After a while, the noises of the house ceased one by one. As midnight struck, all was dark and silent. Only the faint sound of the wind among the trees in the park came to her ears. She wondered whether it was necessary for her to pretend to walk in her sleep this night—in order that the doctor might feel that her case was a real one. She rose softly, undecided, and going to the window, looked out.
The room in which she then was, occupied a position at the rear of the building, and in one of its two wings. From the center of the main building she observed a covered passageway, or bridge, extending out for perhaps a hundred feet and terminating in a sort of square tower. In one of the rooms in the tower, on a level with herself, she saw lights, and the figure of a man moving about.
The place attracted her attention. She wondered what its use could be. Then an inspiration struck her. The covered bridge ran from the main hall not thirty feet from her own door. She determined to cross it, pretending to be walking in her sleep, and find out what she could regarding the brick tower. When the time came, she knew that all the information she could possess about the house and its occupants would be necessary to the success of her plans.
She threw about her a dressing-gown, and quietly opened her door. The maid was nowhere to be seen, but doubtless she would shortly return. The chair upon which she had been sitting, at the point where the side and main halls met, stood directly beneath the electric light. No doubt, Grace thought, she had been called away for a few moments by one of the other patients on the floor.
Now was her chance. She stepped noiselessly down the cross hall, her eyes wide open and hands clenched at her sides. At the junction of the two halls she turned to the right, toward a door which, she judged, gave entrance to the covered way. She found this unlocked, opened it, entered the passageway and closed the door behind her. Then she began to walk slowly along the bridge.
It was a narrow structure, not exceeding five feet in width, with top and sides of corrugated metal, and a floor of wooden planks. At the far end of it she perceived a glass door, behind which shone a brilliant light.
She approached the door cautiously, keeping up all the while the pretense of walking in her sleep. This was not easy—she did not know just how persons who were somnambulists acted, but she had read descriptions of such cases, and had once seen a play in which one of the characters was a sleep walker. She tried to give her eyes a vacant, unseeing expression, and fearlessly approached the door.
It stood slightly ajar, and through the glass panels she saw at once that the room was Dr. Hartmann's laboratory. She arrived at this conclusion from the various medical appliances which stood about the room, the uses of which she did not know. Her inspection of the room, however, was but momentary, for two figures, brightly illuminated by an overhanging cluster of electric lights, at once attracted her attention. One of these was Dr. Hartmann. He sat at a large, flat-topped desk, his profile toward the door, examining with great care a mass of papers which lay on the desk before him. His forehead was wrinkled with thought, and an expression of anger dominated his face.
At the other side of the desk sat a tall spare man, with a military-looking carriage, and a fierce blond mustache, which he was gnawing uneasily. The two figures sat silent for several moments, no word passing between them, while Grace watched intently. Presently she heard the doctor speak. "It took you two years, it seems, to find out that Monsieur de Grissac uses snuff."
The other nodded. "One year and ten months, to be exact."
"And now," the doctor went on, angrily, "you trust everything to a stranger."
"It is better so, is it not? The affair is dangerous. Neither you, nor I, can afford to be mixed up in it."
Doctor Hartmann brought his fist down upon the desk with a bang. "Gott in Himmel!" he roared. "We must take some risks, my friend. I tell you I must have De Grissac's snuff box without further delay. If that does not solve the problem, we are at the end of our rope."
"It will solve it," the other man replied imperturbably. "I have positive assurances to that effect. Furthermore, I have every reason to believe that we shall hear from London before the end of the week."
"Have you received any word?" the doctor inquired eagerly.
"Yes. The attempt was to be made either to-day or to-morrow. Our man will report to you at once. He knows nothing of the matter, of course. He will deliver the box to you, and receive the money."
"Who is the fellow?"
"I do not know his name. I have not seen him, myself. Gratz arranged everything in London. I considered it very important that nothing should occur which would connect us with the matter in any way. Monsieur de Grissac will discover his loss very quickly and will use every effort to prevent the box from falling into our hands. Gratz and the others would invite suspicion at once. The fellow they have chosen to handle the matter is unknown to the French police. He will attract no attention. The plan appears to be perfect."
