grandfather clocks of +Baron de Gravières? And those gold teeth? Left, right!” + +“Get out, I tell you!” + +“Then they told me the truth just now on the telephone? Have you really +been robbed of your savings? And don’t you want your Uncle Barnett to +lend a helping hand?” + +“My Uncle Barnett can go to hell!” declared Béchoux, furious. “I know +all about your helping hand! It goes into other people’s pockets and +helps itself.” + +“Are you in a stew because of your Twelve Little Nigger Boys?” + +“I shall be if you come poking your nose in!” + +“Oh, all right. I leave you to it!” + +“You’re off, then?” Béchoux’s frown cleared. + +“Rather not! I’ve come here on business.” + +He turned to Gassire, who had joined them and was holding the door +ajar. + +“Can you tell me if Mademoiselle Haveline lives here—Mademoiselle +Haveline who teaches the flute? She took second prize at the +Conservatoire.” + +Béchoux grew wrathful. + +“Huh, you’re asking for her because you’ve just seen her brass plate up +there....” + +“Well,” replied Barnett, “haven’t I a perfect right to learn the flute +if I like? It’s a free country!” + +“You can’t come here.” + +“Sorry, but I am consumed with a passion for the flute.” + +“I absolutely forbid it.” + +For sole answer Barnett snapped his fingers in the other’s face and +pushed past him into the house. No one dared bar his way. Béchoux, his +heart full of misgivings, watched him ascend the first flight of stairs +and vanish out of sight. + +It must have taken Barnett only a little while to get started with his +teacher, for in ten minutes’ time wobbly scales on the flute began +floating down from the top floor. Mademoiselle Haveline’s pupil was on +the job! + +“The scoundrel!” cried Béchoux, his anxiety increasing every minute. +“With him in the house, heaven help us!” + +He set to work again madly. They ransacked the empty ground floor flat, +also the concierge’s room, in case the bundle of securities had been +thrown down somewhere. It was all fruitless. And the whole afternoon +the sound of flute practice went on, like a mocking goblin under the +eaves. Béchoux nearly collapsed beneath the strain. + +At last, on the stroke of six, Barnett appeared, skipping down the +stairs and humming a ribald tune. And, as he went, he swung to and fro +a large cardboard box. + +A cardboard box! Béchoux, with a strangled exclamation, seized it and +snatched off the lid. Out tumbled some old hat-shapes and bits of +moth-eaten fur. + +“Since she is not allowed to leave the house,” Barnett explained +solemnly, “Mademoiselle Haveline has asked me to throw this stuff away +for her. I say, isn’t she a peach? And what a flautist! She thinks I am +full of talent and says that if I keep on at it I shall soon be able to +qualify for the post of blind man on the church steps. Ta, ta!” And he +was gone. + +All night long, Béchoux and Gassire mounted guard, one inside and the +other outside the street door, in case the thief should try to throw a +parcel out of a window to an accomplice waiting below. And next day +they set to work again, but all in vain. + +At three o’clock that afternoon Barnett was on the scene again, +carrying the empty cardboard box. He went straight upstairs, nodding +affably to poor Béchoux in the manner of one whose time is well and +fully occupied. + +The flute lesson began. Scales, followed by exercises. The critical +listener would have detected plenty of wrong notes. + +Suddenly all was quiet. The silence continued unbroken, until Béchoux +was thoroughly puzzled. + +“What on earth can he be up to now?” he wondered, as he pictured +Barnett busy with those private researches which would assuredly +culminate in some extraordinary discovery. + +He ran upstairs and stood listening on the landing. No sound came from +Mademoiselle Haveline’s room. But a man’s voice was distinctly audible +in the next door flatlet of Mademoiselle Legoffier, the typist. + +“Barnett’s voice,” thought Béchoux, his curiosity now at white-heat. +Then, incapable of holding back any longer, he rang the bell. + +“Come in!” called Barnett from within. “The key is in the lock +outside.” + +Béchoux entered the room. Mademoiselle Legoffier, an attractive +brunette, was sitting at a table by her typewriter, taking shorthand at +Barnett’s dictation. + +“The hunt is up, is it?” said the latter. “Carry on, old man. Nothing +up my sleeves”—he mimicked a conjurer—“and as for Mademoiselle +Legoffier——” That damsel blushed discreetly; her arms were bare to the +shoulder. + +“Well,” Barnett continued, “I’m dictating my memoirs. You won’t mind if +I go on?” + +And, while Béchoux peered under the furniture, he proceeded: + +“That afternoon Inspector Béchoux dropped in while I was dictating my +memoirs to a charming young lady called Legoffier. She had been +recommended to me by her friend, the flautist. Béchoux searched high +and low for his Twelve Little Nigger Boys, who heartlessly persisted in +eluding him. Under the couch he collected three grains of dust; under +the wardrobe a shoe-heel and a hairpin. Inspector Béchoux never +overlooks the slightest detail. What a life!” + +Béchoux stood up and shook his fist in Barnett’s face, volleying abuse. +The other went on dictating, and the detective departed in a fury. + +A little later Barnett came down with his cardboard box. Béchoux, who +was keeping watch, had a moment’s hesitation. But his fears conquered +him and he opened the box, to find that it contained nothing but old +papers and rags. + +Life became unbearable for the unhappy Béchoux. Barnett’s continued +presence, his quizzical attitude and freakish pranks threw the +detective into fresh fits of rage. Every day Barnett came to the house, +and after each flute lesson or shorthand séance, he would display his +cardboard box. + +Béchoux did not know what to do. He had no doubt that the whole thing +was a farce and that Barnett was ragging him. All the same, there was +always the chance that this time Barnett really was spiriting away the +securities. Suppose he was kidnapping the Twelve Little Nigger Boys? +Suppose he was smuggling his haul out of the house? + +Béchoux was forced to rummage in the box, empty it and run his hands +over its oddly assorted contents of torn clothing, rags, old feather +dusters, broom handles, ashes and potato peelings. And this made +Barnett roar with laughter. + +“He’s found his shares! No, false alarm! He’s getting warm ... try that +lettuce leaf! Ah, Béchoux, what a lot of quiet fun you manage to give +me, bless you!” + +This went on for a week. Béchoux lost the whole of his holiday over the +wretched business, and made himself the laughing-stock of the +neighborhood. For neither he nor Nicolas Gassire had been able to stop +the tenants from attending to their own affairs, even while allowing +their persons to be searched on exit and entrance. Gossip travelled +apace. Gassire’s misfortune became known. His terrified clients flocked +to the office and demanded the immediate return of their money. + +As for Monsieur Touffémont, the ex-Cabinet Minister, who came under the +amateur surveillance four times a day, to his great annoyance and the +interruption of his customary routine, he was all for calling in the +police officially, and urged Gassire to take this course without +further delay. The situation could not be prolonged indefinitely. + +At last things came to a head. Late one afternoon Gassire and Béchoux +heard sounds of violent quarreling coming from the top of the house. +Two high-pitched voices were raised in rival but continuous clamor, the +uproar punctuated by stamps and screams. It sounded most alarming. + +The two men hurried upstairs. On the top landing Mademoiselle Haveline +and Mademoiselle Legoffier were doing battle. Standing over them like +an umpire was Jim Barnett! + +Although quite unable to restrain the combatants, Barnett wore an +expression of genuine enjoyment. The girls continued to fly at each +other, their hair like that of Furies, and their frocks getting torn to +shreds. The air was thick with Parisienne invective! + +After heroic efforts the pair was separated. The typist promptly went +into hysterics, and Barnett carried her into her flat, while the flute +teacher proceeded to expound her wrongs to Béchoux and Gassire on the +landing. + +“Caught them together, I did,” shrilled Mademoiselle Haveline. “Barnett +was mine first, and then I caught him kissing her! I can tell you, he’s +up to no good, that Barnett. He’s a queer sort and no mistake. Why +don’t you ask him, Monsieur Béchoux, what his game’s been up here all +this week, questioning the two of us and poking his nose everywhere? +I’m going to give him away, though. He knows who the thief is. It’s the +concierge, Madame Alain. But he made us swear we wouldn’t let on to +you. Another thing, he knows where those securities are. Didn’t he tell +us: ‘The securities are in the house, and yet not in it, and they’re +out of it, and yet in it’? Those were his very words. You want to be +careful of him, Monsieur Béchoux!” + +Jim Barnett had finished with the typist and now came forth. Taking +Mademoiselle Haveline by the shoulders, he pushed her firmly through +her own front door. + +“Come along, professor mine, and no idle gossip, if you please! You’re +going right off the handle. Stop talking nonsense and stick to the +flute. I don’t want you playing in my band!” + +Béchoux did not stay any longer. Mademoiselle Haveline’s sudden +revelation had shed a ray of light on the case. He now saw that the +thief must be Madame Alain. He only marveled that he could ever have +overlooked her guilt. + +Spurred by his conviction, he rushed downstairs, followed by Nicolas +Gassire, and burst in upon the concierge. + +“My Africans! Where are they? It was you who stole them!” + +Nicolas Gassire panted at his heels. + +“My securities! Where have you put them, you thief?” + +They each took hold of the poor woman, shaking her violently and +overwhelming her with abuse and questions. She seemed quite dazed by it +all, but stuck bravely to her protestations of innocence and ignorance. + +When at last they let her be, she retired to bed and passed a sleepless +night. Next morning the inquisition recommenced, and that day and its +successor were long hours of unrelieved ordeal for the poor woman. + +Béchoux would not for a minute admit that Jim Barnett could have made a +mistake. Besides, in the light of this definite accusation, it was easy +to put the right construction on the facts of the case. The concierge, +while cleaning the flat, had doubtless noticed the unaccustomed bundle +on the table by the bed. She was the only person who had the key to the +flat. Knowing Monsieur Gassire’s regular habits, she might well have +returned to the flat, seized the securities, run off with them, and +taken refuge in the little room where Nicolas Gassire found her when he +rushed downstairs. + +Béchoux began to get discouraged. + +“Yes,” he said, “it’s obvious that this woman is the guilty party. But +still we’re no nearer a solution of the mystery. I don’t care if the +criminal is the concierge or the man in the moon. It makes no odds as +long as we are still without news of my Twelve Little Nigger Boys. I +can see that she had them in her room, but by what miracle did they +leave it between nine o’clock and the time we searched her belongings?” + +All their threats, and the “third degree” cross-examination to which +she was subjected failed to make the fat Madame Alain disclose any +helpful information. She denied everything. She had seen nothing. She +knew nothing. Even though there was now no doubt of her guilt she stood +firm. + +“We’ve simply got to settle this,” Gassire told Béchoux one morning. +“You know that Touffémont overthrew the Cabinet last night. The +reporters will be here any minute to interview him, and we can’t +possibly go searching them, too.” + +Béchoux agreed that they had come to an impasse. + +“But keep smiling,” he urged, “for within three hours I shall know the +truth.” + +That afternoon he called at the Barnett Detective Agency. + +“I was waiting for you to drop in, Béchoux,” said Barnett amicably. +“What do you want?” + +“I want your coöperation, Barnett. I’m at a loss what to do.” + +This was unvarnished admission of defeat. The inspector’s surrender was +unconditional. Béchoux was making the amende honorable. + +Jim Barnett clapped him friendliwise on the back, then took him by the +shoulders and rocked him gently to and fro, by sheer geniality sparing +the other humiliation. This was no meeting of vanquished and victor. +Rather was it a scene of reconciliation between two comrades. + +“To tell you the truth, Béchoux, I was awfully cut up about that +misunderstanding between us. I couldn’t bear to think of our being +enemies. It worried me till I could hardly sleep at nights!” + +A frown clouded Béchoux’s brow. His professional conscience pricked him +sore for being on friendly terms with Barnett. He cursed the unkind +fate that forced him to collaborate with a man he felt sure was a +crook, and to incur obligations to the fellow into the bargain. But +there are moments and circumstances when even the just man stretches a +point. The loss of a dozen valuable African mining shares explained +Béchoux’s course of action. + +Swallowing his scruples, he whispered: + +“It’s the concierge, of course?” + +“It is she for the reason, inter alia, that it could not be any one +else.” + +“But how do you account for a woman who has always been honest and +respectable suddenly turning crook?” + +“If you had troubled to make a few inquiries about her you would know +that the poor creature is afflicted with a son who is a thorough bad +hat. He is always sponging on her. It was on his account that she +suddenly gave way to temptation.” + +Béchoux jumped up. + +“Did she manage to give him my shares?” he asked anxiously. + +“Of course not! Do you think I should have allowed a thing like that? I +regard your Twelve Little Nigger Boys as sacred.” + +“Where are they, then?” + +“In your own coat-pocket.” + +“Please don’t joke about it.” + +“But, Béchoux, I’m not joking. I never joke in times of stress. Look +for yourself!” + +Béchoux’s hand went gingerly to his coat-pocket, felt in it and took +out a large envelope which bore the following superscription: “To my +friend Béchoux.” With trembling fingers he tore it open. Oh, joy, his +Nigger Boys were restored to him, all twelve! Clutching the precious +shares to his breast, he turned very pale and closed his eyes. Barnett +hastened to revive him with smelling salts held under the nose. + +“Sniff hard, Béchoux. This is no time to faint.” + +Béchoux did not faint, though he surreptitiously wiped away a few tears +of relief. He was inarticulate with emotion. Of course he had no doubt +but that Barnett had stuffed the envelope into his pocket the moment he +came into the Agency, while they were making up their differences. But +anyhow there were the Twelve Little Nigger Boys in his still trembling +hands, and Barnett’s virtue was for him untarnished. + +Reviving suddenly, he began capering about, dancing a kind of Spanish +jig shaking imaginary castanets. + +“I’ve got them back! My own little pickaninnies! Bless you, Barnett, +for a friend in need. From now on there is only one Barnett—Béchoux’s +preserver! You deserve a statue and a drinking fountain. You are one of +our truly great men. But how on earth did you bring it off? Tell me +all.” + +Once again Barnett’s little way was a source of amazement to Inspector +Béchoux. His professional curiosity thoroughly aroused, he asked: + +“Won’t you tell me?” + +“Tell you what?” Barnett’s tone was one of amused indolence. + +“How you unravelled everything! Where was the bundle? ‘In the house yet +out of it,’ was what you said, I believe?” + +“‘And out of the house but in it,’” added Barnett with a laugh. + +“What does it mean?” + +“D’you give it up?” + +“Yes, yes; I give it up. I’ll do anything you ask.” + +“Will you promise never again to take up that chilly and reproachful +attitude towards my harmless exploits, which almost convinces me at +times that I must have wandered from the straight and narrow path?” + +“Go on, tell me, Barnett!” + +“Ah,” exclaimed the other, “what a story! I’ve never come across +anything more neatly done, more unexpected, more spontaneous or more +baffling. It was at once human and fantastic. And withal so simple that +you, Béchoux, gifted as you are in your profession, were absolutely in +the dark.” + +“Well, hang it all, come to the point,” said Béchoux in some annoyance. +“How did the bundle of securities leave the house?” + +“Under your own eyes, my bright lad! And not only did it leave the +house, but it came in again. It left the house twice daily, and twice +daily it returned! And under your own eyes, Béchoux, under your bright, +benignant eyes! And for ten days you bowed to it respectfully. You +almost grovelled on your knees before it!” + +“I don’t believe you!” cried Béchoux. “It’s absurd. We searched +everything.” + +“Everything was searched, Béchoux, except that. Parcels, boxes, +handbags, pockets, hats, tins, dustbins ... all those, but not that. At +the frontier they search all luggage, except the diplomat’s valise. +Naturally, you searched everything but that.” + +“What is that?” yelled Béchoux frenziedly. “For goodness sake, answer +me.” + +“The portfolio of the ex-Cabinet Minister!” + +Béchoux sprang up in astonishment. + +“What do you mean, Barnett? Are you accusing Monsieur Touffémont?” + +“Idiot, should I dare accuse a member of parliament? In the first +place, that man, an ex-Cabinet Minister, is above suspicion. And among +all members of parliament and ex-Cabinet Ministers—and Lord knows their +name is legion—I regard Touffémont as the least open to suspicion. All +the same, Madame Alain made him a receiver of stolen goods!” + +“Then he was her accomplice?” + +“Not a bit of it!” + +“Then who was?” + +“His portfolio!” And, with a broad smile, Barnett proceeded to +elucidate. “A minister’s portfolio, Béchoux, has a personality of its +own. In this world we have Monsieur Touffémont and we have his +portfolio. The two are inseparable, and each is the other’s raison +d’être. You can’t imagine Monsieur Touffémont minus his portfolio—nor +the portfolio minus Monsieur Touffémont. But it happens that Monsieur +Touffémont lays down his portfolio when he eats and sleeps, and on +various other occasions through the day. At such times the portfolio +assumes a separate identity and may lend itself to actions for which +Monsieur Touffémont cannot be held responsible. + +“That was what happened on the morning of the theft.” + +Béchoux stared at Barnett, wondering what on earth he was getting at. + +“That was what happened,” Barnett repeated, “on the morning that your +twelve African mining shares vanished away. The concierge, terrified by +what she had done, and dreading the consequences of her action, could +not think how to get rid of the securities, which were bound to betray +her guilt. Suddenly she noticed the providential presence of Monsieur +Touffémont’s portfolio on her mantelpiece—the portfolio all by itself! +Monsieur Touffémont had come in there to collect his post. He put his +portfolio down on the mantelpiece and proceeded to open his letters, +while Gassire and you, Béchoux, were telling him about the +disappearance of the securities. + +“Then Madame Alain had an inspiration of sheer genius. Her room had not +yet been searched, but it was bound to be ransacked in a little while, +and the securities would be discovered. She had no time to lose. She +turned her back on the three of you standing there discussing the +theft. With quick, deft fingers she opened the portfolio, emptied one +of the flap pockets of all its papers, and slipped the securities into +their place. The deed was done, the great bell rung. No one suspected +anything. And when Monsieur Touffémont withdrew, he took away in the +portfolio under his arm your Twelve Little Nigger Boys and all +Gassire’s securities.” + +Béchoux never questioned Barnett’s asseverations when they were made on +that particular note of absolute conviction. Instead, he bowed his head +humbly in the Temple of Truth and believed what he was told. + +“Certainly,” he said, “I noticed a sheaf of papers and reports lying +about down there that morning, but I paid no attention to it. And +surely she must have given those documents back to Monsieur +Touffémont?” + +“I hardly think so,” answered Barnett. “Rather than incur any suspicion +she probably burned them.” + +“But he must have asked after them?” + +Barnett shook his head and smiled quietly. + +“You mean to say he hasn’t noticed the disappearance of a whole sheaf +of his papers?” + +“Has he noticed the appearance of the bundle of securities?” + +“But—but what happened when he opened the portfolio?” + +“He didn’t open it. He never opens it. Monsieur Touffémont’s portfolio, +like that of many a politician, is only a sham—a dummy—a useful prop on +the parliamentary stage. If he had opened it he would have demanded the +return of his own papers, and restored the securities. He has done +neither.” + +“But when he works....” + +“He doesn’t work. The mere fact of a man’s carrying a portfolio does +not necessarily imply that he works. As a matter of fact, the +possession of an ex-minister’s portfolio is in itself a dispensation +from work. A portfolio stands for power, authority, omnipotence, and +omniscience. Last night, at the Chambre des Députés—I was there myself, +by the way—Monsieur Touffémont laid down his portfolio on the rostrum. +You can see that his doing this at such a crisis was tantamount to +announcing publicly that he was once again a candidate for office. The +Cabinet realized that it was lost. The great man’s portfolio must be +full of crushing documents crammed with statistics! Monsieur Touffémont +even undid it, though he took nothing from its bulging compartments. It +was so obvious that he had everything there.... But really, there was +nothing there except your twelve African mining shares, Gassire’s +securities and some old newspapers. They carried the day, however, and +Monsieur Touffémont’s portfolio overthrew the Cabinet.” + +“But how do you know all this?” + +“Because, when Monsieur Touffémont was strolling home from the House at +one o’clock in the morning, a person unknown came into clumsy collision +with him and sent him sprawling on the pavement. Another man—an +accomplice—snatched up the portfolio and replaced the securities with a +bundle of old papers, carrying off the former. Need I tell you the name +of the second man?” + +Béchoux laughed heartily. Every time his hand felt the twelve shares in +his pocket he was struck afresh with the humor of the story and of +Monsieur Touffémont’s little adventure. + +Barnett, beaming on his friend, concluded: + +“That’s all there is to know, and it was in my endeavor to ferret out +the truth and collect evidence in the case that I’ve dictated my +memoirs and taken lessons on the flute. What a pleasant week it’s been! +Flirtations up above and a variety entertainment on the ground floor. +Gassire, Béchoux, Madame Alain, Touffémont ... my own little +marionettes, dancing when I pulled the strings! The hardest nut I had +to crack was that Touffémont could actually be oblivious of his +portfolio’s guilty secret, and be taking your Twelve Little Nigger Boys +to and fro in blissful ignorance. At first it had me absolutely beat. +And how surprised the poor concierge must have been! She must think +Touffémont a common crook, since she certainly believes that he has +stuck to your Little Nigger Boys and the rest of the bundle. Fancy +Touffémont——” + +“Hadn’t I better tell him?” broke in Béchoux. + +“What’s the good? Let him go on carting his old newspapers about and +sleeping with the portfolio under his pillow. Don’t let on about this +to anyone, Béchoux.” + +“Except Gassire, of course,” said Béchoux. “I shall have to explain to +him when I give him back his securities.” + +“What securities?” asked Barnett blankly. + +“The ones you found in Monsieur Touffémont’s portfolio—they’re his!” + +“You must be crazy, Béchoux. You don’t suppose Gassire will ever see +his securities again?” + +“Naturally I do.” + +Barnett brought his fist down on the table and gave vent to a sudden +burst of righteous indignation. + +“Look here, Béchoux, do you know what sort of man Nicolas Gassire is? +He’s a scoundrel like the concierge’s son! He robbed his clients—I can +prove it! He gambled with their money. He was even preparing to steal +the lot. Look, here is his first-class railway ticket to Brussels. He +bought it on the same day that he withdrew the securities from his safe +deposit, not to hand them over to another bank as he told you, but to +bolt with them! How do you feel about Nicolas Gassire now?” + +Béchoux could say nothing. Ever since the theft