The doctor nodded slowly, chewing on his cigar. "I hope you are right, Mayer," he said, and looked at his watch.
As he finished speaking, Grace heard someone approaching her from behind, but she paid no attention. In a moment the attendant touched her lightly on the arm. She turned, gazing at the woman with staring, unseeing eyes. The latter looked at her keenly, then began to lead her along the bridge toward the main building.
When they reached her bedroom, the nurse turned on the lights suddenly, glancing at Grace's face as she did so. The girl did not dare even to blink her eyes. "Sit down," the woman commanded, sharply. Grace sank upon the edge of the bed. "Take off your shoes," the nurse went on, in a stern voice. The girl had slipped on a pair of bedroom slippers—she proceeded to remove them mechanically, fumbling with them as though trying to unfasten the laces of a pair of shoes. "Now your dress," the nurse ordered. Grace began awkwardly to remove the dressing-gown she had thrown about her. When the woman told her sharply to get into bed, she did so without a word, apparently quite unconscious of what she was doing. It was a splendid piece of acting, and she did it so well that if the nurse had any doubts as to the reality of her somnambulistic condition they were at once dispelled. As soon as the girl placed her head upon the pillows, she pretended to be sound asleep, her eyes closed, her breathing regular and slow. After a time, the attendant put out the light and left the room.
The girl lay still for hours, wondering what there was in the strange conversation she had overheard that could help Richard in his efforts to recover the stolen snuff box. That it had been stolen she knew; that it had not yet been delivered to Dr. Hartmann she also knew. Perhaps Richard might have succeeded in recovering it before now; if not, the messenger bringing it to the doctor's office would undoubtedly arrive the next day. She determined to rise early, in order that she might, if possible, send word of what she had heard to Brussels by means of the young man who drove the delivery wagon.
When Richard Duvall left Dufrenne, the curio dealer, in Piccadilly Circus, and started after the man who had purchased the box of powder in the barber shop, he realized to the full the hopelessness of his task. The man had left the shop at least two minutes before Dufrenne came out—perhaps more, and another minute had been consumed by the latter in telling his story. Three minutes' start, in a crowded street at night, was a handicap which the detective could scarcely hope to overcome.
He hurried along in the general direction the fellow had taken, trying to form in his mind a clear picture of his appearance. In the dim light before the shop he had not been able to observe him closely, nor had there, indeed, appeared any very good reason for doing so; he had thought the man but a belated customer of the place and had barely glanced at him.
His experience in summing up at a glance the general characteristics of those he met, however, stood him in good stead—he remembered that the man had worn a long brown overcoat, a derby hat, and carried in his hand a small satchel. The latter, which Dufrenne had failed to mention, indicated a traveler—the man's words to Seltz, on purchasing the box of powder, seemed to confirm it. The man had walked, apparently, instead of taking a cab. Charing Cross station was but a short distance away. What more natural, Duvall reasoned, than that the man he was following, was on his way to take a train?
Following this line of reasoning, the detective walked hastily in the direction of Charing Cross, dodging in and out among the passers-by, and eying keenly everyone he met, in the hope that he might discover the man with the satchel. He was, however, doomed to disappointment. After spending over fifteen minutes in Charing Cross station, watching the crowds at the booking offices, the telegraph and telephone booths and the restaurant, he concluded that he had been mistaken in his course of reasoning and reluctantly turned his steps once more toward the shop of M. Perrier. There was, of course, still the chance that his deductions had been wrong. Seltz might still have the snuff box in his possession, and the man with the satchel be merely a harmless individual who used rice powder after shaving. He almost reproached himself for having wasted so much time, and hurried along through Piccadilly Circus, in a state of considerable perplexity.
As he came up to the shop, he saw Dufrenne standing before the window, his eyes glued to the pane. Something in his astonished expression attracted the detective's attention at once. He tapped the curio dealer lightly on the shoulder.
Dufrenne turned suddenly, much startled, then recognizing Duvall, drew him to one side. "I have watched the door every minute since you left," he said in a trembling voice. "Seltz did not come out—yet he is not inside. No one is there but Monsieur Perrier."
Duvall started back with a muttered exclamation. "You—you must be mistaken," he cried.
"Look!" The Frenchman pointed to the window. Duvall glanced within. The proprietor of the place was its only occupant.
The detective turned to his companion and nodded. "Come inside," he said, shortly, and striding up to the door, threw it open and entered the place.
Monsieur Perrier, startled half out of his wits by the suddenness with which Duvall entered the room, dropped the comb with which he had been arranging his hair and turned with an alarmed face. "The shop—it is closed for the night," he said. "My men have all gone home."
"Has Seltz gone?" asked Duvall, sharply.
"Seltz? Surely. He left immediately after shaving this gentleman." Perrier indicated Dufrenne with a fat and trembling forefinger. "Is anything wrong, gentlemen? Was the shave not satisfactory?"
Duvall looked at the curio dealer with a smile of chagrin. "It's perfectly clear, Dufrenne," he said, somewhat crestfallen. "Our man went out as we were walking up the street—while you were telling me what happened in the shop."
The little old man nodded. Monsieur Perrier continued to gaze at his visitors. "What is it you wish, gentlemen?" he presently inquired.
"Where does Seltz live?" Duvall demanded, sharply.
"Alas—I do not know. He has worked for me but three months. I knew nothing of him—nothing at all. He—he asked for leave of absence yesterday—he was to be gone a week, but to-night he told me that he would not go."
Duvall's eyes lit up. He turned to Dufrenne. "After what happened—to-night," he said, significantly, "he feared to leave—thinking that his going away would be an admission of his guilt."
Again Dufrenne nodded. Monsieur Perrier looked at them with bulging eyes. "Guilt!" he exclaimed. "Has this fellow Seltz been doing anything he should not?"
"Possibly," Duvall ejaculated, dryly. "Do you happen to know where he was going?"
"He—he said something about visiting his parents. Oh—gentlemen—I beg of you, do not cause any scandal—it would ruin my trade. I shall discharge the fellow at once."
"You will do nothing of the sort," exclaimed Duvall, angrily. "If he reports for duty to-morrow, say nothing to him of our visit, or it will be worse for you." He leaned toward the terrified barber. "I am a detective," he said, shortly. "Be careful what you do."
Monsieur Perrier sank upon his knees, his hands lifted in supplication. "Mon Dieu—what shall I do—my business—it will be desolated—what shall I do?"
"Get up, and hold your tongue first of all. After that, tell me, if you can, where it was that Seltz intended to go, to visit his parents?"
"He spoke of Brussels—he intended to take the night boat from Harwich to Antwerp. I heard him discussing his plans with one of the other men."
"Brussels!" Duvall hurriedly glanced at his watch. "There's just time, if we hurry—come." He turned to Dufrenne, excitement showing in every line of his face. As he hurried toward the door he spoke over his shoulder to Monsieur Perrier. "Don't open your mouth to a soul—do you hear? If you do, you'll get yourself into a peck of trouble." The last thing they heard as they left the shop was the barber's howls of assent.
At the corner Duvall signaled a passing cab. "Liverpool Street station, in a hurry," he cried. "Half a crown extra, if you make the boat train for Harwich."
Dufrenne gazed at his companion in bewilderment. "I do not understand, Monsieur Duvall," he began, but the detective cut him short. "The thing is as plain as a pipe stem," he said. "Seltz expected to get the snuff box from the Ambassador's man this afternoon, and had made his arrangements to leave with it for Brussels at once. The events of the evening—culminating in Noël's murder, made him fear to do so. He realized that the note, delivered to him by one of the Ambassador's servants, might attract suspicion toward him, and therefore wisely made up his mind to remain quietly where he was, sending the box by some friend. He dared not hand the box to him at any place outside the shop, for fear he might be watched. No doubt he arranged with his friend to come to the place just before closing, and to pretend to buy the face powder, as you saw him do. Seltz had only to turn the powder out of the package, put the snuff box inside, and the thing was done. This he no doubt did at some opportune moment during the evening, when he was certain he was not observed. It is a mighty clever scheme—I'll admit. You saw nothing suspicious about the transaction, and I confess that I did not realize its significance at the time. Naturally the man to whom he gave the box will make for Brussels at once, since it was to that point that Seltz intended going. No doubt he was operating in the interests of someone else—some third person to whom the box is of great value, and who has agreed to pay a large sum for it on delivery. You saw the fellow who bought the powder hand Seltz money—how much you could not tell. It may be that Seltz was obliged to divide the reward with his friend, and that the latter has already turned over to Seltz his share in advance. Of that we cannot be certain, nor is it material. Seltz is undoubtedly guilty of the murder of the man Noël, but to stay here and arrest him now would only defeat the object we have in view. After the box has been recovered, we can return and deal with Seltz. You may be quite sure he will not dare to run away, for fear that by so doing he would admit his guilt."