of his shares his +confidence in Nicolas Gassire had been considerably shaken. Still, he +raised the obvious objection. + +“His clients are all decent people. It’s not fair to ruin them as +well.” + +“Who ever talked of ruining them? That would be disgraceful. It would +upset me terribly!” + +Béchoux looked his interrogation. + +“Gassire is rich,” observed Barnett. + +“He’s broke,” contradicted Béchoux. + +“Not at all. I have information that he has enough money to pay back +all his clients and then leave something over. You can be quite sure +that the reason he didn’t call in the police the very first day was +that he didn’t want them meddling in his private affairs. Threaten him +with imprisonment, and watch him skip! Why, Nicolas Gassire is a +millionaire. It’s up to him to right his client’s wrongs, no business +of mine!” + +“Which means that you intend keeping the securities?” + +“Certainly not! They’re already sold!” + +“Yes, but you’ve got the cash.” + +Barnett was virtuously indignant and protested that he had kept +nothing. + +“I’m merely distributing it,” he declared. + +“To whom?” + +“To friends in distress and to various deserving charities which I +supply with funds. You needn’t worry, Béchoux. I’m making good use of +Gassire’s money.” + +Béchoux did not doubt it. Yet another treasure-hunt in which the prize +was forfeit at the finish! Barnett, as usual, walked off with the +spoils. He punished the guilty and saved the innocent—and never forgot +to line his pockets in the process. Well-ordered charity invariably +begins at home. + +Inspector Béchoux found himself blushing. If he made no protest, he +became Barnett’s accomplice. But, as he felt the precious bundle of +shares in his pocket, and realized that without Barnett’s intervention +he would have lost them for ever, he cooled down. It was hardly an +opportune moment to enter the lists! + +“What’s up?” asked Barnett. “Aren’t you pleased?” + +“Oh, rather,” said the luckless Béchoux hastily. “Delighted!” + +“Then smile, smile, smile!” + +Béchoux managed a grimace like a watery sunset. + +“That’s better,” cried Barnett. “It’s been a pleasure to do you this +small service, and I thank you for giving me the opportunity. And now +it’s time for us to part. You must be very busy, and I’m expecting a +lady.” + +“So long,” said Béchoux, and made for the door. + +“To our next merry meeting,” answered Barnett. + +Béchoux took his leave, delighted, indeed, but at loggerheads with his +conscience and firmly resolved to shun Barnett’s society henceforward. + +As he turned the corner of the rue Laborde he noticed the pretty typist +from the Invalides hurrying along. Doubtless she was the lady Barnett +was expecting! + +And, a couple of days later, Béchoux saw Barnett at the cinema, +accompanied by the equally charming Mademoiselle Haveline, who played +upon the flute.... + + + + + + + + +VII + +THE BRIDGE THAT BROKE + + +It was a Tuesday afternoon in midsummer. Paris was deserted—a city of +the dead. Jim Barnett sat in his office with his feet on his desk. He +was in his shirt-sleeves. A glass of lager beer stood at his elbow. A +green blind shut out the blazing sun. To the prejudiced eye, Barnett’s +appearance would have suggested slumber, and this impression would have +been strengthened by his rather loud and rhythmical breathing. + +A sharp tap on his door made him bring his feet down with a jerk and +sit bolt upright. + +“No! It can’t be! The heat must be affecting my eyesight.” Barnett +affected elaborate astonishment. + +Inspector Béchoux, for it was he, closed the door behind him and +observed with some distaste his friend’s state of déshabillé. It was a +fad with Béchoux to present at all times a perfectly groomed +appearance. On this sweltering day he was cool and immaculate, not a +hair out of place. + +“How do you do it?” Barnett demanded, sinking back wearily into his +chair. + +“Do what?” + +“Look like a fashion-plate off the ice. Damned superior, I call it!” + +Béchoux smiled with conscious pride. + +“It’s quite simple,” he remarked modestly. + +“But I take it the case you are working on is not quite so simple, or +you wouldn’t be coming to the enemy camp for assistance, eh Béchoux?” + +Béchoux reddened. It was a very sore point with him that in his +difficulties he had several times been forced to accept Jim Barnett’s +help. For Barnett was helpful—almost uncannily so. The trouble was that +he always managed to help himself as well as others. But Béchoux felt +profoundly grateful to Barnett for having retrieved these African +shares—his precious Twelve Little Nigger Boys. + +“What is it this time? I’ve all day to spare—and to-morrow—and the day +after. The Barnett Agency doesn’t get many clients at this time of +year, though it does guarantee ‘Information Free.’ I hear that they +can’t even get deadheads to go to the theatres—pouf!” + +“How would you like a trip into the country?” + +“Béchoux, you are a blessing, albeit heavily disguised. What is the +case, though?” + +Inspector Béchoux grimaced involuntarily. + +“It’s a real mystery—the sudden death of the famous scientist, +Professor Saint-Prix.” + +“I know the name, but I haven’t read about his death in the papers. Has +he been murdered?” + +Inspector Béchoux’s countenance took on a sphinx-like expression. + +“That’s what I want you to help me to determine. I have my car at a +garage near here. Pack a bag and come right along. I’ll tell you the +facts of the case as we go.” + +Reluctantly Barnett got up, drained the last of his beer, and made his +simple preparations for the trip. + +A quarter of an hour later they were spinning out of Paris in Inspector +Béchoux’s little two-seater. + +“I was called in on the case,” said Béchoux, “by Doctor Desportes of +Beauvray—an old friend. He rang up on Monday morning to say there was +going to be an inquest at Beauvray—Professor Saint-Prix, the scientist, +had been killed by falling into the stream at the bottom of his +garden.” + +“Nothing very mysterious in that.” + +“Ah, but wait. The professor was crossing the stream by a plank bridge, +and that bridge gave way under him and precipitated the old man into +the water. His head hit a sharp rock and he was killed +instantaneously.” + +“Was the bridge rotten, then?” + +Inspector Béchoux shook his head. + +“My doctor friend informed me that though the police had not been +called in, they would have to be. The bridge was perfectly sound, +but—it had been sawed through!” + +Barnett whistled. + +“And so you went to Beauvray at once?” + +“Yes.” + +“And what did you find?” + +“A queer situation. The professor had a little house where he lived +with his daughter, Thérèse Saint-Prix. Joined on to the house was a +very fine laboratory. The garden sloped down, first a lawn and then a +dense shrubbery, to a stream, sunk deep between rocky banks. A stout +plank bridge was the means of crossing from the Saint-Prix garden to +the adjoining property of the Villa Eméraude, the home of a married +couple, the Lenormands. + +“Louis Lenormand is a young stockbroker. His wife, Cécile, is a +delicate, beautiful girl. Last Sunday afternoon, Madame Lenormand was +going to have tea with Thérèse Saint-Prix. Louis Lenormand was spending +the week-end in Paris with his invalid mother, but was expected back +that night. + +“Madame Lenormand went through the garden of the Villa Eméraude down to +the stream. When she got there, she pulled up short and gave a cry of +horror! The plank bridge was broken, and in the water lay the body of +Professor Saint-Prix. She rushed back to the house for help, and then +fainted.” + +“Well, where do I come in?” + +“Almost as soon as they had got Madame Lenormand to bed, and were +breaking the news of her father’s death to Thérèse Saint-Prix, Louis +Lenormand arrived in his car, driving like a fury. He was pale and +trembling. The first words he spoke were: ‘Am I in time? Tell me—tell +me. My God, I’ve been a fool!’ He was like a madman and rushed upstairs +to his wife’s room without waiting for an answer from the astonished +servants. His wife’s maid told him what had happened. At first he did +not seem to understand. Then he stole to his wife’s bedside and kissed +her hands passionately, weeping and murmuring, ‘Cécile, I am a +murderer.’” + +“Still I confess I don’t understand. You have your murder—you have your +murderer, self-confessed. What more do you want?” + +“Well, the thing is this. We checked up on Louis Lenormand’s movements +while he was away from Beauvray. We know that the bridge was perfectly +safe on the Saturday morning, for a gardener crossed by it. Now all +Saturday afternoon Lenormand spent at his mother’s bedside. He sat with +her again after dinner until eleven o’clock, and then turned into bed +himself. Old Madame Lenormand’s maid and cook heard him kicking off his +shoes in the room next to theirs. And the maid swears that in the small +hours she heard him switch off his light, so she supposes he must have +been lying awake reading. All Sunday morning he did not stir out, so it +is out of the question that he could possibly have sawed through the +bridge between the gardens at Beauvray.” + +“What made you establish such a thorough alibi for your suspect?” + +“Madame Lenormand, though still weak from the shock, has recovered +consciousness. Her belief in her husband’s innocence is absolute. Her +one aim is to clear him. She insisted on these investigations being +made. He will not say a word in his own defence. It’s all very +mystifying.” + +“You say that Louis Lenormand was not expected back until Sunday +evening. Do you know why he left Paris so much earlier?” + +“That,” said Béchoux, “is a curious point. Apparently he was alone in +one of the rooms in his mother’s flat, reading a book while the old +lady had a nap after her lunch. The servants were both in the kitchen, +and testify that suddenly, at about three o’clock, he rushed into them +and said he was going home at once but would not disturb his mother to +say good-bye.” + +“And the motive? What reason could Louis Lenormand have to murder his +neighbor?” + +Inspector Béchoux shrugged his shoulders. + +“I have an idea, and Doctor Desportes is making some investigations on +my behalf.” + +“Is there no one else who comes under suspicion? What about Madame +Lenormand?” + +Inspector Béchoux was silent. The car swung off the main road up a +shady avenue. They turned into the drive of the Villa Eméraude. They +were met outside the house by Doctor Desportes, who announced: + +“The Beauvray police have arrested Monsieur Lenormand, but I have been +busy on the telephone to headquarters, and you are now officially in +charge of the case.” + +“But his alibi—he was in Paris all the time—he could not have sawed +through the bridge!” + +The doctor looked grave. + +“Monsieur Lenormand had a latch-key to his mother’s flat. The Paris +police have inquired at the garage where he kept his car and they find +that he took it out shortly after midnight and told a mechanic that he +was unable to sleep because of the heat, and was going to try and get a +breath of air in the Bois. He returned after two in the morning.” + +“Which,” observed Barnett, “gave him plenty of time to drive out here, +saw through the bridge and get back to Paris. And what the maid heard +was Monsieur Lenormand switching off his light when he really went to +bed at last. Both servants must have been asleep when he slipped out of +the flat.” + +The doctor looked at Barnett in some curiosity, for he spoke in such an +assured tone and was so obviously no subordinate of Inspector Béchoux. + +Barnett smiled and bowed easily. + +“Allow me to remedy my friend Béchoux’s deplorable lack of manners. Jim +Barnett, at your service, doctor.” + +“A friend of mine, who has helped me on more than one occasion,” said +Béchoux, not so easily. “Come, doctor, what news have you for me after +your confidential interview with the bank manager at Beauvray?” + +“Poor Monsieur Lenormand.” The doctor shook his head sadly. “I wish it +had been a policeman who had found it out. But justice cannot be +cheated. I have established that for the past two years Monsieur +Lenormand has from time to time paid quite large checks into the +banking account of Professor Saint-Prix.” + +“Blackmail?” Barnett and Béchoux came out with the word simultaneously. + +“There we have at last the motive!” cried Béchoux, in purely +professional triumph. “Monsieur Lenormand must have had a very good +reason for sawing through that bridge——” + +“But he did not do it!” + +A young woman, deathly pale, wearing a brilliant Chinese wrap, was +coming slowly down the stairs into the hall, clutching at the banister +for support. A maid followed anxiously behind her. + +“I repeat,” she said in a voice trembling with suppressed emotion, +“Louis is innocent!” + +“Madame,” said Béchoux, “allow me to present my friend, Jim Barnett.” +Barnett bowed low. “If anyone can achieve the impossible and establish +your husband’s innocence, it is he! I admit, however, that I originally +brought him here because your husband’s alibi upset all my deductions: +Now that alibi no longer holds, and I have no objection if Barnett +transfers his assistance to you. Provided”——he grew thoughtful and did +not finish his sentence. + +“Oh,” cried Madame Lenormand, taking Barnett’s hands impulsively in +hers, “save my husband, and I will give you any reward you care to +name.” + +Barnett shook his head. + +“I ask no reward, madame, beyond the privilege of serving you. Never +shall it be said that the Barnett Agency descended to base +commercialism in accepting a fee for its labors.” + +At this point a gendarme came running in from the garden with a pair of +rubber boots. + +“Where did you find those?” asked Béchoux. + +“In a garden shed at the back of the grounds of the Villa.” + +The boots were covered with fresh mud. In this sweltering weather the +only moisture on the ground would be along the channel of the stream. +Cécile Lenormand gave a sharp exclamation. + +“Your husband’s?” + +She nodded reluctantly. + +“Well,” said Barnett, “let’s go and have a look at the stream—and we +ought to take those with us. À bientôt, madame.” + +Béchoux and Barnett, accompanied by the doctor and the gendarme, walked +through the garden and down to the stream. The water was running +swiftly over the rocks below. + +Béchoux looked unwillingly at the muddy foothold below the broken +bridge, and then at his shining new patent leather shoes topped by +snowy spats. + +“I’ll do it!” cried Barnett gallantly, and, seizing a boot from +Béchoux, he leapt down, so that he sank ankle-deep in the mud beside +the torrent. + +“Are there any marks?” asked the doctor eagerly. + +“Yes,” said Barnett. “And they were made by these boots!” + +“A clear case!” said Béchoux. “I need never have brought you along, +Barnett, and I’m afraid it’s no use your transferring your services to +Madame Lenormand. Really, I think you’d better hop back to Paris.” + +“My dear Béchoux!” said Barnett in tones of shocked surprise. “Go off +and leave a client in the lurch? Do you imagine the Barnett Agency +shirks what appears to be a losing case?” + +“Then you definitely regard Madame Lenormand as your client?” + +“Why not?” + +He handed up the boot and grovelled a few minutes longer in the mud. +Then he clambered up again, somewhat apoplectic of countenance. + +“Now,” he said briskly, “suppose we visit Mademoiselle Saint-Prix and +inspect both the properties prior to consuming beef and wine at the +village inn.” + +“What good can that do? I have my case.” + +“And I have my own way of working. If you prefer it, I will pursue my +course quite independently on behalf of Madame Lenormand, and you +needn’t see me again until I, too, have my case.” + +But this course Béchoux viewed with some apprehension, so he and +Barnett made their way round by the road to the Saint-Prix house. + +On the way there Barnett solemnly handed Béchoux a very grubby sealed +envelope. + +“Will you please keep that carefully for me?” he said, “and don’t let +it out of your inner pocket until I ask for it.” + +“What is it?” + +Barnett smiled mysteriously and laid a finger to his nose. + +“A valuable diamond, old horse!” + +“Idiot!” + +At this point, they had arrived at the late professor’s house. Here all +the blinds were drawn. Barnett observed that the paint was peeling off +the walls, and the matting in the passage was worn and old. A +down-at-heel servant girl showed them into a small boudoir where they +were received by Thérèse Saint-Prix. + +She was quite a young woman—a girl in years, but strikingly poised and +mature in bearing and appearance, tall and supple. She wore black, with +no ornament of any kind. Her smooth black hair, parted in the middle, +was drawn off her ears into a knot low on her neck. Her grave, dark +eyes searched the faces of the two men—she had already met Béchoux and +presumed Barnett to be an assistant. + +She sat, very pale, though calm, in a high-backed, carved chair. Only +her strong white hands strained at her handkerchief as if there alone +her grief found outlet. + +Barnett bowed low. + +“Accept my profound sympathy, mademoiselle,” he murmured. “Your +father’s death will be felt by all France!” + +“Yes,” the girl said, in a low voice. “Five years ago he discovered the +antiseptic which is now used in every hospital. That brought him +renown, though it did not mend our fortunes when we lost our money in +Russia.” She gave a pathetic little smile. + +“How was that?” + +“My father was half Russian. He invested everything in his brother’s +oil-wells near St. Petersburg. Revolutionaries burned the factory and +murdered my uncle. After that loss, we lived very modestly. But even in +poverty my father was generous. And he would take no money for his +discovery. He said his reward was to have been able to help in the +great war against disease. When my father died, however, he was on the +verge of completing another discovery of a different kind—one that +would have brought him wealth as well as fame.” + +“What was this discovery?” + +“A secret process which would have revolutionized the dye industry. But +I know scarcely anything about it—my father was secretive in some +matters and would not let me help him in his experiments.” Again she +smiled sadly. “I could only be his housekeeper, never his assistant. +And my chief occupation was to interest myself in the garden. Cécile +and I used to spend hours planning our flower-beds. She was always so +kind, helping me with gifts of plants. She was coming to tea on that +afternoon, you know, to advise me about some fruit-trees. Poor Cécile! +What will she do?” + +“You are aware, mademoiselle,” said Béchoux, rather stiffly, as if to +recall his presence to her consciousness, “that Louis Lenormand is +under arrest? The case is practically complete against him.” + +She nodded. + +“What made Louis Lenormand do such a thing? Can you imagine?” Barnett +asked abruptly. + +“If he did it,” said Thérèse gently. “We must remember that nothing is +proved yet.” + +“But what reason can he have had? Well off, prosperous, married to a +charming wife——” + +“Against the wishes of her family,” interposed the girl. “Louis +Lenormand was a penniless clerk, and it was by speculating with his +wife’s money that he became rich. The family all thought that was why +he wanted to marry her, though, of course, it was untrue. And Cécile +was passionately fond of her husband—she grudged every minute he spent +elsewhere. Indeed, I used to wonder if she was not a little jealous of +the time he spent with my father in the laboratory. I wondered, too, if +she minded his helping my father occasionally with loans of money. But +I do wrong if I suggest that Cécile is not all that is generous. Only, +where her husband is concerned, if you understand, I have often +wondered if she can be quite normal.” + +Barnett looked distinctly interested, though Béchoux was obviously +bored. + +“Mademoiselle,” said Barnett, “I have a favor to ask of you. May I see +the laboratory in which your father worked?” + +Without another word she led the way down a passage and through a baize +door, which opened into the airy, white building. + +The laboratory was in contrast to the house itself. Here all was new +and spotless. Phials were ranged in orderly rows along the shelves; +clean vessels sparkled on the benches. In all this dazzling whiteness +there was but one dark patch—a muddy coat trailing from a stool. + +“What’s that?” asked Barnett. + +“My poor father’s coat,” said Thérèse. “They carried him in here and +removed his coat when they were trying to restore life. But he must +have been killed instantaneously.” + +“And these are all his chemicals?” Barnett indicated the gleaming +phials. + +“Yes—to think he will never use them again!” She averted her head +slightly. “Ah, how my father loved this place; and so, I always +thought, did Louis Lenormand. Cécile did not, but that was because she +did not understand. She loved flowers, everything beautiful; but +science she thought ugly and repellent. Why, I have seen her shake her +fist at the laboratory windows when my father and her husband were +talking there together.” + +“Well, mademoiselle, I thank you very much for being so helpful to us +in what must be painful and terrible circumstances so far as you are +concerned. And I won’t hide from you that I have already made one +little discovery.” + +“What’s that?” demanded Béchoux. + +“Aha, I thought you would want to know. Well, it is that I am on the +track of the motive for the murder. You have the murderer; I shall soon +have the motive. And there we are!” + +Then, hastily dissembling his cheerfulness, he took a dignified +farewell of Thérèse Saint-Prix, and departed with Béchoux. + +At the garden gate they were met by the doctor and the gendarme. + +“We’ve been waiting for you,” the former observed. “We have found the +instrument of the crime.” + +The gendarme held up a medium-sized saw. + +“Where did you find it?” asked Béchoux eagerly. + +“Among some laurel bushes, near the tool-shed where the boots were +discovered.” + +“See,” cried Béchoux, turning eagerly to Barnett, “it is plainly +marked, ‘Villa Eméraude.’” + +“Very interesting,” observed Barnett. “Béchoux, I feel your case is +becoming ever clearer. I almost wish I had never left Paris; it’s just +as hot here. In fact, I am getting distinctly warm. What about a drink +at the local hostelry? I hope you will join us, doctor?” He beamed a +comprehensive invitation. + +“I shall be delighted to join you and your colleague,” answered the +doctor. + +At the word “colleague,” Béchoux smiled wryly. He was wishing pretty +heartily that he had never brought Barnett into the case. + + + +The sultry, airless evening was followed by a night of storm, but +Barnett slept through the thunderclaps. The next day dawned clear and +much cooler. + +Béchoux informed his friend that Louis Lenormand was to be examined by +the magistrate up at the Saint-Prix house that afternoon. + +“I am going to complete the necessary formalities this morning,” he +announced, sipping his coffee. After a moment he continued, “Won’t you +change your mind and pop back to Paris?” + +“I’m sorry my society bores you so badly,” said Barnett sorrowfully, +and sought solace in a third cup of chocolate. + +“Oh, very well!” Béchoux was inclined to be huffy. He left the inn, and +Barnett attacked another soft boiled egg. + +When he had finished his breakfast, Jim Barnett spruced himself up and +made his way to the Villa Eméraude. Madame Lenormand received him in +her sitting-room, and for over an hour he remained talking with her. +Towards the end of the interview they moved into Louis Lenormand’s +study, and Béchoux, coming up the drive, could see through the open +window Barnett and Cécile Lenormand bending over an open desk together. + +Barnett came out into the hall and greeted his friend as if the Villa +Eméraude was his own ancestral hall. + +“Welcome, welcome, Béchoux. But I’m afraid you can’t see Madame +Lenormand. She’s feeling overtired already—a little hysterical—and she +must rest in view of her ordeal this afternoon. A charming woman; in +many ways a delightful woman——” He did not finish, but paused +thoughtfully. + +Béchoux grunted. “I came up to find you,” he said, “to tell you a bit +of news.” + +“What’s that?” + +“We searched Louis Lenormand, and found on him a note-book in which he +made entries of payments made by him during the past six months or so. +One of these, dated three weeks ago, was for five thousand francs, paid +to ‘S,’ and against it was written ‘The last payment.’ Investigation +has shown that this amount was paid to Professor Saint-Prix. The case +is pretty black against Lenormand, Barnett, and I really should advise +you to quit now.” + +But all Barnett answered was: + +“I’m ready for a spot of lunch. Are you?” + +The inquiry began at three o’clock. It was held in the narrow +dining-room of the Saint-Prix house. Louis Lenormand sat at one end, +between two gendarmes, never raising his eyes from the ground. The +magistrates and Béchoux conferred together in low tones. Doctor +Desportes gazed thoughtfully out of the window. + +Barnett ushered in Madame Lenormand. She was very pale and leaned on +his arm for support. She took her seat in a low chair, looking all +around her with quick, nervous glances. Her husband seemed not to +observe her, so sunken was he in dejection. + +Then Thérèse Saint-Prix entered the room. Her presence was like a +calming influence. She went over to Cécile Lenormand and laid a +compassionate hand on her shoulder, but the other started away +violently. + +Almost immediately the examining magistrate began. He took the medical +evidence, which Doctor Desportes gave in even, colorless tones, clearly +establishing that the professor had been killed through his fall into +the stream. + +After this came the questioning of Louis Lenormand. + +“Did you take your car out late on Sunday night from the Paris garage?” + +“I did.” + +“Where did you drive?” + +The prisoner was silent. + +“Answer me!” + +“I really forget.” + +Béchoux gave Barnett a significant look. + +“Did you pay Professor Saint-Prix large sums of money from time to +time?” + +“I did.” + +“For what reason?” + +Louis Lenormand hesitated, and then replied haltingly: + +“To assist him in his researches.” + +Béchoux’s pitying contempt was unmistakable. + +A small note-book was produced. + +“This is yours?” + +The prisoner assented. + +“Here you have entered various payments made by you. There is one of +five thousand francs dated a month ago which says: ‘S. The last +payment.’ Was that a check paid to Professor Saint-Prix?” + +“It was.” + +“Won’t you tell us why you were being—blackmailed? Perhaps the +circumstances——” The magistrate seemed anxious to give Lenormand a +chance to defend himself. + +“I have nothing to say.” + +“Is it a fact that Professor Saint-Prix was in the habit of coming to +your house for a game of chess on Sunday afternoons?” + +“Yes,” said the young man sullenly. + +“Did you saw through the bridge?” + +The prisoner was silent. + +“You do not deny that these are your boots?” Béchoux produced them. The +prisoner looked slightly startled but made no protest. + +“I submit,” said Béchoux, “that the case is clear.” + +“Yes, indeed,” said Barnett, “there never was a clearer. As clear as +crystal—as a diamond—Béchoux, won’t you produce that little envelope I +entrusted to your care?” + +With a premonition of disaster, Béchoux extracted the rather grubby +envelope from his inner pocket. + +“Open it!” commanded Barnett. + +He did so, and held up—a diamond earring! + +Cécile Lenormand gave a little gasp. Her husband started up and then +sank back into his chair. + +“Can anyone identify this little exhibit of jewelry?” Barnett asked the +assembly. + +Doctor Desportes looked intensely worried. Poor man, his quiet life was +being rudely disturbed! + +“Those earrings——” He paused. “They were given to Madame Lenormand by +her husband not very long ago!” + +“Is that so?” Béchoux asked of Louis Lenormand. + +The latter nodded. + +Cécile had bowed her head in her hands. Thérèse reached out a pitying +hand to her, but she shook it off wildly. + +“You have seen these earrings,” pursued Barnett, “but you can’t guess +where I found one of them. Inspector Béchoux will tell you, though. In +the mud by the stream, at the point where the body of Professor +Saint-Prix was found lying dead!” + +“Can you tell us, madame,” inquired the magistrate of Cécile Lenormand, +“whether you were wearing those earrings on Sunday afternoon?” + +Looking up, the young woman shook her head. + +“I can’t—remember—when I last wore them!” she said in a confused +manner. + +“You must forgive my asking you, madame, but you must tell us now +whether you left the Villa at any time during Saturday night.” + +There was the merest hint of menace in the smooth tones. Louis +Lenormand’s mouth twitched painfully. + +“I—I——” She looked from one face to another of those gathered in the +room. “Why, I believe I did. It was so hot.... I went out into the +garden for a little....” + +“Was this before you retired for the night?” + +“Yes—no—not exactly. I had gone to my room, but I had not undressed. I +had told my maid to go to bed. Then I felt oppressed by the heat and +went out into the garden through the French window of my boudoir.” + +“So that no one heard you come or go?” + +“No one, monsieur.” + +“And, on Sunday afternoon, you were going to tea with Mademoiselle +Saint-Prix?” + +“Yes.” + +“At four o’clock?” + +“That’s so——” + +Thérèse Saint-Prix’s voice here interrupted gently, like a low-toned +bell. + +“Don’t you remember, Cécile, the arrangement was that you should come +over soon after three to me, but that if you did not arrive by four, I +was to come up to the Villa? Why, I was just getting ready to come +when—when it happened. You see,” she turned to address the magistrate, +“we were going to make gardening plans together, but just lately Cécile +hasn’t been feeling too well, and she thought it possible that she +might not feel up to walking about the garden in the hot sun. So I was +quite prepared for her to stay resting in her boudoir that afternoon, +and then we would have had tea together there.” + +“Is that true, madame?” asked the magistrate of Cécile Lenormand. + +“I—I can’t remember. Perhaps that was the arrangement.” + +“But—but——” Béchoux was stammering under the force of his discovery—“if +you, mademoiselle, had been just a few minutes quicker in getting ready +to go up to the Villa, you might yourself have been killed!” + +“The question that presents itself,” said Barnett, in a level voice, +“is—for whom was the trap laid? Did Louis Lenormand lay it to kill +Professor Saint-Prix? We must remember that the old professor was +absent-minded, and was in the custom of going to play chess with his +neighbor on Sunday afternoon. Or, was the attack directed by Louis +Lenormand against his own wife? Or against Mademoiselle Saint-Prix?” + +“Or,” said Béchoux, annoyed to find Barnett calmly taking the floor, +“did Madame Lenormand saw through the bridge because she guessed +Professor Saint-Prix would be coming that way? Remember what +Mademoiselle Saint-Prix has told us——” + +Thérèse Saint-Prix was covered with confusion. + +“I never meant you to take it that way,” she cried. + +“Why, I only said Cécile sometimes appeared a little jealous of her +husband’s intimacy with my poor father. But that was nothing! Poor +darling, she was always jealous where Louis—Monsieur Lenormand—was +concerned. Why, she even at one time——” She broke off and was silent. + +“She even what, mademoiselle?” asked the magistrate. + +“Oh, it’s too silly. But at one time I used to wonder if she were not a +little jealous of me! I was giving Monsieur Lenormand lessons in +Russian—a language he was eager to learn—and so we were naturally +together a good deal. I even wondered if Cécile could be—could be +spying on us—she seemed so queer. But please don’t misunderstand me, +I’m not suggesting a thing against her.” + +“But mademoiselle is right,” said Barnett gravely. “Madame Lenormand +had the most odd ideas concerning her husband and mademoiselle—almost +unbelievable. She imagined—I ask you!—that Mademoiselle Saint-Prix had +almost forced Monsieur Lenormand into having Russian lessons, in the +hope that she might thereby succeed in teaching him something besides +Russian! She had the absurd hallucination that she once saw her husband +kissing you, mademoiselle, in the little summer-house at the bottom of +the garden. And yet, and this is the most unbelievable part of all, she +never really doubted her husband—she believed that, like so many men, +he was capable of being superficially attracted without being guilty of +any serious infidelity. A trusting woman, one would say. But her +clemency hardly extended to her supposed rival. + +“Now, on Sunday afternoon a woman telephoned from Beauvray to Louis +Lenormand at his mother’s flat and told him something terrible—so +terrible, in fact, as to bring him racing home in his car to try and +avert disaster. But he was too late. The tragedy had occurred. Only, it +was something quite different from what he had feared! To-day you have +before you a woman telling a vague, unsubstantiated story of having +wandered about on Saturday night in her garden—of having, perhaps, +asked her friend to come to tea instead of going to tea with her. And, +on the other hand, you must picture to yourselves a woman mad with +jealousy and fury—a woman telephoning in words of ice-cold rage—‘She +shall no longer come between us—she and she alone is the obstacle to +our love—it is because of her that you have turned a deaf ear to my +entreaties, but soon, soon the obstacle will be removed!’ + +“Gentlemen, which story are you going to believe?” + +“There can be but one answer to that,” observed the magistrate, “if you +have proof of what you say. And much is explained if Cécile Lenormand +did indeed telephone to her husband in Paris that afternoon!” + +“Did I say that Cécile Lenormand telephoned?” asked Barnett, looking +most surprised. “But that would be quite contrary to my own belief—and +to the truth!” + +“Then what on earth do you mean?” + +“Exactly what I say. The telephone call from Beauvray to Paris was made +by a woman maddened by jealousy and frustration, by a desire to +annihilate her rival in Louis Lenormand’s affections——” + +“But that woman is Cécile Lenormand.” + +“Not a bit of it! I can assure you she had nothing whatever to do with +the telephone call.” + +“Then whom are you accusing?” + +“The other woman!” + +“But there were only two—Cécile Lenormand and Thérèse Saint-Prix.” + +“Precisely, and since I am not accusing Cécile Lenormand, that means +that I do accuse....” + +Barnett left the sentence unfinished. There was a horrified silence. +Here was a direct and totally unforeseen accusation! Thérèse +Saint-Prix, who was at this moment standing near the window, hesitated +for a long moment, pale and trembling. Suddenly she sprang over the low +balcony and down into the garden. + +The doctor and a gendarme made to pursue her, but found themselves in +collision with Barnett, who was barring the way. The gendarme protested +hotly: + +“But we shall have her escaping!” + +“I think not,” said Barnett. + +“You’re right,” said the doctor, appalled, “but I fear something +else—something ghastly!... Yes, look, look! She’s running towards the +stream ... towards the bridge where her father was killed.” + +“What next?” came from Barnett with terrible calm. + +He stood aside. The doctor and the gendarme were out of the window like +lightning, and he closed it behind them. Then, turning to the +magistrate, he said: + +“Do you understand the whole business now, monsieur? Is it quite clear +to you? It was Thérèse Saint-Prix who, after trying vainly to rouse the +passion of Louis Lenormand beyond the passing fancy of a +flirtation—Thérèse Saint-Prix who, starved for years of all enjoyment +and luxury, was suddenly blinded by hatred of Cécile Lenormand. She was +too proud to believe that Louis Lenormand genuinely did not want her +love and was devoted to his wife. She thought that if once Cécile +Lenormand were out of the way, she would come into her own. So she +planned the appalling, cold-blooded murder of her rival, and—compassed +the death of her own father! In the night she sawed through the +bridge—there was no one to see her. So blinded was she by her passions +that next day, just before the tragedy would occur, she telephoned to +Louis Lenormand to tell him what she had done. + +“Confronted by the utterly unexpected result of her strategy, she +immediately planned to throw the guilt on to Cécile Lenormand and so at +one stroke save herself and get her rival out of the way. It was with +this in view that she stole one of Cécile’s earrings and dropped it on +Sunday night into the ditch, and then told her tale of Cécile having +been jealous of the old professor. Then, here in this room, she was +struck with a more plausible idea altogether—she tried to get us all to +believe that the bridge had been sawed through with the object of +killing her and not her father at all!” + +“How do you account for the boots and the saw?” asked the magistrate. + +“The Lenormands and the Saint-Prix shared a tool-shed, their garden +implements were used in common.” + +“How do you know all about Thérèse Saint-Prix?” asked Lenormand, +speaking for the first time. + +“I helped him to find out,” said Cécile swiftly. “My dear, I realized +all along how you were placed in the matter, but my pride kept me from +speaking to you. I was afraid you would think I was being jealous, and +trying to find something to throw in your face because my parents tried +to prevent our marriage.” + +“Then you forgive me?” + +For answer she ran across the room to her husband, and her arms went +round his neck. + +“But,” objected the magistrate, “that entry in the note-book of ‘the +last payment’—what did that mean?” + +“Merely,” said Barnett, “that Professor Saint-Prix had told Louis +Lenormand that this was the last loan he would need, as his discovery +was on the verge of completion.” + +“And that discovery——” + +“Was something which would have revolutionized the dye industry. +Doubtless he was going eagerly up to the Villa Eméraude to show it to +his friend, and the stream washed it out of his dying grasp. What a +loss!” + +“And where did Monsieur Lenormand drive that night?” + +“He shall tell us himself.” + +“I drove,” said the erstwhile prisoner, “into the country a little way. +I honestly could not say exactly where. I did so because it was very +hot and I couldn’t sleep. But no one could prove the truth of what I +say.” + +At this point the gendarme came back, rather pale. + +Barnett signed to him to speak. + +“She is dead!” he faltered. “She threw herself down—there, where the +professor was killed! The doctor sent me to tell you.” + +The magistrate looked grave. + +“Perhaps, after all, it is for the best,” he said. “But for you, +monsieur,” he turned to Barnett, “there might have been a grave +miscarriage of justice.” + +Béchoux stood awkwardly silent. + +“Come, Béchoux,” said Barnett, clapping him on the shoulder, “let’s be +off and pack our things. I want to be back in the rue Laborde +to-night.” + +“Well,” said Béchoux when they were alone together again, “I admit that +I do not see how you reconstructed the case so quickly.” + +“Quite simple, my dear Béchoux—like all my little coups. What faith +that woman had in her husband!” + +For a moment he was silent in admiration of his client. + +“Still,” said Béchoux, “brilliant as you were, I fail to see where you +get anything out of this for yourself!” + +Barnett’s gaze grew dreamy. + +“That was a beautiful laboratory of the professor’s,” he said. “By the +way, Béchoux, do you happen to know the address of the biggest dye +concern in the country? I may be paying them a call in the near +future!” + +Béchoux gave a curious gasp, rather like a slowly expiring balloon. + +“Done me again!” he breathed. “Stolen the paper—the formula of the +secret process....” + +Jim Barnett was moved to injured protest. + +“Dear old chap,” he observed, “when it’s a question of rendering a +service to one’s fellow-men and to one’s country, what you designate as +theft becomes the sheerest heroism. It is the highest manifestation of +duty’s sacred fire, blazing within the breast of mere man.” He thumped +himself significantly on the chest. “And personally, when duty calls, +you will always find me ready, aye ready. Got that, Béchoux?” + +But Béchoux was sunk in gloom. + +“I wonder,” Barnett mused, “what they will call the new process? I +think a suitable name might be—but there, I won’t bore you with my +reflections, Béchoux. Only I can’t help feeling it would be rather +touching to take out a patent in the name of—Lupin!” + + + + + + + + +VIII + +THE FATAL MIRACLE + + +Shortly after the suicide of Thérèse Saint-Prix, Inspector Béchoux, +primed with official information, was hastily despatched from police +headquarters on the mission of solving the Old Dungeon mystery. He left +Paris on an evening train and spent the night at Guéret in central +France. Next day he took a car on to the village of Mazurech, where his +first move was to visit the château—a vast, rambling structure, of +great age, built on a promontory in a loop of the river Creuse. He +found the owner, Monsieur Georges Cazévon, in residence. + +Georges Cazévon was a rich manufacturer of about forty—handsome in a +florid style, and not without a certain animal attraction. He had a +bluff, hearty manner which commanded the respect of the neighborhood. +Thanks to influence, he was chairman of the County Council and a person +of considerable importance. Since the Old Dungeon was on his estate, he +was eager to take Béchoux there himself immediately. + +They walked across the great park with its fine chestnuts, and came to +a ruined tower, all that was left of the ancient feudal castle of +Mazurech. This tower soared skywards right from the bottom of the +canyon where the Creuse crawled like a wounded snake along its +rock-strewn bed. + +The opposite bank of the river was the property of the d’Alescar +family, and on it, about forty yards away from where Béchoux stood with +Cazévon, rose a rubble wall, glistening with moisture and forming a +kind of dam. Higher up it was surmounted by a shady terrace with a +balustrade along it, forming the end of a garden alley. It was a wild, +forlorn spot. Here it was that, on a morning ten days before, the young +Comte Jean d’Alescar had been found lying dead on a great rock. The +body apparently had no injuries other than those due to the ghastly +fall. There was a broken branch hanging down the trunk of one of the +trees on the terrace. It was easy to reconstruct the tragedy—the young +Comte had climbed out along the branch, it had snapped beneath his +weight, and he had fallen into the river. A clear case of death by +misadventure. There had been no hesitation in bringing in the verdict. + +“But what on earth was the young Comte doing climbing that tree?” +Béchoux wanted to know. + +Georges Cazévon was ready with the answer. + +“He wanted to get a really close view from above of this dungeon. The +old castle is the cradle of the d’Alescar family, who lorded it here in +feudal times.” He added immediately: “I shan’t say anything more, +inspector. You know that you have been sent here at my urgent request. +The trouble is that ugly rumors have got about and I am being attacked +on all sides. That’s got to stop. So please make the fullest +investigations and question everyone. It is especially important that +you should call on Mademoiselle d’Alescar, the young Comte’s sister, +and the last surviving member of the family. Look me up again before +you leave Mazurech.” + +Béchoux went about his work quickly. He explored round the foot of the +tower and then entered the inner court which was now a mass of fallen +masonry caused by the collapse of stairs and flooring. He then made his +way back into Mazurech, picking up stray bits of information from the +inhabitants. He called on the priest and on the mayor, and lunched at +the inn. + +At two o’clock that afternoon, Béchoux stood in the narrow garden which +ran down to the terrace and was bisected by a small building of +farmhouse type, called the Manor—a nondescript structure in bad repair. +An old servant took his card into Mademoiselle d’Alescar and he was at +once shown into a low, plainly furnished room where he found the object +of his call in conversation with a man. + +Both rose at his entrance, and, as the man turned towards him, Béchoux +recognized—Jim Barnett! + +“Ah, you’ve come at last!” exclaimed Barnett joyously and held out his +hand. “When I read in my morning paper that you were cruising +Creuse-ward I leapt into my car and hastened to the scene of action so +that I might be ready at your service. In fact, I was here waiting for +you! Mademoiselle, may I introduce Inspector Béchoux, who has been put +in charge of the case by headquarters. With Béchoux at the helm you +need fear nothing. Probably by now he has the whole thing cut and +dried. Béchoux puts the sleuth in sleuthing—burglars frighten their +young with tales of Bogey Béchoux. Let him speak for himself!” + +But Béchoux uttered not a word. He was flabbergasted. Barnett’s +presence—the last thing he had either expected or desired—floored him +completely. It was a case of Barnett morning, noon, and night. Barnett +popping up like a jack-in-the-box on every possible—and +impossible—occasion. Every time that fate brought the two together, +Béchoux found himself perforce submitting to Barnett’s accursed +coöperation. And where Jim Barnett helped others, he was always careful +to help himself. His hand went out to his fellow-men, but never drew +back empty! + +In truth, there was little enough Béchoux could say anyway, for he was +still quite at sea and had found no clue in the Old Dungeon mystery—if +mystery it should prove. + +As he remained silent, Barnett spoke again: + +“The position, mademoiselle, is this: Inspector Béchoux, having by this +time, doubtless, examined the evidence and made up his own mind, is +here to ask if you will be so kind as to confirm the results of the +inquiries he has already made. Since we ourselves have only had the +briefest of conversation so far, would you be good enough to tell us +all you know about the terrible tragedy which resulted in the death of +your brother, Comte d’Alescar?” + +Elizabeth d’Alescar was a tall girl, classically beautiful, her pallor +accentuated by her mourning. She kept her face turned away into the +shadow so that the two men saw only her delicate profile. It was with a +visible effort that she restrained her grief. She answered without +hesitation: + +“I would rather have said nothing, have accused no one. But since it is +my painful duty to reveal all I know to you, I am ready to speak.” + +It was Barnett who authoritatively usurped the law’s prerogative. + +“My friend, Inspector Béchoux, would like to know the exact time at +which you last saw your brother alive.” + +“At ten o’clock at night. We had dined together—our usual light-hearted +meal. I was very, very fond of Jean; he was several years younger than +myself, and I had practically brought him up from when he was quite a +little boy. We were always the best of friends, and happy in each +other’s company.” + +“He went out during the night?” + +“He left the house a little before dawn, towards half-past three in the +morning. Our old servant heard him go.” + +“Did you know where he was going?” + +“He had told me the day before that he was going to fish from the +terrace. Fishing was one of his favorite occupations.” + +“Then there is nothing you can tell us about the time elapsing between +half-past three and the discovery of your brother’s body?” + +“Yes, there is.” She paused. “At a quarter past six I heard a shot!” + +“Oh, yes. Several people heard it. But it’s quite possible it was only +a poacher.” + +“That was what I thought at the time. But somehow I felt anxious, so at +last I got out of bed and dressed. When I reached the terrace I saw men +from the village on the opposite bank of the river. They were carrying +my poor brother up to the grounds of the Château, because it was too +steep to get the body up the other side.” + +“Then you are surely of opinion that the shot could not have been in +any way connected with what happened to your brother? Otherwise the +inquest would have revealed a bullet wound, which, of course, it did +not.” + +Seeing Mademoiselle d’Alescar’s hesitation, Barnett pressed home his +question. + +“Won’t you answer me?” + +The girl’s hands clenched at her sides. + +“Whatever actually happened, I only know that I am perfectly certain in +my own mind that there is some connection.” + +“What makes you think that?” + +“Well, to begin with, there is no other possible explanation.” + +“An accident....” + +She shook her head, smiling sadly. + +“Oh, no. Jean was extraordinarily agile, and he had also plenty of good +sense and caution. He would never have trusted himself to that branch. +Why, it was obviously much too slender to bear his weight.” + +“But you admit that it was broken.” + +“There is nothing to prove that it was broken by him and on that +particular night.” + +“Then, mademoiselle, it is your honest belief that a crime has been +committed?” + +She nodded gravely. + +“You have even gone so far as to accuse a certain person by name and in +the presence of witnesses?” + +Again she nodded. + +“What grounds have you for making this assertion? Is there any definite +proof pointing to someone’s guilt? That is what Inspector Béchoux is +anxious to know.” + +For