Dufrenne looked at the detective in admiration. "You reason well, monsieur," he remarked. "But why should they be taking the box to Brussels?"
"That I cannot tell you, of course, except that, as I said before, the plot to steal it inevitably originated there. We shall learn more to-morrow, after we have arrived in the city. The next thing to be done is to find our man."
They arrived at Liverpool Street station just in time to swing aboard the train for Harwich as it was pulling out. There were not many passengers—they found themselves in a smoking-compartment quite to themselves.
"There is no use in attempting to do anything until we reach Harwich," the detective remarked, pulling his hat over his eyes. He leaned back and began to speculate disgustedly upon the events of the day. Married at noon—torn from his wife within an hour—in London at night—a murder—and now a wild chase to Brussels after a snuff box. It seemed almost ludicrous. He smiled grimly. He had not expected to spend in quite this way the first twelve hours of his honeymoon.
On the morning of her first day at Dr. Hartmann's sanatorium, Grace Duvall rose early, and dressed herself for a walk. She was determined, if possible, to communicate the results of her adventure the night before to the French police in Brussels, and realizing that to do so by the only means in her power, namely, the young man who drove the delivery wagon, might involve considerable risk of discovery, she dressed herself as simply as possible, in a dark-gray suit and white shirtwaist.
She had her breakfast in her room, and then told the nurse that she intended to take a walk in the grounds. During breakfast she complained of the bread which was served her—and informed the maid that in her country people ate hot bread at breakfast. The woman seemed surprised. "Hot bread!" she exclaimed. "Mon Dieu!Who ever heard of such a thing."
"If you bake your bread here in the house," Grace went on, "you could easily serve hot bread or rolls to me."
"Impossible, mademoiselle. All our bread comes from a bakery in the city. A young man brings it each morning at ten o'clock."
Grace laughed inwardly. This was just the information for which she was seeking. It was then a little after nine. She felt tired and worn from her almost sleepless night, and her appearance showed it. When she told the nurse that she intended to take a stroll, and get some air, the latter nodded. "Dr. Hartmann has recommended it," she said. "He is a great believer in the value of fresh air." The woman made no reference to the events of the night before, nor did Grace. She knew that sleep walkers were not supposed to remember anything that occurred during their attacks of somnambulism.
On the way out she met Dr. Hartmann, returning from his after-breakfast constitutional. He was just entering his office. "Good morning, Miss Ellicott," he said, pleasantly. "May I ask you to step inside a moment? There are a few questions I should like to ask you."
She obeyed, much against her will. It was nearly half-past nine, she knew, and she must not miss the delivery man, if she was to send her message to Brussels. She heard the doctor saying that he would detain her but a few moments.
His first question sent the color to her cheeks, and she hesitated before answering it, realizing that it was a trap. "Do you feel any the worse, miss, from the experiences of last night?" he inquired.
For a moment she was about to say "no," but caught herself in time. "What experiences?" she asked, innocently enough. "Did I have an attack?"
She fancied that the doctor appeared relieved. He smiled as he replied. "You wandered about a little. The nurse must have been negligent. I have reprimanded her. You might readily have a serious accident, if left to yourself."
Grace looked at him with a smile which scarcely concealed her agitation. "I hope I caused no trouble," she said. "It is a frightful affliction. I trust you will be able to do something for me."
"Don't worry, my dear young lady. We shall cure you beyond a doubt. I think, however, that it will be necessary to employ hypnosis. All cases such as yours respond most readily to hypnotic suggestion. However, I shall observe your case for a while longer, before making a decision. You are going out for a walk, I see."
"Yes. I love the air." She rose with a secret fear of the man in her heart. If he should hypnotize her, what was there to prevent his learning everything. She determined to avoid this method of treatment at all costs, yet could not see how to do so without arousing his suspicions. "Good-morning," she said, hastily, as she left the room.
The walk to the entrance gate in the fresh autumn air served to revive her spirits wonderfully. Her original intention had been to stroll down the avenue which fronted the house, in the hope of meeting the delivery wagon on the way. In a moment the futility of this plan became apparent. She did not know from which direction the wagon would appear, nor would she be able to recognize it, even should she be lucky enough to meet it. She paused at the gate, uncertain, then began to walk along a path which led among the trees and shrubbery, with one eye all the while upon the gateway at the entrance. Once or twice vehicles passing along the road outside startled her into sudden action; she went toward the gate only to find that they had passed on. The tenseness of the situation began to get on her nerves; in her fear she was certain that she was being watched from the house, or by the gardener in the distance who was engaged in taking the leaves from the graveled walks. She had almost given up in despair when she heard the rumble of an approaching cart, and saw a smart little wagon driven by a young man in a blue jacket with large brass buttons, enter the gate.
She went quickly toward the roadway, pretending an interest in the horse. The young man saw her approaching, and looked at her shrewdly. She gave a slight nod, and continued to approach him. All of a sudden he threw down the reins, gave an exclamation, and jumping from the wagon, began to inspect the horse's feet with great deliberateness and care.
Grace went up to the horse, and began patting its nose. "Poor fellow," she said, consolingly, in English, looking all the while at the young man's face.
"Are you Miss Ellicott?" he said suddenly in rather halting English, without turning his head.
"Yes." Her reply was quick, eager. "Dr. Hartmann is expecting a messenger from London with the stolen snuff box to-day or to-morrow. I heard them talking about it, last night. The messenger is a stranger to him. He does not suspect that I am watching him."
The boy nodded gravely. "You are instructed to remain near the front of the house, or in the reception-room inside, as much as possible, during the day. The man from London is expected this morning. He may be here at any moment. Keep your eyes open." He began to whistle merrily, pretended to remove a stone from one of the horse's shoes, sprang back into the wagon and drove off to the house, without paying any further attention to her.
Grace walked slowly up the driveway, and finding a bench near a bed of geraniums, sat down and pretended to read a book which she had brought with her. After a time, the delivery wagon returned, but the boy did not even glance at her as he passed out. She noticed, however, that he was driving rapidly and appeared to be in a great hurry.
She sat on the bench for over an hour, wondering what would be the next development in this mysterious affair. She could not shake off the idea that she would soon see Richard, in spite of the fact that she had no definite reasons upon which to base her hopes. One thing, however, seemed certain. If the man with the stolen snuff box had arrived in Brussels, it clearly meant that Richard had failed to capture him in London, and it seemed not unreasonable to suppose that he would be following him.
She thought about the matter so much that it interfered with her attempts to read the book. After a while she closed it, and sat watching the distant gardener as he ceaselessly raked the gravel paths. Everything seemed so quiet, so full of peace—everything, in fact, but her own thoughts. Somehow it seemed impossible to believe that underneath all the beauty of this clear autumn day lay plotting, and tragedy, and even death.
It was close to noon, when she ceased her musings, and rising, went toward the house. Sitting so long in the open air had made her a bit chilly. She determined to seek the grateful warmth of the reception-room. As she mounted the steps of the house she heard sounds of a cab being driven rapidly along the main street, and a sudden intuition warned her that something of an unusual nature was about to happen. She glanced back, as the servant opened the door in response to her ring, and was not surprised to see that the vehicle had entered the grounds, and was rapidly approaching the house.
Her hasty glance showed her that it contained but a single occupant, a man, and in spite of the distance, she fancied that she detected something familiar about the poise of his head and shoulders. The thought was but momentary—she stepped at once into the reception-room at the right, sat down by the fire, and opening her book, pretended to be deeply absorbed in its contents. In reality she was observing narrowly the maid in the hallway, who stood at the open door, waiting to admit the man who was driving up in the cab.