a few moments Elizabeth was lost in reflection. They could see that +it distressed her to recall such dreadful memories. But she made a +valiant effort and said: + +“I will tell you everything. But to do so, I must go back to something +that happened twenty-four years ago. It was then that my father lost +all his money in a bank failure. He found himself ruined, but he told +no one. His creditors were paid. Of course, it was common knowledge +that he had lost a large part of his fortune, but no one guessed that +the whole of it had been engulfed. What actually happened was that my +father threw himself on the mercy of a rich manufacturer in Guéret. +This man lent him two hundred thousand francs on one condition +only—that the Château, the estate, and all the Mazurech acres should +become his property if the loan were not repaid within five years.” + +“That manufacturer was Georges Cazévon’s father, wasn’t he?” + +“Yes,” she said, a note of hatred in her voice. + +“Was he anxious to own the Château?” + +“Very anxious indeed. He had tried to buy it several times. Well, +exactly four years and eleven months later, my father died of cerebral +congestion. It came on rapidly, and towards the close of his life he +was obviously troubled and preoccupied with something of which we knew +nothing. Immediately after his death, Georges Cazévon told us about the +loan he had made my father, and warned my uncle, who was looking after +us, that we had just one month in which to discharge our debt. He had +absolute proof of his claim, such proof as no lawyer could dispute. My +father left nothing. Jean and I were driven out of our home and were +taken in by our uncle, who lived in this very house, and was himself +far from wealthy. He died very soon after, and so did old Monsieur +Cazévon.” + +Béchoux and Barnett had listened to her attentively. Now Barnett spoke +on behalf of his friend: + +“My friend the inspector doesn’t quite see how all this links up with +the events of the present day.” + +Mademoiselle d’Alescar gave Béchoux a glance of slightly contemptuous +surprise and continued, without answering: + +“So Jean and I lived alone here on this little manor, right in front of +the Dungeon and the Château that had always belonged to our family. +This caused Jean a sorrow which grew with the years, and intensified as +his intelligence developed and he grew towards manhood. It grieved and +hurt him to feel that he had lost his heritage and been driven from +what he considered his rightful domain. In all his work and play he +made time to devote whole days to delving in the family archives, and +reading up our history and genealogy. Then, one day, he found among +these books a ledger in which our father had kept his accounts during +the latter years of his life, showing the money he had saved by +exercising the strictest economy and by several successful real estate +deals. There were also bank receipts. I went to the bank that had +issued them and learned that our father, a week before his death, had +withdrawn his entire deposit—two hundred banknotes of a thousand francs +each!” + +“The exact amount,” said Barnett, “which he was due to pay in a few +weeks’ time. Then why did he put off paying it?” + +“I have no idea.” + +“Therefore you think he must have put the money in a safe place +somewhere?” He paused, and twiddled his monocle thoughtfully. +“Somewhere—ah, but where?” + +Elizabeth d’Alescar produced the ledger of which she had spoken and +showed it to Barnett and Béchoux. + +“It is here that we must look for the answer to that question,” she +said, turning to the last page, on which was sketched a diagram +representing three-quarters of a circle, to which was added, at the +right side, a semicircle of shorter radius. This semicircle was barred +by four lines, between two of which was a small cross. All the lines in +the diagram had been drawn first in pencil and then gone over in ink. + +“What’s all this mean?” asked Barnett. + +“It took us a long time to understand it,” replied Elizabeth. “At last, +poor Jean guessed one day that the diagram represented an accurate plan +of the Old Dungeon, reduced to its outside lines. It is on that exact +plan, on the unequal parts of two circles connected with each other. +The four lines indicate four embrasures.” + +“And the cross,” finished Barnett, “indicates the place where the Comte +d’Alescar hid his two hundred thousand francs to await the day of +repayment.” + +“Yes,” said the girl, with conviction. + +Barnett thought it over, took another look at the map and finally +remarked: + +“It’s quite probable. The Comte d’Alescar would, of course, have been +sure to take the precaution of leaving some clue to the hiding-place, +and his sudden death prevented his passing on the secret. But surely, +all you had to do on finding this was to tell Monsieur Cazévon’s son +and ask his permission to——” + +“To climb to the top of the tower! That is just what we immediately +did. Georges Cazévon, although we were not on the best of terms with +him, was quite pleasant about it. But how could any human being get to +the top of that tower? The stairs had fallen in fifteen years before. +All the stones are loose. The top is crumbling. No ladder—no ladders +even—could ever have reached high enough. The Dungeon battlements are +over ninety feet above the ground. And it was quite out of the question +to scale the wall. We discussed the whole problem and drew up plans for +several months, but it all ended in——” + +She broke off, blushing hotly. + +“A quarrel!” Barnett finished for her. “Georges Cazévon fell in love +with you and asked you to marry him. You refused him. He tried to force +you to his will. You broke off all intercourse with him, and Jean +d’Alescar was no longer allowed to set foot on Mazurech land.” + +“That is exactly what did happen,” the girl said. “But my brother would +not give up. He simply had to have that money. He wanted it to buy back +part of our estate or to give me a dot which would set me free to marry +as I chose. Very soon the idea obsessed him. He spent his days in front +of the tower. He was always staring up at the inaccessible battlements. +He imagined a thousand schemes for getting up there. He practiced until +he was a skilled archer, and then, from daybreak, he would stand there +shooting arrows on long strings, hoping that one of them would fall in +such a way that a rope could be tied to the string and pulled up to the +top of the tower. He even had sixty yards of rope all ready for the +attempt. Everything he tried was hopeless, and his failure plunged him +into melancholy and despair. On the very day before he died he said to +me: ‘The only reason I go on trying is that I am certain to succeed in +the end. Fate will be in my favor. There will be a miracle—I am sure of +it—a miracle! That is what I pray for and what I confidently expect.’ +Poor Jean, he never had his miracle!” + +Barnett put another question. + +“Then you believe that his death occurred while he was making yet +another attempt?” + +Seeing that she assented, he continued: + +“Is the rope no longer where he kept it?” + +“Yes, it is.” + +“Then what proof have you?” + +“That shot! Georges Cazévon must have caught my brother in his attempt +and fired.” + +“Good God!” cried Barnett. “You believe Georges Cazévon is capable of +doing such a thing?” + +“I do. He is very impulsive. He controls himself as a rule, but he +might easily be led into violence—or even into crime.” + +“But why should he have fired? To rob your brother of the money he had +recovered?” + +“That I cannot say,” said Mademoiselle d’Alescar. “Nor do I know how +the murder could have been committed, since poor Jean’s dead body +showed no trace of a bullet wound. But I am absolutely firm in my +belief.” + +“Quite so, but you must admit that your belief is based on intuition +rather than on the known facts,” observed Barnett. “And I think I ought +to tell you that in a court of law, intuition is not enough. I’m sure +Béchoux will agree with me, it’s quite on the cards that Georges +Cazévon will be so furious at your accusing him that he will sue you +for libel.” + +Mademoiselle d’Alescar rose from her chair. + +“That would matter very little to me,” she said. “I have not made this +accusation to avenge my brother, for to punish the criminal would not +restore Jean to life. I am merely stating what I believe to be the +truth. If Georges Cazévon likes to sue me, he is perfectly free to do +so and my defence will simply be what my conscience moves me to say.” + +She was silent for a moment, and then added: + +“But you can rely on his keeping quiet, gentlemen. I don’t think there +is much chance of his bringing any action against me!” + +The interview was at an end. Jim Barnett did not attempt to engage the +girl in further conversation. Mademoiselle d’Alescar knew her own mind, +and no one would be able to intimidate her or upset her evidence in the +least. + +“Mademoiselle,” said Barnett, “we apologize for this intrusion, but we +were obliged to trouble you in order to get at the truth of this tragic +affair. You may be sure Inspector Béchoux will make the right +deductions from all that you have said and act accordingly.” + +He bowed and took his leave. Béchoux bowed likewise, and followed him +into the courtyard. + +Once they were out of the house, the inspector, who had not spoken +during the interview, continued silent, partly in protest against +Barnett’s interference in the case, and partly because he was totally +bewildered by the turn events were taking. His taciturnity only +encouraged the loquacious Barnett. + +“Yes, yes, Béchoux,” he said reflectively, “I can easily understand +your being puzzled. It’s a matter for deep thought. The lady’s +statement had a good deal in it, but it was compounded of such a +mixture of the possible with the impossible, the rational with the +fantastic, that it needs careful sifting if we are to make use of it. +For instance, on the face of it, young d’Alescar’s actions seem pure +fantasy. If the unlucky youth got to the top of the tower—and, contrary +to your own private belief, I rather think he did get there—then it was +due to that unimaginable miracle he had hoped and prayed for—a miracle +whose nature we are as yet unable to conceive. + +“The problem we are up against is—how could the boy, within the space +of two hours, invent a means of climbing the tower, put his scheme into +execution, and climb down again, only to be hurled into the abyss by a +bullet ... which did not hit him! That’s the culminating impossibility, +that he went to his death through a shot which never touched him—that +seems to me to have been a miracle from hell!” + +Barnett and Béchoux met again that evening at the inn, but dined apart. +During the next two days they only saw each other at mealtimes. Béchoux +was busy making investigations and inquiries throughout the +neighborhood. Barnett, like one of the lilies of the field, took root +on a grassy slope some way beyond the terrace, from which spot he had a +good view of the Old Dungeon and the river Creuse. He confined his +activities to fishing, smoking, and reflection. The heart of a mystery +is to be plucked out by sheer divination rather than by fevered +probing. So Barnett sat there, angling with his rod for the fish in the +river, and with his mind for the nature of the miracle with which Fate +had favored Jean d’Alescar. + +On the third day, however, he bestirred himself and went off to Guéret +in the manner of a man with a definite object. And the day after that +he ran into Béchoux, who told him that he had now finished his +investigation. + +“So have I,” said Barnett. “If you’re going back to Paris, I’ll give +you a lift in my car.” + +“Thanks,” said Béchoux. “In about half an hour I am going up to see +Monsieur Cazévon.” + +“Right, I’ll meet you at the Château,” said Barnett. “I’m fed to the +teeth with this place, aren’t you?” + +He paid his bill at the inn, and drove to the gates of the Château. +Leaving his car in the road, he strolled through the park, and when he +got to the house presented his card. Underneath his own name he had +written the words: “Working in collaboration with Inspector Béchoux.” + +He was shown into a vast hall, which spread over the ground floor of an +entire wing. Stags’ heads looked down from the walls, which were hung +with weapons and trophies of every description. Here he was joined by +Georges Cazévon. + +“My colleague, Inspector Béchoux,” said Barnett, “is to meet me here. +We have been working together on the case, and we are to-day returning +to Paris.” + +“And what opinion has Inspector Béchoux formed as a result of his +investigation?” asked Georges Cazévon, a shade eagerly. + +“Oh, he has definitely made up his mind that there is nothing, +absolutely nothing to justify any fresh theory of the case. He is +satisfied that the rumors set afloat are quite groundless.” + +“And Mademoiselle d’Alescar?” + +Barnett shrugged his shoulders. + +“According to Inspector Béchoux her mind is almost unhinged by her +bereavement, so that no reliance can be placed on anything she says at +present.” + +“And you agree with Inspector Béchoux?” + +“I?” Barnett raised his eyes and lowered them, his whole attitude one +of abject humility. “I am nothing but a humble assistant. I have no +views of my own at all!” + +He began wandering aimlessly about the hall, looking at the glass cases +full of rifles and shotguns. These exhibits seemed to interest him +considerably. + +“A fine collection, aren’t they?” said Georges Cazévon at his elbow. + +“Magnificent!” + +“Are you an enthusiast?” + +“I have a great admiration for good marksmanship. I see by these cups +and certificates that you must be a remarkable shot. Let’s +see—Disciples de Saint Hubert, Creuse Sporting Club—oh, yes, that’s +what they were telling me about you yesterday when I was in Guéret.” + +“Is the case much talked about at Guéret?” + +“Oh, very little. But the accuracy of your shooting is proverbial among +the townsfolk!” + +Barnett took up a gun, balancing it casually in his hands. + +“Careful!” said Cazévon sharply. “That’s a service rifle. It’s loaded.” + +“Really?” observed Barnett with polite interest. “Is that in case of +burglars?” + +Cazévon smiled. “I really keep it handy for poachers. I should never +shoot to kill, though. A broken leg would be all I should aim for!” + +“And would you shoot from one of these windows?” + +“Oh, poachers don’t come so close to the Château!” + +“That almost seems a pity,” said Barnett thoughtfully, and opened a +very narrow window—almost a loophole—which shed a ray of light into one +corner of the hall. + +“Fancy that now!” he exclaimed. “Looking through the trees, one can see +a section of the Old Dungeon—right across the park. Isn’t that the +portion of the ruin which overlooks the river, Monsieur Cazévon?” + +“Just about, I should say.” + +“Why, yes, it is!” cried Barnett excitedly. “I recognize that tuft of +flowers growing between two stones. Isn’t the air wonderfully clear? +Can you see that yellow flower, looking along the bore?” + +He had raised the gun to his shoulder as he spoke, and without +hesitating a moment, he fired. The yellow flower disappeared, while a +puff of smoke hung in the still air. + +Georges Cazévon made a gesture of annoyance. His displeasure was +manifest. This “humble assistant” was an incredibly skilled marksman, +and, anyway, it was cool cheek his letting off a gun like that in the +house! + +“I believe your servants are at the other end of the Château?” said +Barnett. “Then they won’t have heard the noise I made. But I’m sorry I +did that—it must have startled Mademoiselle d’Alescar, the sound being +so painfully associated for her with the memory——” He broke off. + +Georges Cazévon smiled sardonically. + +“Then does Mademoiselle d’Alescar still believe there is some +connection between the shot that was heard that morning and her +brother’s death?” + +Barnett nodded. + +“I wonder where she got the idea?” + +“Where I got it myself a minute ago. It’s a curiously vivid picture—the +unknown watcher in ambush at this window, while Jean d’Alescar was +hanging on half-way down the Dungeon wall!” + +“But d’Alescar died of a fall!” protested Cazévon. + +“Quite so,” said Barnett, with deadly calm, “of a fall. And the reason +for his fall was, of course, the sudden crumbling of some projection or +shelf to which he was clinging with both hands at the time!” + +Cazévon scowled at the urbane Barnett. + +“I didn’t know,” he said, “that Mademoiselle d’Alescar had been so—so +definite in her statements to people. Why, this constitutes a direct +accusation!” + +“Yes, a—direct—accusation,” repeated Barnett slowly, so that the words +seemed to hang in the air as the smoke from the gun had done a few +moments before. + +Cazévon stared at him. The calm self-assurance and decisive manner of +this “humble assistant” rather astonished him. He even began to wonder +if this detective might not have come to the Château in the rôle of +aggressor. For the conversation, begun so casually and conventionally, +was now rapidly turning into an attack on Cazévon himself! + +He sat down rather heavily, and asked: + +“Why, according to Mademoiselle d’Alescar, was her brother climbing +that wall?” + +“To recover the two hundred thousand francs which the old Comte +d’Alescar hid in the place which is marked with a cross on the map you +have been shown.” + +“But I never for a moment believed in that yarn,” exclaimed Cazévon. +“Even presuming that the Comte d’Alescar had managed to raise such a +sum, why should he have concealed it instead of immediately handing it +over to my father?” + +“Quite a valid objection,” admitted Barnett. “Unless the hidden +treasure happened not to be a sum of money at all!” + +“But what else could it be?” + +“That I don’t know. We shall have to use our imaginations a bit.” + +Georges Cazévon made a movement of impatience. + +“You can be quite sure that Elizabeth d’Alescar and her brother long +ago exhausted the possible alternatives!” + +“How do you know? They are not professionals like myself.” + +“Even a hypersensitized intelligence,” sneered Cazévon, “cannot evolve +something from nothing!” + +“Yes, it can—sometimes! For example, do you know a man called Gréaume, +who is the Guéret newsagent, and was at one time an accountant in your +factory?” + +“Certainly I know him. A very worthy fellow.” + +“Well, Gréaume is prepared to swear that Jean d’Alescar’s father called +on your own father the very next day after he had drawn his two hundred +thousand francs from the bank.” + +“Well?” snapped Cazévon. + +“Isn’t it only logical to suppose that the money was handed over to +your father on that occasion, and that it was the receipt which was +temporarily concealed in some cranny of the Dungeon?” + +Georges Cazévon gave a sudden start, then controlled himself. + +“Mr.—uh—Barnett, do you realize what you are insinuating? It’s an +insult to my father’s memory!” + +“An insult! I don’t follow you!” said Barnett innocently. + +“If my father had received that money he would most certainly have +acknowledged the fact.” + +“Why should he? He was under no obligation to tell his neighbors that +some one had paid him back a private loan!” + +Georges Cazévon’s fist came down with a bang on his desk. + +“But if that money had been paid him, how do you explain that a +fortnight later, just a few days after his former debtor’s death, he +was taking possession of the Mazurech estate?” + +“Yet that is exactly what he did!” + +“You must be crazy! There’s absolutely no ground for suggesting such a +thing. Even granting that my father was capable of demanding to be paid +what he had already received, he would never have done it, because he +would have known that the receipt could be produced!” + +“Perhaps he knew,” suggested Barnett diffidently, “that its existence +was a secret and that the heirs were in ignorance of both loan and +repayment. And since he had set his heart on owning this place and had, +so they tell me, sworn he would get it, he was tempted and fell.” + +“But no one would hide a receipt away where it could never be found.” + +“Remember that the old Comte died of cerebral congestion. During his +last days he was very queer. His mind reasoned imperfectly. He was +ashamed of having borrowed that money. He was ashamed of the receipt, +yet dared not destroy it. So he evolved a tortuous manner of +concealment, with an equally tortuous clew.” + +Gradually Barnett was putting a completely different complexion on the +whole case. Georges Cazévon’s father was now appearing in the light of +a rogue and blackguard. Cazévon himself, pale and shaking, stood with +clenched fists, impotent with fear and rage, glaring at the immovable +Barnett. The audacity of this “underling” completely unnerved him. + +“I protest!” he stammered. “You have no right to jump to these—these +abominable conclusions!” + +“Believe me,” said Barnett, “I never leap before I look. All my +allegations are founded on fact.” + +Georges Cazévon darted a hunted look over his shoulder. He felt as if +some unseen enemy were closing in on him. In a high, unnatural voice he +cried: + +“Lies! all lies! You have no proof. To prove that my father ever did +such a thing you would—why, you would have to go and look for evidence +at the top of the Old Dungeon!” + +“Well,” contested Barnett, “Jean d’Alescar managed to get there, didn’t +he?” + +“He didn’t! I tell you he didn’t! I tell you it’s impossible to scale a +ninety-foot tower all in two hours. It’s beyond human power!” + +“All the same, Jean d’Alescar accomplished this—impossibility,” pursued +Barnett doggedly. + +“But how?” asked Georges Cazévon, on a note of sheer exasperation. “Do +you expect me to believe he went up on a witch’s broomstick?” + +“Not that,” said Barnett gently. “He used a rope!” + +Cazévon laughed long and loud, but quite unmirthfully. + +“A rope? You’re crazy. Of course, I often saw the boy shooting his +arrows in the vain hope that one day his rope would catch hold. Poor +devil! Miracles like that never happen nowadays. And anyway, two hours! +Oh, it’s out of the question. Besides, the rope would have been found +hanging from the tower, or lying on the rocks of the Creuse after the +tragedy. Whereas I am told it is at the Manor.” + +With unshakable calm Barnett rejoined: + +“Quite. But it wasn’t that rope he used, you see.” + +“Then what rope did he use?” asked Cazévon, turning a gulp into a +laugh. “You can’t expect me to take all this seriously, you know. The +Comte Jean d’Alescar, carrying the magic rope, came out on to the +terrace of his garden at daybreak. He muttered the one word +‘Abracadabra,’ and lo! his rope uncoiled and rose to the top of the +tower, so that he might promptly ascend. The good old Indian +rope-trick—retired colonels write to the papers every day and solemnly +aver it’s a miracle!” + +“And yet you, too, monsieur,” said Barnett, “are driven to conjure up a +miracle;—just like Jean d’Alescar—and like myself. There is no other +explanation, of course. But the miracle was the opposite of what you +imagine—it did not work from bottom to top, as would seem more usual +and probable, but from top to bottom!” + +Cazévon made a feeble attempt to joke. + +“A kind Providence, eh, throwing a life-line to help a struggling +mortal?” + +“Why call Providence into it?” asked Barnett. “No need for that. This +miracle was merely one of those which Chance may perform at any time +nowadays.” + +“Chance?” + +“Remember that Chance knows no impossibilities. Chance is the unknown +factor—Chance the disturber, the malicious, capricious visitant, +swooping to make fantastic moves on the chessboard of human existence, +forever proving the old platitude that truth is stranger than fiction! +Chance is to-day the great worker of miracles. And the miracle I have +in mind is not so wonderful, really, in an age when meteors are not the +only bolts from the blue, so to speak.” + +“Do the skies rain ropes?” asked Cazévon sardonically. + +“Certainly, ropes among other things. The ocean-bed is strewn with +things dropped overboard by the ships that sail the seas!” + +“There are no ships in the sky,” observed Cazévon. + +“Oh, yes, there are,” Barnett contradicted him, “only we don’t think of +them as that. We call them balloons, and aeroplanes, and—after all, +airships! They ride the air as ships ride the ocean, and any number of +things may fall or be thrown overboard from them! Suppose one of these +things is a coil of rope, which slips over the battlements of the Old +Dungeon, and there you have the solution of the mystery.” + +“A nice, convenient explanation!” + +“Pardon me, an extremely well-founded explanation. If you glance +through the local papers for the past week, as I did yesterday, you +will see that a balloon flew over this part of the country on the night +preceding Jean d’Alescar’s death. It was travelling from north to +south, and ballast was heaved overboard ten miles north of Guéret. The +obvious inference is that a coil of rope was also thrown out, that one +end got caught in a tree on the terrace, and to free it Jean d’Alescar +had to break off a branch. He then went down to the terrace, tied the +two ends of the rope together, and climbed up to the tower. Not an easy +thing to do, but possible for a lad of his years.” + +“And then?” came in a whisper from Cazévon, whose face had grown +suddenly gray. + +“Then,” Barnett continued, “someone who was standing here, at this +window, and who was a remarkable shot, observed the boy hanging +suspended in midair, took aim at the rope, and—severed it!” + +Cazévon made a choking noise. + +“That is your explanation of the—accident?” + +Barnett took no notice of the interruption, but went on: + +“Afterwards, this person hurried to the bank of the Creuse and searched +the dead body to get the receipt. He took hold of the dangling rope, +and hauled it down—then threw the highly compromising piece of evidence +into a neighboring well—not a very safe hiding-place!” + +The accusation had shifted to Georges Cazévon himself—a kind of guilty +legacy from the man’s dead father. The past was being linked up with +the present—the net was closing in. + +With a convulsive effort, Cazévon shook himself, as if to rid himself +of Barnett’s odious presence. + +“I’ve had enough of your lies!” he shouted. “The whole thing’s +ridiculous invention on your part—you’re simply making this up to +terrorize me. I shall tell Monsieur Béchoux that I have had you thrown +out as a common blackmailer. That’s what you are, a blackmailer! But +you won’t get any change out of me!” + +“If I had come here to blackmail you,” said Barnett blithely, “I should +have started off by producing my proofs.” + +Blind with rage, Cazévon screamed: + +“Your proofs! What proofs have you got? Nothing but a cock-and-bull +story. You haven’t a single proof of any kind—how could you have? Why, +there’s only one proof that would be worth anything—only one. And if +you can’t produce that, then your whole story collapses at once, and +you’re a fool as well as a knave!” + +“And what is that proof?” asked Barnett, still smiling. + +“The receipt, of course! The receipt signed by my father!” + +“Here it is,” said Barnett, holding out a sheet of stamped paper, +frayed and yellow at the edges. “This is your father’s handwriting, +isn’t it? Pretty explicit, this document: ‘I, the undersigned, Auguste +Cazévon, hereby acknowledge the receipt from the Comte d’Alescar of the +sum of two hundred thousand francs previously loaned to him by me, and +I hereby declare that this repayment renders null and void any and +every claim of mine to the Château and lands of Mazurech.’ + +“The date,” continued Barnett, “corresponds to that mentioned by +Gréaume. The receipt is signed. Therefore it is indisputably genuine, +and you, Cazévon, must have known about it from your father’s own lips +or from the private papers he left when he died. The discovery of this +document meant disgrace for your father and yourself, and the loss of +the Château, for which you felt all your father’s attachment. That’s +why you killed d’Alescar!” + +“If I had killed him,” faltered Cazévon, “I should have removed the +receipt from his body.” + +“You had a good look for it,” said Barnett grimly, “but it wasn’t on +him. Jean d’Alescar had prudently wrapped it round a stone and thrown +it down from the top of the tower, meaning to pick it up when he got to +the ground again. I found it near the river, some twenty yards away.” + +Barnett only just stepped back in time to prevent Cazévon snatching the +receipt from his hand. There was a moment’s pause, and then Barnett, +breathing a trifle quicker, spoke again: + +“That is tantamount to admitting your guilt! Looking at you now, I can +well believe Mademoiselle d’Alescar’s statement that you are capable of +almost anything. You are the slave of your own unreasoning impulse! +Carried away by the passions of greed and hatred, you raised your gun +and fired that morning. Steady, man!” as Cazévon seemed about to +collapse, “control yourself. Someone’s ringing! It must be Béchoux. +Perhaps you won’t want him to know all this!” + +A full minute passed in silence. At last, Cazévon, his eyes still those +of a maniac, whispered: + +“How much? What must I pay you for the receipt?” + +“It is not for sale.” + +“What do you mean to do with it?” + +“It will be handed over to you, on certain conditions, which I will +outline in Inspector Béchoux’s presence.” + +“And if I refuse to accept your terms?” + +“Then it will be my painful duty to expose you!” + +“No one will believe you!” + +“Oh, won’t they?” + +Cazévon’s head slumped in utter dejection. Barnett’s driving, +implacable will-power had beaten him. At that moment Béchoux was shown +in. + +The inspector had not expected to find Barnett on the scene. He was +unpleasantly surprised, and wondered what the two men could have been +talking about; whether the incalculable Barnett had been busy digging +pits for the luckless representative of the law to fall into. + +Fearing something of the sort, he was quite aggressively positive in +his assertions from the word “go.” + +Shaking Cazévon warmly by the hand he declared: + +“Monsieur, I promised to let you know the result of my investigations +before I left, and to tell you what kind of report I should make. So +far, my own views are in complete accord with the construction that has +been put upon the case. There is absolutely nothing in what +Mademoiselle d’Alescar has been saying against you.” + +“Hear, hear,” said Barnett. “That’s just what I’ve been telling +Monsieur Cazévon. Béchoux, my guide, philosopher and friend, is +displaying his usual acumen. Nevertheless, the fact is that Monsieur +Cazévon is bent on returning good for evil, and meeting calumny with +generosity. He insists on restoring the domain of her ancestors to +Mademoiselle d’Alescar!” + +Béchoux looked thunderstruck. + +“Wh—what? You mean to say——” + +“Just that,” said Barnett. “The affair has not unnaturally filled +Monsieur Cazévon with distaste for the district, and he has his eye on +a château nearer his factories in Guéret. When I got here this +afternoon Monsieur Cazévon was actually drafting the deed of gift. He +also expressed his wish to add a bearer check for one hundred thousand +francs to be handed to Mademoiselle d’Alescar as compensation. That’s +so, isn’t it, Monsieur Cazévon?” + +Without a second’s hesitation, Cazévon acted on Barnett’s promptings as +if they had been the dictates of his heart’s desires. He seated himself +at his desk, wrote out the deed of gift and signed the check. + +“There you are,” he said. “For the rest, I will instruct my solicitor.” + +Barnett took both check and document, slipped them into an envelope, +and said to Béchoux: + +“Here, take this to Mademoiselle d’Alescar. I feel sure she will +appreciate Monsieur Cazévon’s generosity. Monsieur, I am at your +service. I cannot tell you how happy you have made us both by +furnishing such a satisfactory solution to the business.” + +He swaggered off, followed by Béchoux. The latter, utterly astounded, +waited till they were out of the park, and then demanded: + +“What’s it all mean? Did he fire that shot? Has he made a statement to +you?” + +“None of your business, Béchoux,” said Barnett. “Let bygones be +bygones. The case has been settled to everyone’s best advantage. All +you have to do is to speed on your mission to Mademoiselle d’Alescar. +Ask her to forgive and forget, and not to breathe a word to anyone. +Then come and pick me up at the inn.” + +In a short while Béchoux was back again. He brought the news that +Mademoiselle d’Alescar had accepted the gift of the Mazurech estate and +her solicitor would take the matter up at once, but the money she +refused to take. In her indignation at being offered it she had torn up +the check. + +Barnett and Béchoux took their leave. The return journey was made in +silence. The inspector was lost in unprofitable speculation. His mind +was in a whirl of interrogation, but Barnett looked disinclined for +confidential converse. + +They got to Paris at close on to three o’clock. Barnett invited Béchoux +to lunch with him near the Bourse, and Béchoux, incapable of +resistance, went with him meekly. + +“You do the ordering,” said Barnett, rising from the table a moment +after they had entered the restaurant. “I’ve some business I must +attend to. Won’t be a moment!” + +Béchoux did not have long to wait. Barnett was back again almost +immediately, and the two men ate a hearty meal. When they were drinking +their coffee, Béchoux ventured a remark: + +“I must send the torn bits of that check back to Monsieur Cazévon.” + +“Oh, I shouldn’t bother to do that, Béchoux.” + +“Why not?” + +“The check was quite worthless.” + +“But how?” + +“Oh,” said Barnett airily, “I foresaw that Mademoiselle d’Alescar was +certain to refuse to take it, so when I put the deed of gift into the +envelope I slipped in with it an old cancelled check. Waste not, want +not.” + +“But what happened to the genuine check?” groaned Béchoux, “the one +Monsieur Cazévon signed?” + + +“Oh, that! I’ve just been and cashed it at the bank!” + +He opened his coat, displaying a wad of notes. Béchoux’s coffee cup +slipped from his nerveless grasp. With an effort he controlled himself. + +For a long while they sat smoking in silence, facing one another across +the table. At last Barnett spoke: + +“There’s no denying it, Béchoux, so far our collaboration has proved +decidedly fruitful. We seem to ring the bell every time, and it’s all +helped to enlarge my little nest-egg. But, honestly, I’m beginning to +feel very troubled about you, old horse. Here we are, working side by +side, and I always pocket the dibs. Look here, Béchoux, won’t you come +into partnership with me? The Barnett and Béchoux Agency? It really +sounds rather well!” + +Béchoux gave him a look of hatred. The man goaded him beyond endurance. +He rose, flung down a note to pay for the lunch, and mumbled as he took +his leave: + +“There are times when I think it must be Arsène Lupin after all!” + +“I sometimes wonder, too,” said Barnett—and laughed. + + + + + + + + +IX + +DOUBLE ENTRY + + +A serious breach in the Béchoux-Barnett friendship seemed to have been +caused by the affair of the Old Dungeon at Mazurech, and the fleecing +of Georges Cazévon, so that when a taxi came to a halt in the rue +Laborde and Inspector Béchoux leapt from it and hurled himself into the +office of his friend, Jim Barnett, no one was more surprised than the +latter. + +“This is indeed a pleasure,” he said, advancing with alacrity. “Our +last parting was rather in silence and tears, and I was afraid you were +feeling sore. And is there anything I can do for you in a small way +this merry morning?” + +“There is.” + +Barnett shook the inspector warmly by the hand. + +“Splendid! But what’s up? You look positively apoplectic. Please don’t +burst in my office.” + +“Kindly be serious, Barnett,” said poor Béchoux stiffly. “I’m working +on a most complicated case from which I particularly want to emerge +triumphant.” + +“What’s it all about?” + +“My wife,” said Béchoux, and there was anguish in his tone. + +Barnett’s eyebrows shot up. + +“Your wife?” he echoed. “Then you’re married?” + +“Been divorced six years,” was the laconic answer. + +“Incompatibility?” + +“No. My wife found she had a vocation for the stage! The stage—I ask +you! Married to an inspector of police and she wanted to go on——” +Béchoux sneezed abruptly and violently, giving Barnett time to ask: + +“Then she became an actress?” + +“A singer.” + +“At the Opéra?” + +“No. The Folies Bergère. She’s Olga Vaubant.” + +“What, not the lady who does the Acrobatic Arias? But she’s wonderful, +Béchoux. Olga Vaubant is a superb artiste. She has created a new art +form. Her latest number brings down the house. It’s sheer +genius—absolutely. You know, she stands on her head and sings: + + + “‘I’m in luck, I gotta boy + Fills his momma’s heart with joy— + Yes, you otta see my Jim!’ + + +And she’s your wife!” + +“Was,” said Béchoux shortly. “Well, I’m glad you like the lady’s +performance. I’ve just been honored with a note from her.” + +He produced a sheet of rose-colored notepaper, with an embossed crimson +O in one corner. Scrawled in pencil and dated that very morning was the +following message: + + +“My bedroom suite has been stolen. Mother in a state of collapse. Come +at once.—Olga.” + + +“The moment I got this,” said Béchoux, “I telephoned the préfecture. +They had already been called in on the case, and I obtained permission +to collaborate with the men who are handling it.” + +“Then why are you all of a dither?” asked Barnett. + +“It’s—it’s because this will mean meeting her again,” said Béchoux, +ashamed and furious. + +“Are you still in love with her?” + +“Whenever I see her—it’s idiotic, but something comes over me—I can’t +help myself. I feel myself blushing like a schoolboy. My mouth goes dry +and I begin stammering. You must see, Barnett, that I can’t take charge +of the case like that. I should make a perfect fool of myself.” + +“Whereas, what you want to do is to impress madame with the cool +dignity, the daring and resource that go to make Inspector Béchoux the +Pride of Paris Police?” + +“Er—yes.” + +“And you look to me to help you. Béchoux, you can count on me. Now tell +me, what sort of life does your ex-wife lead off the stage?” + +Béchoux looked almost pained at the question. + +“She is above suspicion and lives for her art alone. If it weren’t for +her profession, Olga would still be Madame Béchoux.” + +“Which would be a nation’s loss,” pronounced Barnett solemnly, +gathering up hat and coat. + +A few minutes later the two men came to one of the quietest, most +deserted streets near the Luxembourg. Olga Vaubant lived on the top +floor of an old-fashioned house whose bricks breathed respectability. +The ground-floor windows were heavily barred. + +“Before we go any further,” said Béchoux, “I am going to suggest that +in this instance you refrain from playing your own hand and making a +dishonorable private profit out of the case, as you have unhappily been +known to do in the past.” + +“My conscience ...” began Barnett, but Béchoux waved away the +objection. + +“Never mind your conscience,” he said. “Think of the way mine has +pricked me whenever we’ve worked together!” + +“You don’t think I’d rob your own ex-wife? Oh, Béchoux, how you wrong +me!” + +“I don’t want you to rob anyone,” said Béchoux. + +“Not even those who deserve it?” + +“Leave Justice to take its course. Heaven has not appointed you as an +avenging angel.” + +Barnett sighed. + +“You are spoiling all my fun, Béchoux, but what you say goes.” + + + +One policeman was on guard at the door, and another was with the +concierges—husband and wife—who were badly upset by what had happened. + +Béchoux learned that the district superintendent and two headquarters’ +men had just left after making a preliminary investigation. + +“Now’s our chance,” said Béchoux to Barnett. “Let’s get a move on while +the coast is clear.” + +As they went up the staircase he explained to his friend that the house +was run on old-fashioned lines, and the street door was kept shut. + +“No one has a key, and everyone has to ring for admittance. A priest +lives on the first floor and a magistrate on the second. The concierge +acts as housekeeper to both of them. Olga has the top floor flat and +leads a most conventional existence, complete with her mother and two +old maidservants who have always been in the family.” + +They knocked at the door of Olga Vaubant’s flat, and one of the maids +let them into the hall. Béchoux rapidly explained the position of the +rooms to Barnett—the passage on the right led to Olga’s bedroom and +boudoir, that on the left to her mother’s room and the servants’ +quarters. Straight ahead was a studio fitted up as a gymnasium, with a +horizontal bar, a trapeze, rings, ropes and ribstalls. Strewn about the +place were Indian clubs, dumb-bells, foils, and so forth. + +As the two men entered this vast room, something seemed to drop in a +heap at their feet from the sky-light. The heap resolved itself into a +slender, laughing boy, with a mop of untidy red hair framing the +delicate features of a charming face. Wide green eyes, tip-tilted nose, +slightly crooked mouth—all were unmistakable, and Barnett immediately +recognized in the pajama-clad “boy” the one and only Olga Vaubant. She +exclaimed at once in the Parisian drawl that has its parallel in the +Londoner’s cockney: + +“Maman’s all right, Béchoux. Sleeping like a top, bless her. Lucky, +isn’t it?” + +She made a sudden dive floorwards, stood on her hands and, with her +feet waving in the air, began singing in a husky, thrilling contralto: + + + “I’m in luck, I gotta boy, + Fills his momma’s heart with joy— + + +And believe me, Béchoux, you fill my heart with joy, too, old dear,” +she added, standing up. “You’re a real sport to have got here so soon. +Who’s the boy-friend?” + +“Jim Barnett. He’s an old—acquaintance,” said Béchoux, vainly +attempting to control his twitching countenance. + +“Fine,” said Olga. “Well let’s hope between the pair of you you’ll +solve the mystery and get back my bedroom suite. I leave it to you. Now +it’s my turn to do a bit of introducing,” as a bulky form hove up from +the far end of the studio. “May I present Del Prego, my gym instructor? +He’s masseur, make-up expert, and beauty doctor, and he’s the darling +of the chorus. Regular osteopath, he is, for dislocation and +rejuvenation! Say pretty to the gentlemen, Del Prego!” + +Del Prego bowed low. He was a broad-shouldered, copper-skinned fellow, +genial of countenance and vaguely suggesting the clown in his +appearance. He wore a grey suit, with white spats and gloves, and held +a light-colored felt hat in his hands. + +Immediately, gesticulating violently and speaking with a marked foreign +accent, he began to discourse on his method of “progressive +dislocation,” larding his outlandish French with phrases in Spanish, +English, and Russian. Olga cut him short. + +“We’ve no time to waste. What do you want me to tell you, Béchoux?” + +“First,” said Béchoux, “will you show us your bedroom?” + +“Right! Half a mo’.” She sprang up in the air, caught on to the +trapeze, swung from that to the rings, and landed at a door in the wall +on the right. + +“Here you are,” she told them, kicking it open. + +The room was absolutely empty. Bed, chairs, curtains, mirrors, rugs, +dressing-table, ornaments, pictures—all gone. Furniture removers could +not have made a better job of it. The place was stripped. + +Olga began to giggle helplessly. + +“See that? Thorough, weren’t they? They even pinched my ivory toilet +set. Almost walked off with the floor-boards. Don’t you think it’s a +shame, Mr. Barnett?” she went on, addressing Jim, her eyes wider than +ever. “I’m a girl that’s real fond of good furniture. All pure Louis +Quinze it was, that I’d collected bit by bit—and they all had a +history, including a genuine Pompadour bed! Why, furnishing this room +cost me nearly everything I made on my American tour.” + +Abruptly she broke off to turn a somersault, then tossed the hair off +her face and went on cheerfully: + +“Oh, well, there’s plenty of good fish in the sea and I can replace all +that lot. I needn’t worry so long as I have my india rubber muscles and +my bee-yewtiful cracked voice.... What are you looking at me like that +for, Béchoux? Going to faint at my feet? Give us a kiss, and let’s get +on with any questions you want to ask before we have the rest of the +police force back on the scene.” + +“Tell me exactly what happened,” said Béchoux. + +“Oh, there isn’t much to tell,” answered Olga. “Let’s see, last night, +it had just gone half-past ten.... Oh, I should have told you, I left +here at eight with Del Prego, who escorted me to the Folies Bergère in +maman’s place.... Well, as I was saying, it had just gone the +half-hour, and maman was in her room knitting, when suddenly she heard +a faint sound like someone moving about in my room. She rushed along +the passage, and found two men taking my bed apart by the light of a +flash-lamp! The light was switched off at once, and one chap sprang at +her and knocked her down while the other flung a tablecloth over her +head. How’s that for assault and battery? Poor old maman! Then, if you +please, these two blighters calmly proceeded to remove the furniture +bit by bit, one of them carrying it downstairs, while the other stayed +in the room. Maman kept quiet and managed not to scream. After a while +she heard a big car starting up in the street outside, and then she was +so overcome with the strain that she fainted right off.” + +“So that when you got back from the show——?” prompted Béchoux. + +“I found the street door open, the flat door open, and maman lying +unconscious on the floor of my room. You could have knocked me down +with a feather!” + +“What had the concierges to say?” + +“You know them, Béchoux. Two old dears who’ve been here for thirty +years now. An earthquake wouldn’t rouse ’em. The only sound they ever +hear is the door-bell. Well, they swear by all their gods that no one +rang between ten o’clock, when they went to bed, and next morning.” + +“Which means,” said Béchoux, “that they had no cause at any time during +the night to pull the string that opens the door.” + +“You’ve said it.” + +“Did the other tenants hear nothing?” + +“Nothing at all.” + +“Then the conclusion is——” + +“How do you mean, conclusion?” + +“Well, what do you make of it?” + +Olga’s expression was one of wrath. + +“Don’t be an idiot! It’s not my business to make anything of it. That’s +your job, Béchoux. In a moment you’ll have me thinking you as big a +fool as those policemen we’ve had all over the flat.” + +“But,” faltered Béchoux, “we’re only beginning.” + +“Can’t you get action with what I’ve told you, you boob? If that pal of +yours there isn’t any brighter than you, I can bid my Pompadour bed a +fond farewell!” + +The “pal” at this point stepped forward and asked: + +“On what particular day would you like your bed back, madame?” + +“What’s that?” said Olga, staring at this stranger to whom, up to now, +she had paid but slight attention. + +Barnett became glibly detailed. + +“I should like to know the day and hour on which you desire to regain +possession of your Pompadour bed and of your furniture, etcetera.” + +“Is this your idea of a joke?” + +“Let’s fix the day,” said the imperturbable Barnett. + +“To-day is Tuesday. Will next Tuesday be satisfactory?” + +Olga’s eyes widened, and widened yet again. She could not make Barnett +out a bit. Suddenly she began to rock with mirth. + +“You are a one, I must say! Where did you pick it up, Béchoux? Out of +the asylum? I must say your friend’s got a nerve. In a week, he says, +cool as you please. You might think the bed was in his pocket! You’ve +got another thing coming if you fancy I’m going to waste my time with +two mutts like you.” With a hand on the chest of each, she pushed them +vigorously into the hall. “Out you go, my lads, and you can stay out! +And don’t think I’m going to let myself be fooled by a couple of rotten +jokers!” + +The studio door slammed violently on the two “rotten jokers,” and +Béchoux groaned aloud. + +“And we’ve only been in the flat ten minutes!” + +Barnett was calmly examining the hall. He then talked to one of the old +servants. After that, he went downstairs to the concierges’ quarters +and questioned the pair of them. He then hailed a passing taxi, giving +the driver his address in the rue Laborde. Inspector Béchoux, deserted +and aghast, stood forlornly on the pavement and watched the +disappearing chariot of his friend. + + + +However much Jim Barnett held Inspector Béchoux spellbound, the latter +stood in even greater awe of the imperious Olga. He never dreamed of +doubting her assertion that Barnett had turned the whole thing off by +making a promise no one could take seriously. + +This gloomy view of affairs was confirmed next day when he called at +the office in the rue Laborde and found Barnett lolling back in an +armchair, his feet upon his desk, smoking peacefully. + +“Really, Barnett,” said Béchoux in exasperation, “if this is your idea +of getting down to things, we may as well give up the case. Back at the +house we’re all hopelessly at sea. We none of us know what to make of +it. We are agreed on certain points, of course. The main thing is, that +it’s a physical impossibility to enter the place, even using a skeleton +key, unless the door is opened from the inside. Since none of the +residents can be suspected of being concerned in the burglary, we are +driven to two unavoidable conclusions: first, that one of the thieves +had been in the house, concealed, since early in the evening, and this +man let in a confederate; second, that he could not have got inside +without being seen by one of the concierges, as the street door is +never left open. But who can have been in the house ready to admit the +other thief? That’s what floors us, and I don’t see how on earth we’re +going to find it out. Have you any theory, Barnett?” + +But Barnett was silent, absorbed in blowing smoke-rings. Béchoux’s +words might have fallen on deaf ears, but he continued: + +“We’ve made a list of people who called during that day—there weren’t +many—and the concierges are positive that every single one of them left +the house again. So you see we’re without a clue. We can easily +reconstruct the modus operandi of the crime, but its authors elude us. +What do you make of it all?” + +Barnett gave a prodigious yawn, stretched his arms and legs till they +cracked, and then drawled: + +“A perfect peach!” + +“Wh-what’s that? Who’re you calling a peach?” + +“Your ex-wife,” Barnett told the astonished Béchoux. “She’s as much of +a knock-out off the stage as she is on. So full of joie de vivre, so—so +electric! A regular gamine. Wonderful taste, too. I just can’t get over +the idea of her investing her earnings in that Pompadour bed! Béchoux, +you’re a lucky dog!” + +“I lost my luck pretty quickly—only kept it a month!” + +“A whole month? Then what are you grumbling at?” + + + +Next Saturday saw Béchoux back at the Barnett Agency, trying to rouse +his torpid ally, but Barnett was wreathed in smoke and silence, and +Béchoux got no satisfaction. + +On Monday he came in again, thoroughly depressed. + +“It’s a mug’s game,” he averred, “the men on the job are utter idiots, +and all this time Olga’s bedroom suite is probably on its way to some +port or other for shipment abroad. It’s maddening! And what do you +suppose all this makes me look like to Olga—me, a police inspector, I +ask you? Why, she thinks I’m the most colossal ass that ever stepped.” + +He glared at the imperturbable Barnett, absorbed in his eternal +smoke-rings, and let loose the full force of his fury. + +“Here are we, up against an entirely new type of criminal—fighting men +who must be adepts in their own line—and there you sit, you—you +lotus-eater, and don’t lift a finger to help!” + +“One quality in her,” said Barnett, musing aloud, “pleases me more than +all.” + +“What?” shouted Béchoux. + +“Her naturalness—her superb spontaneity. She is absolutely devoid of +anything theatrical, any pose. Olga says exactly what she means, +follows her instincts and lives according to impulse. Béchoux, she’s a +marvel!” + +Béchoux brought his fist down on the desk with a bang. + +“Would you like to know what she thinks of you? She thinks you’re a +D-U-D, dud! She and Del Prego can’t mention your name without hooting. +They speak of you as ‘That boob Barnett—that crazy bluffer’....” + +Barnett heaved a sigh. + +“Harsh words! How can I prove the cap doesn’t fit?” + +“By ceasing to wear it,” suggested Béchoux grimly. “To-morrow is +Tuesday, and you’ve promised to produce that Pompadour bed!” + +“Good lord, so I have!” said Barnett, as if realizing it for the first +time. “The trouble is, I haven’t the faintest idea where to look for +it! Be a sportsman, Béchoux, and ladle out a word of advice.” + +“If you can lay hold of the thieves, they’ll know where to find the +bed.” + +“It might be done,” said Barnett. “Got a warrant?” + +Béchoux nodded. + +“Right. Then telephone the préfecture to send two of their beefiest men +to-day to the Odéon Arcades, near the Luxembourg.” + +Béchoux looked both surprised and irresolute. + +“No fooling?” + +“Absolutely not. Do you think I relish being thought a boob by Olga +Vaubant? And, anyway, don’t I always keep my promises?” + +Béchoux thought hard for a moment. Something told him that Barnett +meant what he said, and that during the last week, while he had lolled +in his armchair, his brain had been alert and busy with the problem. He +remembered Barnett’s dictum that there were times when meditation +proved more profitable than investigation. Without further hesitation, +Béchoux took up the telephone and called up one, Albert, who was the +right-hand man of the chief. He arranged for two inspectors to be sent +to the Odéon. + +Barnett heaved himself out of his chair, and the clock struck three as +the two men left the Agency. + +“Are we going to Olga’s flat?” Béchoux asked. + +“To that of the concierges,” Barnett told him. + +When they arrived Barnett conversed in low tones with the concierges +and asked them to say nothing of his and Béchoux’s presence in the +house. They then stationed themselves in the rear of the concierges’ +quarters, concealed behind a voluminous bed-curtain. By peering out at +each side, they could see anyone leave the house, or enter it when the +door was opened. + +They saw the priest from the first floor pass. Then came one of Olga’s +old servants, carrying a market-basket. + +“Who on earth are we waiting for?” whispered Béchoux. “What’s your +game?” + +“To teach you your job! Now then, not another word!” + +At half-past three Del Prego was admitted, resplendent in white gloves, +white spats, grey suit and grey Stetson. He waved a greeting to the +concierges and went up the stairs two at time. It was the hour for +Olga’s gym lesson. + +Three-quarters of an hour later he left the house, returning shortly +with a packet of cigarettes he had gone out to buy. His white gloves +and spats flickered up the stairs. + +Three other people came and went. Suddenly Béchoux hissed in Barnett’s +ear: + +“Look, he’s coming in again for the third time. How on earth did he get +out?” + +“By the door, I suppose.” + +“Oh, surely not,” said Béchoux, albeit less authoritatively. “That is, +unless he caught us napping. Eh, Barnett?” + +Barnett pushed back the curtain and answered: + +“The time has come for action. Béchoux, go and pick up your beefy +friends.” + +“And bring them here?” + +“That’s the stuff.” + +“What about you?” + +“I’m going up aloft. When you get back, I want all three of you to +station yourselves on the landing of the second floor. You’ll get word +when to move.” + +“Then it’s zero at last?” + +“It is, and pretty stiff odds. Now, off you go, and make it snappy.” + +Béchoux was off like the wind, while Barnett mounted to the third floor +and rang the flat bell. He was shown into the studio-gymnasium where +Olga was finishing her exercises under Del Prego’s supervision. + +“Fancy that now, here’s that bright boy Barnett!” called Olga from the +top of a rope-ladder. “Our Mr. Barnett, the Man of Mystery!” She peered +at him from between her shapely legs. “Well, Mr. Barnett, I hope you’ve +got my Pompadour bed with you!” + +“Almost, but not quite, madame. I hope I’m not in the way?” + +“Not a bit.” + +The incredible Olga continued her evolutions at Del Prego’s curt +commands. Her instructor alternately praised and criticised, and +occasionally gave a brief personal demonstration. He was himself a +trained acrobat, but vigorous rather than supple. He seemed out to +demonstrate his prodigious muscular strength. + +The lesson came to an end, and, Del Prego put on his coat, fastened his +snowy spats, and gathered up his white gloves and ash-colored hat. + +“See you to-night at the theatre, Madame Olga,” he said. + +“Oh, aren’t you going to wait for me to-day, Del Prego? You might have +escorted me. You know maman is away.” + +“Impossible, madame, I fear. Much as I regret, I fear I have another +appointment before dinner.” + +He made for the door, but before he got there he was brought up short +by Jim Barnett, who stood in his way. + +“A word with you, my friend,” said Barnett, “since chance has +obligingly brought us together.” + +“I’m sorry, but really....” + +“Must I, then, introduce myself afresh? Jim Barnett, private detective, +of the Barnett Agency—Inspector Béchoux’s friend.” + +Del Prego took another step towards the door. + +“A thousand apologies, Mr. Barnett, but I’m in rather a hurry.” + +“Oh, I won’t keep you a moment. I only want to call to your +remembrance——” He paused dramatically. + +“What?” snapped Del Prego. + +“A certain Turk.” + +“I don’t understand what you mean.” + +“A Turk called Ben-Vali.” + +The professor’s face wore an expression of stony blankness. + +“The name means nothing to me.” + +“Then perhaps you may remember a certain Avernoff?” + +“Never heard of him either. Who were they both, anyway?” + +“Two—murderers.” + +There was a brief, pregnant pause. Then Del Prego laughed noisily and +said: + +“Scarcely a class among which I care to cultivate my friendships.” + +“And yet,” pursued Barnett, “rumor persists in urging that you knew +both men well.” + +Del Prego’s glance travelled like lightning up and down Barnett’s form. +Then he snarled, with scarcely a trace of foreign accent: + +“What are you getting at? Cut out the mystery stuff. I don’t go in for +riddles.” + +“Sit down, Signor Del Prego,” suggested Barnett. “We can chat more +comfortably sitting down!” + +Del Prego was fuming with impatience. Olga had come up to them, full of +curiosity, looking like a bewitching boy in her gym kit. + +“Do sit down, Del Prego,” she said, laying a hand on the professor’s +arm. “After all, it’s about my Pompadour bed.” + +“Just so,” said Barnett. “And I can assure Signor Del Prego that I am +not asking a riddle. Only, on my very first visit here after the +robbery, I was forcibly reminded of two cases that made rather a +sensation some time ago. I should like his opinion on them. It’ll only +take a few minutes.” + +Barnett’s attitude had subtly changed from one of deference to one of +authority. His tone was unmistakable in its note of command. Olga +Vaubant found herself feeling impressed by this strange man. Del Prego, +overborne, merely growled: + +“Hurry up, then!” + +Barnett began his story: + +“Once upon a time—three years ago, to be precise—there lived in Paris a +jeweller called Saurois. He and his father shared a big top-floor flat. +This jeweller formed a business connection with a man named Ben-Vali. +The latter went about in a turban and full Turkish costumes, baggy +trousers and all, and traded in second-grade precious stones, such as +oriental topazes, irregular pearls, amethysts, and so forth. Well, one +evening, on a day when Ben-Vali had called several times at his flat, +Saurois came back from the theatre and found his father stabbed to +death, and all his jewels gone. The inquiry revealed that the crime had +been committed not by Ben-Vali himself—he produced an unshakable +alibi—but by someone he must have brought round in the afternoon. But +they never managed to lay hands on the assassin, nor on the Turk. The +case was shelved. Do you remember, now?” + +“I’ve only been in Paris two years,” Del Prego parried swiftly. “And, +anyway, I don’t see the point....” + +Jim Barnett went on: + +“Nearly a year before that a similar crime took place. The victim in +this case was a collector of medals called Davoul. It was established +that the man who killed him was brought to his place and hidden by a +Count Avernoff, a Russian, who wore an astrakhan cap and a long +overcoat.” + +“Why, I remember that,” exclaimed Olga Vaubant, who had turned suddenly +pale. + +“I saw at once,” continued Barnett, “that between these two cases and +the burglary of your bedroom there existed not, perhaps, a very close +analogy, but a certain family resemblance. The robberies of Saurois the +jeweller and of Davoul the medal collector were both the work of a pair +of foreigners, and here again the method is identical. I mean, in each +case there was the introduction of an accomplice who was responsible +for the actual crime. The problem is—how were those accomplices +introduced? I own that at first this completely baffled me. For the +last few days I have been thrashing the solution out in silence and +solitude. Working with the two given quantities, so to speak, of the +Ben-Vali crime and the Avernoff crime, I set myself to reconstruct the +general scheme—the ‘constant’—of a crime-system that had probably been +applied in many other cases unknown to me.” + +“And did you succeed?” asked Olga breathlessly. + +“I did,” Barnett told her. “Frankly, the idea is superb. It’s the +highest form of art—a manifestation of creative genius, wholly original +in conception and execution. While the ordinary run of thieves and +gun-men work with great secrecy, disguising themselves sometimes as +plumbers or commercial travellers to gain entrance to a house, these +people keep full in the limelight, and do the job without any attempt +at concealment. The more observation they meet with, the better pleased +they are. The method is for one of them quite openly to enter a house +where he is already a frequent visitor, and his comings and goings are +familiar to the residents. Then, on a chosen day, he goes out ... and +comes in again ... and goes out once more ... and comes in yet again +... and then, while this man is in the house, another man comes in who +is so like the first man in appearance that no one spots the +difference! And there you have your accomplice introduced. The first +man leaves the house again, quite openly, and his accomplice remains +there concealed. Then, in the watches of the night, the first man +returns to the house, and is admitted by the accomplice. Ingenious, +isn’t it?” + +Then, with a peculiar intensity in his tone, Barnett went on, now +directly to Del Prego: + +“It’s genius, Del Prego, absolute genius. Ordinary crooks, as I said, +try to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible in their criminal +pursuits. They wear nondescript, neutral clothing, and do their best to +merge with their surroundings like creatures of the jungle. But the men +I’m telling you about realized that the great thing in their scheme was +to make a vivid and outstanding impression—to attract plenty of +attention. A Russian wearing a fur cap, or a Turk in baggy trousers is +a conspicuous and unusual figure. If such a man is habitually seen four +times a day going up and downstairs in a house, no one will notice +whether he comes in once oftener than he goes out. The point is, +though, that the fifth time he comes in, it’s the accomplice! And no +one suspects it. That’s how it’s done, and I take my hat off to the +inventor. It stands to reason that a man must be a master criminal to +evolve and apply such a method—the kind of arch-crook who only occurs +once in a generation. To me it is obvious that Ben-Vali and Count +Avernoff are the same person. From this, isn’t it only logical to +conclude that this man has materialized a third time, in yet another +guise, in the particular case which concerns us? He began by being a +Russian, later on he appeared as a Turk, and this time—well, who comes +here who, besides being a foreigner, dresses rather unusually?” + +There was a dead silence. Olga put out a hand towards Barnett as if to +stop him from she hardly knew what. She had only just tumbled to what +he had been leading up to all this time, and the realization frightened +her. + +“No, no!” she cried. “I won’t have you accusing people!” + +Del Prego smiled blandly. + +“Come, come, Madame Olga, don’t get upset. Mr. Barnett will have his +little joke.” + +“That’s it, Del Prego,” said Barnett, “I will have my little joke. +You’re perfectly right not to take my yarn of mystery and adventure +seriously—that is, not until you know the finish. Of course, there’s +the obvious fact that you’re a foreigner, and that your get-up is +calculated to attract attention. White gloves ... white spats.... And, +of course, too, you’ve got one of those mobile, india rubber faces, +which could pretty easily turn you from a Russian into a Turk, and from +a Turk into a shady adventurer, nationality unspecified! And, of +course, you’re well known in this house, and business brings you here +several times a day. But, after all, your reputation for honesty is +unblemished, and you enjoy the patronage of no less a person than Olga +Vaubant. So no one would dream of accusing you. + +“But what was I to think? You see my difficulty, don’t you? You were +the only possible suspect, and yet you were above suspicion. Isn’t that +so, madame?” He turned to Olga for confirmation. + +“Oh, yes,” she agreed, eyes feverishly bright. “Then who are we to +suspect? How can we find out who did it?” + +“Aha,” said Barnett, “that’s simple enough. I’ve set a trap for the +mystery mouse!” + +“A trap? How could you do that?” + +“Tell me, madame,” said Barnett, “Baron de Laureins telephoned you on +Saturday? I thought so. And yesterday he came to see you here?” + +Olga nodded, full of wonder. + +“And he brought you a chest full of silver, engraved with the Pompadour +crest?” + +“That’s it,” said Olga, “on the table. But——” + +Barnett cut her short. In the manner of a fortune-teller he continued: + +“Baron de Laureins, who is very hard up, is trying to sell the silver +which is a family heirloom that has come down to him from the +d’Etoiles, and he has left it in your care until to-morrow.” + +“How ... how do you know all this?” Olga was quite scared. + +“I,” said Barnett, “and the Baron—very new noblesse! Have you displayed +the handsome silverware to your admiring friends?” + +“Certainly.” + +“And, on the other hand, I take it your mother has had a telegram from +the country, summoning her to the bedside of your ailing aunt?” + +“How on earth do you know that?” + +“I sent the telegram. Oh, believe me, I’m the whole works! So your +mother went off this morning, and the chest stays in this room till +to-morrow. What a temptation for the unknown friend who so cleverly +burgled your bedroom to get up to his tricks again and snaffle the +chest of silver. Much easier than a suite of furniture!” + +Olga, now thoroughly alarmed, demanded: + +“Will the attempt be made to-night?” + +“Of course it will,” Barnett assured her. + +“Oh, how awful!” she wailed. + +Del Prego, who had listened to all this in silence, now got up. + +“What’s so awful, madame?” he asked, with a faint sneer. “Forewarned is +forearmed. You have only to ring up the police. With your permission, I +will do so at once.” + +“Oh, dear me, no,” protested Barnett. “I shall need you, Del Prego.” + +“I fail to see in what way you can require my services.” + +“Why, in helping to arrest the accomplice, of course!” + +“Plenty of time for that, if the attempt is to be made to-night.” + +“Yes, but do bear in mind,” urged Barnett gently but firmly, “that the +accomplice was, in each case, introduced beforehand!” + +“You mean he’s already in the flat?” asked Del Prego. + +“He’s been here for the last half-hour,” declared Barnett. + +“Since I arrived, you mean?” + +“Since you arrived the second time,” said Barnett quietly. “I saw him +as plainly as I see you now.” + +“Then he’s hiding in the flat?” + +Barnett pointed to the door. + +“In the hall there’s a clothes cupboard which hasn’t been opened all +the afternoon. He’s in there.” + +“But he couldn’t have got into the flat on his own!” + +“Of course not.” + +“Then who opened the door to him?” + +“You, Del Prego.” + +The brief statement was almost shockingly abrupt. + +Even though from the beginning of the conversation Barnett’s remarks +had been obviously aimed at the gym instructor, becoming increasingly +plain in their import, yet this downright attack took Del Prego by +surprise. Rage, fear, and the determination to act swiftly were easily +discernible in his changed expression. Divining his adversary’s +perplexity, Barnett took advantage of it to run out into the hall. He +jerked a man out of the cupboard, and pushed him, struggling, before +him into the studio. + +“Oh,” cried Olga, utterly taken aback, “then it’s true!” + +The man was the same height as Del Prego. Like Del Prego he wore a grey +suit and white spats. He had much the same type of greasy, mobile +countenance. + +“Milord has forgotten his hat and gloves,” said Barnett, and clapped an +ash-colored hat on the man’s head, at the same time handing him a pair +of white gloves. + +Struck dumb with amazement, Olga drew slowly from the scene of action, +and, never shifting her gaze from the two men, proceeded to climb a +rope-ladder backwards. It had now fully dawned on her what kind of man +Del Prego was, and what frightful risks she had run during the time +spent in his company. + +“Funny, isn’t it?” Barnett said, laughing. “Not as like as twins, of +course, but they’re the same height and have much the same sort of +physiog., and what with that and their dressing in duplicate, they +might be brothers!” + +The two crooks were recovering from their confusion, and simultaneously +began to realize that, after all, they were only up against one man, +and that a poor-looking specimen, with apparently a wretched physique +under his shabby frock-coat. + +Del Prego spluttered some words in a foreign language which Barnett +translated immediately. + +“No use speaking Russian,” he observed, “to ask your friend if he’s got +a gun handy!” + +Del Prego shook with rage and spoke again in a different language. + +“Unluckily for you,” Barnett told him, “I know Turkish inside out. +Berlitz has nothing on me. Also, I think it only fair to tell you that +Béchoux—you know, Olga’s policeman husband that was—is waiting on the +stairs with two friends. If that gun goes off, they will break down the +door!” + +Del Prego and the other man exchanged glances. They saw they were +cornered, but they were the sort that doesn’t give in without putting +up a stiff fight. + +Without seeming to move, they drew imperceptibly closer to Barnett. + +“Fine!” the latter told them genially. “You propose to set upon me and +finish me off at close quarters, do you? And when I’m done for, you’ll +try to elude Béchoux. Now then, madame, keep your eyes open and you’ll +see something! Tom Thumb and the two Giants! David and the twin +Goliaths! Get a move on, Del Prego. Brace up, now! Try springing at my +throat for a start!” + +The distance between them had lessened again. The two men stood tense, +ready to hurl themselves on Barnett. + +But Barnett most unexpectedly forestalled them. In a flash he had dived +to the floor, seized a leg of each and brought them crashing! Before +they had time to counter, the head of each was being ground into the +floor by an implacable, murderous hand. They gasped convulsively, +choking in Barnett’s vise-like grip. Their countenances took on a +purple tinge. + +“Olga!” called Barnett with perfect calm, “be a good girl and open the +door and call Béchoux, will you?” + +Olga dropped, monkey-like, from her ladder, and tottered rather than +ran out of the room, calling “Béchoux! Béchoux!” + +A moment later she returned with the inspector, babbling excitedly to +him: + +“He did it! Bowled them both over single-handed! I’d never have +believed it of him!” + +“Behold,” said Barnett to Béchoux, “your two bright lads. Just slip the +bracelets on them so that I can let ’em come up for breath! You needn’t +worry about fixing them too tightly. They’ll come quietly, won’t you, +Del Prego? All lamb-like and pretty!” + +He rose from the floor, gallantly kissed Olga’s hand, while she +regarded him in ever-growing wonder, and chortled gaily: + +“How’s that for a haul, Béchoux? Two of the most cunning criminals in +Paris snared at last. Really, Del Prego, you must allow me to +congratulate you on your methods!” + +He dug the professor playfully in the ribs, while the latter was +powerless, handcuffed to Béchoux, and continued jubilantly: + +“My good man, you’re a genius. Why, when Béchoux and I were on the +watch downstairs, I, having tumbled to your trick, naturally saw that +it was not you the third time, but Béchoux, who didn’t know, soon +swallowed the bait and really thought the gentleman in white gloves, +white spats, grey hat and grey suit was the same Del Prego that he had +already seen pass several times. So Del Prego the Second was able to go +quietly upstairs, sneak through the door—which you had left ajar for +him—and hide in the hall cupboard. Exactly the same tactics as you +employed on the night when the bedroom suite disappeared into space. +You can’t deny it, Del Prego, you’re a genius!” + +Barnett was by now bubbling over with sheer exuberance. With a flying +leap, he was astride the trapeze; in a moment he was twirling like a +top round and round an upright pole; he swung on to a rope, then to the +rings, then up the ladder he went, swaying like a sailor in the +rigging. The tails of his ancient frock-coat flapped stiffly, +disapprovingly behind him, the venerable garment seeming to protest +against these unseemly gambols. + +Olga gave a little gasp as he unexpectedly landed at her feet, bowing +low. + +“Feel my heart, madame; beating quite normally. And I’m not the least +bit out of breath. Don’t you wonder, Béchoux, how I keep in training?” + +He