When Richard Duvall and Dufrenne arrived at Harwich, on their way from London, the former requested his companion to turn up his coat collar, pull his soft hat over his eyes, and put on his spectacles. He feared that the man they were trying to locate might recognize the curio dealer as the person who had occupied the chair next to him in Monsieur Perrier's barber shop earlier in the evening. He also requested the Frenchman to make his way to the boat alone, keeping a sharp lookout for the man in the brown overcoat.
Duvall himself joined the straggling crowd of sleepy passengers as they went aboard the steamer for Antwerp, his eyes searching every passenger about him for some sight of the one he sought. Once he thought he recognized the man, a long way off, going up the steamer's gang plank, but he could not be sure, in the flickering light, that he was right.
He went aboard the boat, in some doubt as to whether, after all, his course of reasoning might not be incorrect. Here he was bound for the Continent, on the heels of a man whom he had no real proof was not at this moment sleeping peacefully in his bed in London.
The situation was a trying one. He lit a cigar and began to pace the deck nervously, inspecting the few passengers who had elected to remain outside, before directing his steps to the saloon below.
After some five minutes spent in a useless search, he observed a familiar figure approaching him from the direction of the companionway, and at once saw that it was Dufrenne. The latter passed him without any sign of recognition, but just as their elbows were almost touching, said in a low voice, "He is below, in the saloon, monsieur. Has not taken a stateroom."
Duvall continued his walk about the decks for a few moments longer, then threw away his cigar, and descended to the saloon. A number of passengers were dozing on the sofas, or in chairs, and at a table several were playing cards. He paused for a moment to watch the game, his eyes searching the room for the man in the brown overcoat. After a time he located him, sprawled in an easy chair, his eyes closed, his satchel tossed carelessly upon the floor beside him.
The detective began to stroll about the place, as though in deep thought. His eyes were fixed, however, upon the face of the man in the chair. It was a determined face, as the thin lips and close-set eyes showed, but Duvall noted with satisfaction signs of weakness about the half-open mouth. The man was undoubtedly sleeping soundly.
Duvall was at a loss to know just what to do. He was convinced that the ivory snuff box, upon the recovery of which Monsieur Lefevre had assured him the honor of France itself depended, was within ten feet of him, yet he could do nothing, apparently, at the moment, to regain it. To arrest the man, except on French soil, was out of the question. Even could he do so, the package which the latter had so carelessly slipped into his overcoat pocket in Monsieur Perrier's shop might contain, after all, but a harmless box of rice powder, and he would be hard put to explain satisfactorily his action. On the other hand, the presence of the snuff box on the man's person, supposing this to be beyond question, was not in itself sufficient to warrant placing him under arrest. He might claim it as his own property. There was nothing to show that it had been stolen. Clearly the only thing to do was to attempt to get the box from him by stealth.
After a long time spent in debating the matter pro and con., Duvall threw himself into a chair close to the one which the man he was watching occupied, and pretended to sleep. Of Dufrenne he saw nothing. After perhaps an hour, the card game ceased, the players retired to their staterooms, or to near-by sofas, and a steward began to lower the lights. Presently not a sound was to be heard throughout the saloon, except the chorus of snores from the sleeping passengers, and the creaking of the vessel as she plunged into the heavy Channel swell.
The detective slowly advanced his foot, and with infinite patience, began to draw toward him the small leather satchel which lay beside the man's chair. He did this so slowly and imperceptibly that the operation occupied the best part of a quarter of an hour. At last the bag was safely pushed beneath the folds of his overcoat, which he had removed on sitting down, and now lay thrown carelessly over his knees.
He bent over, noiselessly, his hand beneath the folds of the coat, and began to fumble with the catch of the satchel. In a few moments he managed to open it, and with nervous fingers examined the contents of the bag. Guided by the sense of touch only, he was able to identify successively a razor case, a shaving brush, a cotton nightshirt and a number of other articles of an ordinary and usual nature. He had almost given up the search, when his fingers closed about a small round object, done up in paper. His heart gave a leap of joy. He could feel the coarse string with which the package was bound and could tell from its lightness that it contained probably what he sought. In a moment he had drawn it noiselessly from the satchel and transferred it to the pocket of his coat.