snatched up the telephone and called a number. + +“That the préfecture?... Extension two, please.... That you, Albert? +Béchoux speaking.... It doesn’t sound like my voice?... Well, I can’t +help that. Now then, listen. You can report that I have just arrested +two murderers who are wanted for the Olga Vaubant robbery.” + +He hung up, and held out a hand to Béchoux. + +“The laurels are all yours, old chap. Madame, it’s time I took my +leave. What’s up, Del Prego? You are not regarding me with that warm +affection I could desire!” + +Del Prego was muttering furiously: + +“There’s only one man alive who could get the better of me ... only +one....” + +“Who’s that?” + +“Arsène Lupin!” + +Barnett laughed as though he would split. + +“Bully for you, my boy. You ought to have been a Professor of +Psychology. And then you would never have got yourself into this +mix-up!” + +He had another joyous spasm, bowed to Olga, and went off in a gale of +merriment, humming that catchy little tune: + + + “Yes, you otta see my Jim!” + + +Next day Del Prego, overwhelmed by the case against him, revealed the +whereabouts of the garage in the suburbs in which he had hidden Olga +Vaubant’s bedroom suite. This was on the Tuesday. Barnett had fulfilled +his promise. + +Béchoux was sent out of Paris on a fresh case, and was away some days. +When he got back he found a note from Barnett. + +“You must own that I have played strictly fair. There hasn’t been a sou +of profit for me in the whole business—none of the ‘pickings’ that have +distressed your gentle soul in the past. It is satisfaction for me to +know that I retain your friendship and respect!” + +That afternoon Béchoux, who had made up his mind to part brass-rags +once and for all with Barnett, went along to the office in the rue +Laborde. The office was closed, and there was a notice on the door +which read: + + + “Closed on account of a sudden attachment. + Reopening after the honeymoon trip.” + + +“And what the hell may that mean?” muttered Béchoux, smitten with +sudden vague anxiety. He rushed off to Olga’s flat. It was shut up. He +rushed on to the Folies Bergère. There he was told that the star had +paid a large forfeit to break her contract and had gone off on holiday. + +“Nom d’un Nom d’un Nom!” spluttered Béchoux when he got out in the +street. “Is it possible?... Instead of collaring some cash, can he have +used his triumph to ... can he have dared to....” + +The cloud of suspicion grew bigger and blacker. Béchoux became frantic. +How was he to learn the truth? Or rather, what course could he take +that would keep the truth from him, and save him from appalling +certainty in place of his suspicion? + + + +But Barnett was not the man to leave his victim in peace. At intervals +the unlucky Béchoux was the recipient of highly colored post-cards, +scrawled with even more lurid legends: + +“Oh, Béchoux! One moonlight night in Rome!” + +“Béchoux, next time you’re in love, bring her to Sicily!” + +And from Venice: “If you were here, Béchoux, I should have to stop you +jumping in a canal!” + +“I will never forgive him this, never! He has outraged me past hope of +pardon! Next time I will have my revenge!” + +And, like a mocking echo, he seemed to hear Olga’s husky tones: + + + “I’m in luck, I gotta boy + Fills his momma’s heart with joy. + Yes, you otta see my Jim!” + + + + + + + + +X + +ARRESTING ARSÈNE LUPIN! + + +Suddenly, unexpectedly, the fight between Barnett and Béchoux, which +had dragged on so long under cover, had reached the last round—in the +open! + +Inspector Béchoux sped through the arched gateway of the préfecture and +across a couple of courtyards, took the stairs two at a time, and +dashed, without pausing to knock, into the sanctum of his chief. Pale +and breathless, he stammered: + +“Arsène Lupin is mixed up in the Desroques case!” + +The chief gave a startled exclamation. + +“Surely not!” + +“I saw him myself only a little while ago, outside Desroques’ flat, and +recognized him at once.” + +“Don’t try and be funny, Béchoux. Nobody ever recognizes Arsène Lupin.” + +“I do!” declared Béchoux. “This time he’s disguised as a private +detective and calls himself Jim Barnett—you remember, the chap I told +you about before, who left Paris a little while ago.” + +The chief gave a slight chuckle. + +“Left with Olga Vaubant of the Folies Bergère, didn’t he?” + +“Yes,” assented Béchoux wrathfully. “Olga Vaubant, the singing acrobat, +and my ex-wife!” + +“Well,” said the chief, “what did you do when you—recognized Lupin?” + +“I shadowed him.” + +“Without his knowing it?” The other was frankly incredulous. + +Béchoux drew himself up stiffly. “When I shadow a man, chief, he never +knows it,” he declared. “All the same,” he added thoughtfully, +“although the beggar was pretending to be out for a stroll, he didn’t +take any chances. First he walked round the Place de l’Etoile. Then he +went along the Avenue Kléber and stopped on the east side of the Rond +Point du Trocadéro. Sitting on a bench there was a gipsy girl. She was +a pretty piece of goods, with her black head bare in the sunshine, and +her colored shawl wrapped about her. Well I watched Lupin, alias +Barnett, sit down beside her, and a minute later they were talking away +together, but hardly moving their lips—an old prison trick that, chief. +More than once I noticed them looking up at a house on the corner of +the Place du Trocadéro and the Avenue Kléber. After a while, Lupin got +up and took the Metro.” + +“Did you keep on shadowing him?” + +“Yes—or, rather, I tried to,” said Béchoux. “But he jumped aboard a +train that was just moving while I was held up in the crowd. When I got +back to the bench, the gipsy girl was gone.” + +“And what about the house they were looking up at?” + +“That’s where I’ve just come from,” said Béchoux. He took a deep +breath, and launched forth: “On the fourth floor of that house is a +furnished flat where for the last month old General Desroques, Jean +Desroques’ father, has been living. You remember that he came up from +Limoges to defend his son when the latter was arrested and +charged”—Béchoux swelled with the majesty of the law—“with abduction, +illegal detention, and wilful murder!” + +This repetition of the roll of crimes seemingly impressed the chief, +who nodded solemnly and asked his subordinate: + +“Did you call on the general?” + +“I did, and he opened the door to me himself. Then I described to him +the little comedy that had just been played under his windows, leaving +out all mention of Arsène Lupin, of course. He was not surprised, and +told me that the day before a gipsy girl had come to see him. She +offered to tell his fortune and reveal the outcome of the trial. She +demanded three thousand francs and said she would await his answer next +afternoon in the Place du Trocadéro between two and half-past two.” + +“But why should the general pay her all that money?” + +“She assured him that she could get hold of the mystery photograph and +let him have it.” + +“What?” the chief was genuinely surprised. “You mean that photograph +we’ve all been searching for and can’t find anywhere?” + +“That’s it,” said Béchoux. “The photograph that would save the +general’s son—or finally establish his guilt!” + +Both were silent for a while. At last the chief said: + +“I expect you know, Béchoux, how anxious we are to get hold of that +photograph ourselves?” + +Béchoux nodded. + +“It means even more than you realize, though. Listen, Béchoux, if you +can lay hands on that photograph it must be turned over to me before +the Parquet gets wind of it.” He added in a whisper: “The Department +comes first, see?...” + +And, with equal seriousness and set purpose, Béchoux replied, “Chief, +you shall have it. I will get it for you, and, at the same time, I will +get Jim Barnett, or rather Arsène Lupin!” + + + +Just a month before this conversation at the préfecture, Jacques +Veraldy had been kept waiting for his dinner. Jacques Veraldy, one of +the foremost figures in Parisian society, a man of vast wealth, one of +the unscrupulous spiders that spin political webs, had waited till long +past the dinner hour for the return of his wife, Christiane. But she +did not come home that night, and next morning the police were called +in. They soon elicited the following facts: + +On the afternoon of her disappearance, Christiane Veraldy had gone for +a walk in the Bois de Boulogne, near her house. On this walk she had +been stopped by a well-dressed man who, after a brief conversation, had +led her to a closed car, with the blinds pulled down, which was waiting +in a deserted alley. They both got into the car and drove off quickly +in the direction of Saint-Cloud. + +None of the witnesses who came forward to describe this meeting in the +Bois had been able to see the man’s face. He seemed young, they said, +and they were all agreed that he wore a very smart dark-blue overcoat +and a black beret. + +Two days passed, and still there was no news of the missing Christiane +Veraldy. Then, suddenly, the tragedy happened. + +About sunset, some peasants working in the fields on the main road from +Paris to Chartres noticed a car being driven at a reckless speed. Even +as they watched its onrush, the car door was pushed open, and a woman +fell out on the road. They rushed to her assistance. At the same time +the car raced up the steep bank at the side of the road, crashed into a +tree and overturned. A man sprang from it, miraculously uninjured, and +dashed to where the woman lay. She was dead. Her head had struck a heap +of stones in her fall. They carried her body to the nearest village and +told the gendarmes what had happened. + +The man made no secret of his identity. He was Député Jean Desroques, a +well-known political figure, and at that time leader of the Opposition. + +The dead woman was Christiane Veraldy. + +Immediately trouble began brewing. The bereaved husband, thirsting for +revenge rather than overcome with grief, was determined to make his +supplanter, as he considered Jean Desroques, pay the penalty of the +law. The accused man, on the other hand, had powerful political +supporters, who strenuously denied that the leader of their party could +be guilty of such a crime. These in turn brought pressure to bear on +the police. + +Meanwhile, the peasants, one and all, swore that they had seen a man’s +arm push the woman out of the car. Nor did there seem any possible +doubt that the man who had been observed talking with Madame Veraldy in +the Bois was indeed Desroques. At the time of the accident Jean +Desroques was wearing a dark-blue greatcoat and a black beret. + +In any case, Desroques did not attempt to advance an alibi. He admitted +having abducted Madame Veraldy, and acknowledged that he had detained +her illegally. On the other hand, he swore that he had done all in his +power to prevent her committing—suicide! For that was his explanation +of the tragic occurrence. + +Desroques’ account of what had happened was that he had been struggling +to hold Madame Veraldy down in her seat, that the door of the car had +been forced open when she flung her weight against it, and she had +fallen out. + +But concerning what had led up to the struggle, where they had spent +the days since their meeting in the Bois, what had happened during that +time, or even when and how he had first made the acquaintance of Madame +Veraldy, Jean Desroques was obstinately silent. + +This last point—the question of the first meeting of Desroques and the +banker’s wife—remained one of the minor yet most baffling mysteries of +the case, since Veraldy declared he had never, since his marriage, had +anything to do with Desroques, whom he regarded as a dangerous Radical. +He testified to having frequently spoken disparagingly about him to +Christiane, who had invariably refrained from comment. + +The examining magistrate tried in vain to get past the accused’s +enigmatic barrier of reserve. The only reply his efforts elicited was: + +“I have nothing to say. You can do what you like with me. Whatever +happens I shall not speak another word.” + +And when the police officials, one of whom was Béchoux, called at +Desroques’ flat, he opened the door to them in person, saying: + +“I am quite ready to come with you, gentlemen.” + +Before leaving, a thorough search was made of the flat. There was a +pile of ashes in the study fireplace, showing that Desroques had been +burning papers. The police found nothing of any importance in the +drawers of the desk or anywhere else. They took down every volume from +the well-stocked bookshelves and shook them vigorously, but no telltale +document fluttered out to reward their efforts. They took up the carpet +and discovered nothing but dust! + +While this routine search was going on, Béchoux, pursuing his own +rather more intuitive methods, stood perfectly still near the door and +darted a lightning glance over the room. Suddenly he swooped down on +the waste-paper basket. To one side of it lay a screw of paper which +might have been an advertisement leaflet. + +Béchoux had it in his hands and was just smoothing it out, when Jean +Desroques, who had been standing quietly by during the search of his +study, sprang forward and snatched it from the detective’s hands. + +“You don’t want that,” he cried, “its only an old photograph. It came +off its mount and I threw it away.” + +Béchoux, struck by Desroques’ eagerness to retain possession of an +apparently worthless bit of rubbish that he had self-avowedly thrown +away, was on the point of using force to make him give it up. + +But Desroques was too quick for him. Before the detective could bar the +way, he had darted into the adjoining room and slammed the door behind +him. + +There was a policeman on guard in the anteroom into which he had fled. +When Béchoux and the others got the door open, this man had Desroques +pinned on the floor. Immediately Béchoux searched his prisoner. He +turned out the man’s pockets, made him take off his shoes and socks. +But the unmounted photograph had disappeared! + +The window was tightly shut and there was no fire in the room. The +policeman stated that he had stopped Desroques when he rushed in in +case he should be trying to escape, but had seen no sign of any +photograph or paper. + +Béchoux had a warrant for Desroques’ arrest, and, without vouchsafing a +word, he went quietly off to prison. + +The foregoing are the bare facts of the case which, a little while +before the Great War, caused such a stir in the press and among the +public of Paris. There is no need to give in detail the inquiry +conducted by the examining magistrate, as it shed no light on the +mystery. But there should be considerable interest in the relation for +the first time of an episode which led up to certain startling +disclosures and put an entirely different complexion on the case, +besides marking the last encounter in the long duel between Inspector +Béchoux and his “friendly enemy,” Jim Barnett, of the Barnett Agency. + + + +The stage was set, and for once Béchoux felt happy in the possession of +a little advance information as to the program. He knew what Barnett +was up to—had watched his little confabulation with the gipsy girl +under the windows of General Desroques’ flat. This time he intended to +be first on the scene and to spoil Barnett’s entrance! + +On the day after the conversation with his chief at the préfecture, +Béchoux again called at General Desroques’ flat. The latter had been +advised by headquarters of the inspector’s visit. + +A rather corpulent, clean-shaven man-servant opened the door to +Béchoux. In silence, and exuding a kind of aura of intense +respectability, he ushered the inspector into the drawing-room, then +softly withdrew. + +Béchoux took up his stand at a window from which he could survey the +entire extent of the Place du Trocadéro without himself being seen from +the street. For a long while he scrutinized the people passing to and +fro in the busy square below. + +There was no sign of the gipsy girl, nor of the wily “Barnett” in whom +Béchoux declared he had recognized Arsène Lupin. + +Neither of the suspects showed up all that day, nor the day after. + +During his self-imposed vigil, Béchoux sometimes had the company of +General Desroques. The latter was tall, lean, grey-haired—the typical +retired cavalry officer who has spent much of his life outdoors, and is +in the habit of giving orders and having them promptly obeyed. +Ordinarily taciturn, the general was one of those men who, when deeply +moved, will lay aside some of their customary reserve. The charge +against his son had wounded him terribly. Not only was he firmly +convinced of Jean’s innocence, but he was certain that the young man +was the victim of one of those mysterious political plots which +occasionally blot the fair fame of every state. + +Although undetermined as to whence the blow had come, the old man stood +at bay—like a lion defending its cub. + +“Jean would not, could not, do such a thing,” he declared. “The boy’s +only fault is that he is over-scrupulous, absurdly quixotic. He is +perfectly capable of sacrificing his own interests to some exaggerated +idea of honor. He is the sort of person who would unhesitatingly +shoulder a friend’s guilt and let the culprit go free. I am so sure of +what I say, that I’m not going to see Jean in his cell. I won’t pay the +slightest attention to what his lawyer says, or to what they print in +the newspapers. Pack of lies, probably! The boy’s innocent, whether he +says so or not. And I’m going to prove it, whether he likes it or not! +We all have our own idea of what’s our duty. He thinks he ought to keep +his mouth shut. Well and good. But I know I ought to clear his name, no +matter who gets hurt in the process!” + +One day, when the reporters were harrying him with questions, the +general burst out: + +“Do you really want to know what I think? Jean never kidnaped any one. +The woman followed him of her own free will. He won’t admit it, because +he is trying to shield her reputation. But if the facts come to +light—and, believe me, they will—we shall find that my son and she knew +each other and were probably on terms of intimacy. And I’m going to get +to the bottom of things, whatever the result!” + +Now, while Béchoux crouched, like Sister Anne, at his window, and kept +watch on the square, the general would come in and sit near him. Then +the old man would go over the case and review the deadlock reached by +himself and the police. + +“You and I, my friend, are after the same thing,” he would say, “but +someone else is after it, too! I have friends who are in the know, and +they tell me Veraldy has offered a fabulous reward to anyone who will +solve the mystery of his wife’s death. He and my son’s political +opponents are convinced that Jean is guilty. What we all want to find, +though for very different reasons, is that photograph! Veraldy and his +friends believe that if they can lay hands on it they will have proof +of Jean’s guilt. I know that it will prove him innocent!” + +From Béchoux’s point of view, what the photograph might or might not +prove was the least of his worries. His task was limited to getting +hold of it for his chief. Any possible sequel had almost ceased to +interest him. + +Meanwhile, day after day, he sat at his window watching for the gipsy +girl who never came, filled with anguished speculation as to Barnett’s +activities, and listening inattentively to the general’s eternal +monologue about his hopes and plans and disappointments. + +One day old Desroques seemed unusually thoughtful. He obviously +imagined he had hit on a fresh clue, or, at any rate, a new factor in +the tragic problem. After a prolonged silence he addressed Béchoux at +his post: + +“Inspector, my friends and I have come to the conclusion that the only +human being who can possibly throw any light on how the photograph +disappeared is the policeman who stopped my son in his flight the day +he was arrested. It’s rather curious that he has never been called to +give evidence. His name has never appeared in the press. In fact, but +for the energetic inquiries of my friends, I should not now be in +possession of”—he paused significantly—“certain information!” + +Inspector Béchoux looked distinctly uncomfortable, but did not speak. +The general resumed: + +“We now know that this policeman was added to the group of men sent +here from headquarters quite accidentally, just as they were leaving +the police-station of this district on their way here. They rather +doubted whether their numbers were strong enough in case my son offered +violent resistance, and this policeman apparently offered to join them +with some alacrity. They gladly accepted his assistance. + +“My friends have not been able to ascertain the identity of that +policeman. For some reason or other none of your colleagues has been +willing or able to tell us. Yet we are certain that the higher +officials at the préfecture know who he is, and have been questioning +him daily. We have reason to believe that he has been under strict +surveillance ever since the arrest of my son. That he was taken to the +police-station immediately after the disappearance of the photograph +and searched; that he has not been allowed home; that he is, in fact, a +prisoner. And we have more than an inkling of the reason for the strict +reticence of the police on his account!” The general bent nearer to +Béchoux, a certain triumph overspreading his hawklike features. + +Outwardly calm and indifferent, Béchoux was quaking inwardly. But he +said nothing, feeling it wisest to let the general put all his cards on +the table. + +“What do you say,” said the general, “to the suggestion that the +mysterious policeman was, to say the least of it, rather a peculiar +character to have got into the police force at all? A nice story it +would make for the newspapers—and not particularly creditable. Ho, ho!” +He waggled a gouty finger under the inspector’s nose. + +Still Béchoux was silent. + +“Well,” said the general, “it isn’t going to further my son’s interests +to make a laughing-stock of the police force. But what I do demand as a +right is that I may be allowed to question this policeman myself. Your +people haven’t been able to get anything out of him. I think I may be +more successful.” + +“And if I say that you cannot have this interview?” Béchoux’s voice was +cold and level as chilled steel. + +“In that case, inspector, I shall—regretfully, of course—communicate +with the editor of a well-known daily in regard to this somewhat +curious ornament of the police force!” + +“No need for that, general.” Béchoux forced a smile. “There is no +objection at all to your interviewing Constable Rimbourg—er, the +policeman in question. I shall have pleasure in arranging for him to +come along!” + +In truth, Béchoux was not particularly unwilling in the matter. His own +plans had proved fruitless. He was absolutely without information about +Barnett’s movements, and quite in the dark as to his adversary’s +connection with the case. In the past, Barnett had always met him +openly, albeit under the guise of lending his aid. Barnett had even +been noticeably to the fore throughout the cases on which he had +“coöperated” with the inspector. Béchoux had an uneasy feeling that +this time, for some reason of his own, Barnett was working under cover, +ready to burst out at any moment with a startling and probably +unwelcome dénouement of the whole affair. And then it would be too late +to circumvent him! + +His superiors gave Béchoux carte blanche to go ahead. Two days later, +Sylvestre, the general’s rotund man-servant, gravely ushered Béchoux +and Constable Rimbourg into the drawing-room. + +The constable was a very ordinary looking man—not at all the sort of +figure to suggest a mystery. His eyes and mouth betrayed his weariness. +He had been put through something of a “third degree” over the missing +photograph. He was in uniform, with the customary revolver in a black +leather case, and the policeman’s baton—that world-wide symbol of law +and order. + +The general came in, and the three men sat a long while in conference. +But no fresh light was shed on the problem of the photograph. Rimbourg +was respectful, stolidly sympathetic, ready with his answers. But he +denied having seen anything of any photograph. + +Then the general changed the trend of his interrogations. Abruptly he +asked: + +“When did you first meet my son?” + +“We did our military service together, sir,” was the surprising answer. + +“You said nothing of this,” cried Béchoux. + +“I was not asked about it, inspector,” replied the man. + +“I must tell you, general,” said Béchoux, “that one of the reasons for +our very strict surveillance of Constable Rimbourg was that he obtained +his appointment through your son’s influence!” + +“What?” cried the general “But it has been freely hinted