The process of closing the bag and returning it to its former position was accomplished without waking the sleeping occupant of the near-by chair. Duvall was conscious of a feeling of exultation. He yawned, stretched himself, glanced with great deliberation at his watch, then rose and quietly left the room.
The decks seemed deserted. After some trouble he managed, however, to locate Dufrenne, standing beside the rail in the shadow of one of the lifeboats. He went up to him and saw that his teeth were chattering with the cold. Duvall could not repress a feeling of admiration for the little old Frenchman, who, rather than risk for a moment his identification by the man they were following, had elected to spend the night wandering about the decks. His patriotism was proof against even the cold.
Duvall touched him gently on the arm. "I have secured it," he remarked, quietly.
Dufrenne turned. "The snuff box?" he whispered excitedly.
The detective nodded, and cautiously drew the circular package from his pocket. "It was in his satchel," he remarked, as he began to remove the string.
Dufrenne's lips moved. He seemed to be offering up a silent prayer of thanks. He was scarcely able to contain his impatience as the detective slowly unwrapped the parcel, disclosing a small blue pasteboard box, on the cover of which, in black, appeared the words, "Poudre Perrier." In a moment Duvall had removed the lid, and plunged his finger into the box. As he did so, he uttered an exclamation of utter astonishment and disgust. The box contained nothing but rice powder.
It would be difficult to describe the feelings of annoyance and chagrin which swept over Richard Duvall as he tossed the box of Monsieur Perrier's rice powder over the side of the vessel and watched it float for a moment on the crest of a wave before being swept into the darkness. He glanced for an instant at his companion, then turned away as he saw the latter's stare of astonishment and dismay. He wanted to be alone, to think out this matter for himself.
With a confusion of ideas racing through his brain he began to pace the deck, trying to discover wherein his reasoning had been at fault. He went back to the gruesome scene at the house of the Ambassador—the murdered valet, with the grim seal of silence upon his lips. Whoever had committed this murder had made away with the snuff box, of that he felt certain. Upon what, then, did his suspicions of Seltz rest? The evidence was slender—merely that the latter had had an appointment to meet the murdered man that afternoon, and that a person answering Seltz's description had inquired for the latter at the servants' entrance at Monsieur de Grissac's that evening. Not very convincing, surely, yet taken with Seltz's evident intention to leave London for Brussels that night, certainly significant. Following then his original hypothesis, that Seltz was the guilty man, and had the box in his possession, two solutions of the matter only seemed possible. The first was, the man in the saloon below, anticipating perhaps some attempt to search his baggage, had deliberately provided himself, through Seltz, with a second package, containing a box of rice powder only, which he had placed in his satchel, in the belief that, if found, its innocent contents would divert from him further suspicion. The careless way in which he had thrown his satchel on the floor beside him, favored this theory. It seemed, on sober thought, extremely unlikely that the bearer of so valuable a piece of property would be so thoughtless as to place it loosely in an unlocked handbag. Even now the real package might be reposing safely in some secure inner pocket.
The other solution was equally probable. The purchase of the face powder might have been quite innocent andbona fide. The man below might know nothing whatever about the snuff box, and Seltz might even now be on his way to Brussels to dispose of it, in accordance with his original intentions. If so, however, why had he informed Monsieur Perrier that he had changed his mind, and would not take the vacation he had requested? Was this merely a blind, to avert suspicion, in case the unexpected murder of the man Noël resulted in inquiries being made of Monsieur Perrier? Of course, when Seltz had spoken of his intention to go to Brussels, no thought of murder was in his mind—he had no vital object in hiding his movements—not having any reason to suppose that suspicion could possibly be attracted to him. After the sending of the note to him by Noël, he must have realized the danger of his position, and told Monsieur Perrier that his plans had changed, while in reality fully intending to carry them out as he had originally intended.