that this man, +Rimbourg——” He broke off, suddenly thoughtful. Then he asked the +constable: “What was your profession before you joined the police +force?” + +“I did various odd jobs, sir. I was carpenter and scene-shifter for a +touring company. I travelled round with a circus. I was lift-man in a +hotel.” + +“Why did you leave the hotel?” + +“I tired of the job, sir.” Rimbourg’s voice was infinitely respectful, +but there was a slight flicker in his eyes that belied his stolid calm. + +“And you found the police force suited you?” + +“Oh, perfectly, sir.” + +The general gave a disheartened shrug of dismissal. + +“Thank you, thank you; that will do for the present, I think,” he said. +“I wish I could believe what you tell me, but frankly, I cannot help +feeling you are keeping something back. Your previous acquaintance with +my son is certainly an extraordinary coincidence, and I think, +Inspector Béchoux, if I were you, I would investigate Constable +Rimbourg’s past a bit more closely. Find out why he left that job as +lift-man. And remember what I said before about the suggestion that he +is, perhaps, a curious kind of constable altogether. Look up some of +the cases in which he has been concerned—it might prove illuminating!” +He rang the bell. “Sylvestre, give Monsieur Rimbourg a drink before he +goes.” The door closed. “He’ll be quite safe with my man,” the general +told Béchoux, as he poured out a glass of wine for the inspector. Then, +raising his own glass: + +“Here’s to my son’s speedy liberation,” he said. + +For a second Béchoux could have sworn he saw a gleam of triumphant +merriment in the general’s eye. A most uncalled-for emotion, surely, +and yet.... + +He wheeled sharply round, for the general was grinning broadly now. The +drawing-room door had swung silently open. On the threshold he beheld a +strange manifestation. There was slowly approaching a creature that +walked on its hands! The empurpled face almost touched the floor. Above +it protruded a comfortable paunch, surmounted by a pair of oddly slim +and wildly kicking legs that pointed ceiling-wards. For a moment +Béchoux was forcibly reminded of the antics of his acrobat wife, Olga. + +All at once the creature somersaulted, bringing its feet neatly +together, and, right side up, began spinning round and round at +terrific speed like a human top. And now Béchoux recognized—Sylvestre, +the man-servant. Obviously the fellow was out of his mind. As he spun +around, his stomach quivered like a jelly, and from his wide mouth +issued a series of rousing guffaws. + +But—was it really Sylvestre? As he watched the extraordinary +performance, Béchoux felt his brow bathed in a clammy dew. Could this +wild figure be the imperturbable, perfectly trained, intensely +respectable man-servant? + +The top ceased spinning. Sylvestre, if he it was, fixed the detective +with a steady stare, relaxed his set expression of grotesque mirth, +undid jacket and waistcoat, divested himself of a rubber paunch, and +slipped gracefully into the coat which General Desroques handed him. +Once more looking fixedly at the inspector he murmured solemnly: + +“Sold again, Béchoux!” + +And Béchoux, incapable of protest, sank weakly into a chair, breathing +the one word—“Barnett....” + +“Yes, Barnett,” said the erstwhile man-servant, smiling. + +And Barnett it was, but a resplendent Barnett. Gone was the air of +shabby gentility, the seedy get-up. This new Barnett approximated more +nearly to Inspector Béchoux’s mental portrait of the redoubtable Arsène +Lupin! + +And the general was chuckling unrestrainedly! + +Turning to him, Barnett bowed courteously. + +“Forgive my antics, sir, but whenever something happens that especially +delights me I am apt to cut a few capers out of sheer exuberance. I am +sure you will understand.” + +“In this instance, my friend, you are surely entitled to behave like a +whole circus of clowns. Your little plan has succeeded to perfection.” + +“What’s all this?” asked Béchoux, recovering slightly from his first +sense of shock and dismay. “Have you any special cause for joy, +Barnett?” + +“Why, yes, Béchoux; and the best of it is that it is all thanks to you, +dear old chap. (He’s the best of good fellows, general, I may tell +you.) But I can see you are bursting to hear all about it. I will +reserve my praises for another time, and start in on my little story.” + +He lit a cigarette, handing his case to the general, who also elected +to smoke. Then, puffing appreciatively, he began: + +“Well, Béchoux, a short while ago I was travelling in Spain with a +lady, if you remember? Ah, I see you do. A friend of mine telegraphed, +asking me to help in unravelling the Desroques case. As it happened, +my little idyll was by then distinctly on the wane—a total eclipse of +the honeymoon, if I may use the expression. I seized the chance of +regaining my freedom. And fortune smiled on me. New lamps for old, +Béchoux! + +“For, at Granada, I fell in with a gipsy girl—a wild, southern beauty, +Béchoux—and we travelled up together. + +“I was attracted to the Desroques case chiefly, I own, because you were +working on it. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became +that if there existed any proof of the guilt or innocence of Jean +Desroques, it must be in the hands of the policeman who stopped him in +his flight when they were making the arrest. But when I came to make +investigations, I found myself up against a blank wall. I was unable to +ascertain the identity of this man. I only guessed that he was being +kept virtually a prisoner. What was I to do? Time was passing. The +general and his son were both suffering severely under the strain. +There was only one person in Paris who could help me—yourself!” + +Béchoux did not move. He longed for the ground to open and swallow him +up with his shame. He had been tricked once again, more thoroughly than +ever before. Barnett had shown him up as being the typical, slow-witted +detective, the butt of every mystery novelist! + +“You were the only person who could help me,” Barnett repeated, “for +the reason that you, and only you, were in possession of the truth. You +had been given the job of putting Rimbourg through the ‘third degree.’ +But how was I to get in touch with you without your suspecting +anything? How was I to work it so that you trotted off to retrieve the +bird my chance shot had brought down? + +“In the end I found an easy way. I deliberately let you shadow me. I +led you along, like Follow-my-Leader, to the Place du Trocadéro. There +my bright-eyed gipsy lass was waiting for me. A whispered colloquy ... +a furtive glance or two up at this flat ... and you took the bait! +Fired with the idea of catching me or my accomplice, you took up your +vigil here, in this very flat, under the same roof as General Desroques +and his faithful servant—Sylvestre Barnett! So that I was able to keep +you under close observation, hear just what you were doing, and, +through General Desroques, suggest to your receptive mind exactly such +thoughts as I wanted to implant there.” + +Turning to the general, Jim Barnett gave the latter a glance of genuine +admiration. + +“I must tell you, general, that I cannot sufficiently commend your +acting. You led Béchoux blindfold, step by step, towards our +goal—namely, to find out the unknown constable’s name, and then get him +into this flat for a few minutes. Just a few minutes, Béchoux—not more. +For the thing I was after was the same thing that you, the police, the +State, and everyone else were after—that photograph! + +“Knowing your industry, your ingenuity, your excessive energy in the +pursuit of your duty, I realized that it would be useless to waste time +going over ground you had already covered. What I had to do was to +imagine the unimaginable—think of some utterly extraordinary and +unheard-of hiding-place. I had to visualize it in advance, so that I +could, if possible, possess myself of this secret receptacle on the day +the constable came to the flat with you. And I had to obtain possession +of it without his knowledge, for there wouldn’t be time to search him, +explore the linings of his clothes and the soles of his shoes, and so +forth. And yet I knew that somewhere about his person he would have +that photograph. The question was, where? + +“I don’t want to digress, but as soon as I knew the name of this +constable of yours, Béchoux, I was considerably enlightened. The +general’s questions only confirmed what I already suspected—that this +man, Rimbourg, was a clever fellow who, before he joined the police +force, had had a distinctly varied experience and rather a checkered +career! In short, I knew him to be just the man to hit upon some +hiding-place so bold as to be unbelievable, so obvious as to seem +fantastic! Something he could make use of, but which would never occur +to anyone else as a possible place of concealment. + +“Now, Béchoux, suppose we test the intelligence of the class. What is +it that distinguishes a policeman on duty from a postman, a dustman, a +railway porter, a fireman—in short, from every other kind of uniformed +employee? Give it a moment’s thought, while I count three. Your eagle +intelligence will surely see it! One—two—three. Now, where was the +hiding-place?” + +Béchoux made no reply. Despite the disadvantage at which he found +himself, he was trying desperately to snatch at this straw and guess +the solution of the riddle, so apparent to the triumphant Barnett. But +he could not for the life of him think what was the distinguishing +characteristic of a policeman on duty. + +“My poor friend,” sympathized Barnett. “Out with the boys last night? +Your brain seems a trifle dulled to-day. I don’t usually have to +enlighten you in words of one syllable only before you get your nose to +the trail!” + +But there was no rôle for Béchoux’s nose to play in the incident which +followed. Like a flash, Barnett darted out of the room, and returned a +moment later gravely balancing on the tip of his own olfactory organ +the shining baton—truncheon—nightstick—the same the wide world over, +wielded by every police force, that bane of malefactors, that safeguard +of life and property, that wooden club which has attained to the +dignity of a symbol, and is able to break up the fiercest street-fight +or halt the haughtiest limousine. + +Barnett toyed with this particular baton like a music-hall juggler with +a bottle. He let it slither down his nose, caught it, twirled it behind +his leg, round his neck, and down his back. Before it could fall to the +ground, he had grasped it again, and, holding it out between thumb and +finger, he addressed it in accents of mock solemnity: + +“O most honorable, most respectable, most admirable baton! Symbol of +civic and municipal authority! A short while ago, you were hanging at +Constable Rimbourg’s belt. A little sleight of hand and, hey presto! +another baton, your double hung in your place. You were left behind +when the constable departed!” Béchoux started violently, but Barnett +motioned him back to his seat. “He is unlikely to return to retrieve +you. In fact, I doubt whether we shall ever hear from him again. His +rôle in the drama is over; he filled it not unworthily. But you, O +baton, will fulfil to the last your rôle of defender of those in +distress, and from you we shall learn the secret of Jean Desroques and +the beautiful Christiane Veraldy. Speak, little baton, I conjure you to +speak!” + +With his left hand Barnett seized firm hold of the handle, circled with +narrow grooves. In his right, he held tightly the heavy body of the +club, made of ash-wood, painted white, and attempted to twist it. + +“I was right!” he exclaimed joyously. “But it’s a miracle of +workmanship. Not for nothing was Constable Rimbourg at one time a +carpenter—the man must have been a master of his craft! See, he has +hollowed out the heart of this club without ever breaking the outside, +fixed this almost invisible channel for the screw, so that the two +pieces of wood fit together so perfectly that there is no danger of the +head of the club working loose.” + +Barnett gave the baton another twist. The handle came unscrewed, +revealing a metal ring. The stick of the baton was now in two bits. In +the longer section they could see a copper tube running the length of +the club. + +The faces of all three men wore expressions of rapt attention. They +held their breath, so that the silence of the room was intensified. +Despite himself, even Barnett was obviously impressed with the +solemnity of the moment. He turned over the copper tubing, tapping it +several times hard on the table. Out fell a roll of paper! + +“That’s it—the photograph!” murmured Béchoux. + +“You recognize it, do you? It fits the official description all right. +About six inches long, detached from its mount and rather crumpled. +Will you kindly unroll it yourself, General Desroques?” + +With trembling eagerness the general picked up the paper. His usually +steady hand shook as he began unrolling the fateful scroll. There were +four sheets of notepaper and a telegram pinned to the photograph. For a +moment, the general stared in silence at the latter, then he showed it +to the other two. In a voice vibrant with emotion he began speaking on +a note of joy, which quickly gave place to one of grief. + +“You see, it is the portrait of a woman. A young woman with a child on +her lap. The face is that of Madame Veraldy—it tallies with the +pictures in the press, except that here she is younger. This photograph +must have been taken nine or ten years ago by the look of it. Yes; +here’s the date, in the bottom, left-hand corner. I was right. This +picture is eleven years old. And it is signed ‘Christiane’—Madame +Veraldy’s name!” + +The general paused, then added thoughtfully: + +“This establishes the fact that Jean must have known this woman in the +past, possibly before her marriage to Veraldy.” + +“Read the letters, monsieur,” suggested Barnett, handing over the first +sheet, closely covered with fine, feminine handwriting. + +General Desroques began reading. He had hardly read the first few +lines, when he gave a kind of groan, as of a man who stumbles suddenly +on a terrible and painful secret. Hurriedly he scanned the first +letter, then, with increasing anxiety, turned to the others which, with +the telegram, Barnett passed to him one by one. + +“Can you tell us what you have found out, general?” + +The general did not answer at once. His eyes were filled with tears +when at last he muttered huskily: + +“It is I who am to blame! I alone who am guilty.... About twelve years +ago Jean fell in love with a little shop-girl. They had a baby, a boy. +Jean wanted to marry his amie, but my heart was hardened by pride and +snobbishness. I forbade the marriage and refused to see the girl. Jean +was meaning to disobey me—for the first time—and marry her out of hand. +But she would not let him. She sacrificed her own happiness so that my +son should not quarrel with me. Here is her letter—the first one. She +says: ‘It’s good-bye Jean. Your father won’t let us get married. You +must give in to him. If you don’t it might mean bad luck for our +darling baby. I send you a picture of us both. Keep it always, and +don’t forget about us too soon....’” + +The general paused, overcome with emotion. He continued, more calmly: + +“But it was she who forgot. Some time later she got engaged to Veraldy, +then at the beginning of his career. Jean learned of their marriage, +and had his little son brought up by a retired schoolmaster near +Chartres. There the mother would sometimes visit him secretly.” + +Béchoux and Barnett were listening intently so as not to lose a word. +It was not easy to follow the general’s speech, as he dropped his voice +until it was little more than a whisper. The hand that had held the +letters trembled uncontrollably. + +“The last letter,” he continued, “is dated five months ago. It is very +short. Christiane tells of her remorse and unhappiness. She is +passionately fond of her child, and it is agony to her not to have him +with her. Then comes the telegram, sent to Jean by the old +schoolmaster: ‘Child dangerously ill, come at once.’ At the bottom of +the telegraph form are just these few words, scrawled by my son after +the tragedy: ‘Our child is dead. Christiane has killed herself.’” + +Again the general paused. No further explanations were needed. It was +easy to guess what had happened. On receipt of the telegram, Jean had +immediately sought out Christiane and taken her to the bedside of the +dying child. On the way back to Paris, Christiane overcome with grief, +had committed suicide. + +“What shall we do about it?” Barnett wanted to know. + +“We must reveal the truth,” was the general’s reply. “Jean’s reasons +for keeping silence are obvious. He was shielding the dead woman, but +he also wanted to shield me, since I was really responsible for the +terrible tragedy. Also, though he felt certain neither the schoolmaster +at Chartres, nor Constable Rimbourg, who owed him a debt of gratitude, +would betray him, he definitely did not want this conclusive piece of +evidence to be destroyed. He wanted Fate to bring the truth to light. +Now that you, Monsieur Barnett, have succeeded in effecting this +revelation....” + +“If I succeeded, general,” said Barnett quickly, “it was solely due to +the help of my friend, Béchoux. We mustn’t lose sight of that. If +Béchoux had not led us to Constable Rimbourg and his baton, I should +have failed. It is Béchoux who deserves your thanks, general.” + +“My thanks are due to both of you,” said the old soldier. “You have +saved my son, and I shall not hesitate to do my duty.” + +Béchoux approved the general’s decision. He was so deeply moved by what +had just happened that he was even prepared to waive making any attempt +to take possession of the documents the police were so urgently +wanting. He was ready to take this course, although it meant +sacrificing his personal prestige. His humanity triumphed over his +professional conscience—not for the first time. + +But as the general made to withdraw to his own room Béchoux stepped up +to Barnett and tapped him on the shoulder with the curt words: “I +arrest you, Jim Barnett!” + +He spoke in the accents of sincerity. He was quite obviously going +through what was a futile formality which he felt himself obliged to +perform. He had instructions to arrest Barnett, and would do so, no +matter what the circumstances. + +Barnett held out his hand to the inspector. + +“You win, Béchoux,” he said, “you’ve arrested me, and carried out +orders. Old Kaspar’s work is done. And now, if you’ve no objection, I +will make my escape. In that way our friendship will be saved and honor +satisfied! You know I should do it anyway.” + +Béchoux shook the outstretched hand of his strange friend with +heartfelt warmth. Between these two alternately allies and enemies, a +truce was called—perhaps even a permanent amnesty. Both men recalled +with genuine emotion their former encounters, the adventures they had +experienced in company. + +Béchoux expressed his feelings with that characteristic blunt +simplicity that made him so popular with his colleagues and the world +at large. + +“You’re the greatest of all of them, Barnett. You stand absolutely +alone. Your feat to-day is nothing short of miraculous. No one but you +could have solved the puzzle!” + +“I don’t know,” said Barnett reflectively. “After all, I had that +inkling of Rimbourg’s past to help me. Do you know the man had actually +worked for an illusionist and conjurer at one time. And his little idea +in joining the police force was probably mainly the advantage of being +in close proximity to the pickings on every possible occasion. Although +he demonstrated unwavering loyalty to his benefactor, Jean Desroques, +we must not lose sight of Rimbourg’s real character. He was a +policeman, much as you suspect me of being a detective——” + +Béchoux cut him short. + +“None of that now,” he cried. “Oh, but you’re a wonder. Who on earth +but you would ever have discovered such an improbable hiding-place as +the inside of a police baton?” + +Barnett cocked his head on one side and simpered unbecomingly in +imitation of a blushing schoolgirl. + +“Any one’s wits are sharper when there is a prize at stake.” + +“A prize? How do you mean? Surely you’re not thinking of any reward +General Desroques may offer you? You must know he’s not at all well +off.” + +“And if he did offer me anything, I should have to refuse it. You +mustn’t forget the proud motto of the Barnett Agency. No fees of any +kind—services gratis—we work for glory!” + +“Well, then....” Inspector Béchoux looked distinctly puzzled; worried, +too. Barnett smiled guilelessly. + +“The fact is, as I was glancing quickly through the fourth letter +before passing it to the general, I saw that it stated Christiane +Veraldy had from the outset told her husband of her past! Consequently, +the banker was fully cognizant of his wife’s former love affair, and +knew that she had a child! Yet he deliberately neglected to inform the +police of these facts. This he did out of jealousy and in the hope that +his silence might bring Jean Desroques to the scaffold. He knew that +Desroques would never reveal the dead woman’s secret. + +“You will agree that this was a pretty blackguardly thing to do. Now +don’t you think that, with all his money, Veraldy would be prepared to +come down handsomely in order to prevent that letter becoming public +property? Don’t you think that if some trustworthy, respectable +man—Sylvestre, for instance, General Desroques’ servant—were to go to +Veraldy and offer quite spontaneously to hand over that piece of paper, +the banker would be prepared to talk business? I am taking a chance on +being right in my supposition, as I was about the police baton, for +instance. In fact, just so as to be able to play my hunch I slipped the +letter into my pocket!” + +Béchoux groaned. It was all wrong, of course. And yet, it seemed only +fair that Barnett should reap some reward for the exercise of his +special deductive skill. The laborer is worthy of his hire. And if the +innocent were saved and wrongs were righted, what objection could there +really be to those “commissions” Barnett habitually extracted from the +pockets of the guilty parties in a case? + +“Au revoir, Barnett,” said the inspector, shaking hands again. And at +the back of his mind lurked the certainty that next time he had a +knotty problem to tackle he would be quite ready to compromise with his +scruples and call in Barnett’s invaluable aid. + +“Au revoir, Béchoux,” said Barnett. “I shall be ringing you up in a day +or so, I expect.” + +“What about?” + +“You’ll know all in good time,” and Jim Barnett was off and away. + + + + + + + + +XI + +AFTERWORD + + +“Hallo! I want to speak to Chief Inspector Béchoux!” + +It was Barnett’s voice on the line. + +“Inspector Béchoux speaking,” replied Béchoux coldly. “Is that some one +trying to be funny?” + +“Oh, Béchoux, don’t tell me you haven’t recognized my voice. After all +this while! And I thought you loved me!” + +“Oh, it’s you, Barnett? Well, if you’re just fooling, you may as well +ring off. I’m busy.” + +“But I’ve good news for you, old chap!” Barnett’s tone grew distinctly +plaintive. + +Inspector Béchoux thawed a trifle. + +“What is it, then?” he asked. + +“Although you failed to get Arsène Lupin as you swore you would, or to +get that photograph as per instructions, yet Fate smiles on you. Isn’t +it lovely? I’ve put in such a good word for you with the people higher +up, and shown them so clearly what remarkable services you rendered to +the cause of justice in that Desroques case, that they are going to +appoint you a Chief Inspector. Oh, don’t thank me! Merely a trifling +mark of my esteem. From Barnett to Béchoux, as it were, in memory of +many happy days. And now at last my conscience is at rest, for you, +too, have reaped the fruit of our alliance in those adventures where I +was privileged to intervene!” + +And Béchoux felt oddly pleased that his promotion, albeit well +deserved, should have come through Barnett. He reflected that it took a +man like Barnett to make a vast organization like the police force +recognize the merits of one of the minor cogs in the machine. +Nevertheless he had no doubts at all of the altogether special merits +of one Inspector Béchoux and his eminent suitability for promotion! + +Therefore it was in a spirit of unfeigned and unclouded gratitude, but +not altogether of surprise, that he answered now: + +“Thank you, thank you, Barnett. The appointment will mean twice as much +to me, coming as it does through you!” + +Inspector Béchoux had set out to arrest Arsène Lupin—and had ended by +becoming himself a prisoner of Jim Barnett’s brains! + + + + + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75896 *** |