There was, of course, a possible third solution, namely, that Seltz had nothing to do with the murder at all, and was merely an innocent barber, quite unaware of all the mystery that was being woven about himself and his movements. In that event, as Duvall realized with the deepest chagrin, he would be obliged to return to London, and begin his investigations all over again. In this event, there could be but one starting point—the murder of the valet. Yet his painstaking examination of the scene of the murder had shown an utter absence of any clues. Even the weapon which had caused the valet's death was his own property—the finger print on the seal which closed his lips made with his own forefinger. And here the detective began to feel a deep sense of doubt as to the accuracy of his conclusions regarding Seltz's guilt. Would a man of his type have taken the trouble to place the gruesome seal upon the dead man's lips? This seemed, on second thoughts, the act of a hardened and unfeeling criminal—a man to whom murder was a scientific accomplishment, not a hasty and hideous crime. Was Seltz such a man? There was no answer to this question—the fleeting glimpses which Duvall had secured of his face, through the barber-shop window, had told him little or nothing of the man's character.
One fact, however, presently forced itself upon the detective's mind. If Seltz had left the shop for Brussels that night, according to his original intention, he must be somewhere on the boat. No night route from London to Belgium existed, except that by way of Harwich. He blamed himself that in his eagerness to discover the stranger with the satchel he had not thought to look for Seltz.
Upon the conclusion of his deliberations, Duvall crossed over to the other side of the boat, where he had left Dufrenne. The little old Frenchman stood gazing down at the sea, his face blue with cold, and filled with a look of bitter disappointment. He did not even glance up, as Duvall joined him.
"Come, Monsieur Dufrenne," the detective said, kindly. "Let us go below."
The old man accompanied him without a word. As they reached the companionway, however, he spoke. "We must return to London at once," he said. "This same boat will take us back to Harwich."
"Yes," Duvall agreed, "unless we discover that Seltz is aboard."
"Seltz?" The Frenchman looked up, puzzled, yet with an expression of renewed hope in his eyes.
"Yes. We have apparently followed the wrong man. In that case, why not search for the right one. If Seltz is on board, we will follow him to Brussels. If not, we will return to London. We can make sure, when the passengers are discharged at Antwerp."
Dufrenne nodded eagerly. "It may indeed be possible," he remarked, as they entered the saloon.
Most of the passengers were on deck when the steamer reached her wharf at Antwerp, but in spite of a careful search, Duvall was unable to locate Seltz amongst them. He stood by the gang plank, watching the crowd as it left the boat, his eyes searching restlessly for the swarthy countenance of the barber. He had almost given up hope, when he saw a belated passenger hurriedly cross the deck and dart up the gang plank. He moved rapidly, his throat muffled in a blue neckcloth, his slouch hat pulled down over his eyes, but the glance which Duvall obtained of his somewhat scared face told him at once that he had located his man.
He signaled quietly to Dufrenne, who had been standing discreetly in the background for fear the barber might recognize him, and the two left the boat together, some forty or more yards in Seltz's rear.
They did not make any attempt to follow him closely. There seemed no room for doubt that he was bound for the train to Brussels, and Duvall and his companion followed along at a leisurely pace, showing nothing of the agitation they so keenly felt.
They purposely avoided any attempt to enter the same compartment with the barber, being satisfied when they saw him climb aboard the train. They did, however, watch the departing passengers at all stops, and when they rolled into the station at Brussels, they were certain that their man was aboard. Nor were they mistaken. They saw him alight, look swiftly about as though fearing that he was being followed, and then start at a rapid pace toward the street.
Duvall went after him at once, directing Dufrenne to go to the Hotel Metropole and secure a room in his own name, where he was to wait until he heard from his companion. These instructions given, the detective began to follow Seltz up the street.
The man evidently knew the town well. He made no pauses, and did not hesitate at any time during his long walk. It terminated at a small, third-class hotel in the older part of the city, where he went in, entered the café, and selecting a table in a dim corner, ordered breakfast.
Duvall, feeling safe in leaving him, at once sought a telephone and proceeded to call up Dufrenne at the Hotel Metropole.
The latter, meanwhile, had turned from the railway station, and was proceeding up the street at a leisurely pace, when a young man approached him from behind, and touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Monsieur Dufrenne?" he inquired, smiling.
The curio dealer glanced at the man who had accosted him, and an answering smile lit up his face. "Oh, Lablanche, glad to see you," he said. "I did not know you were on this case."
"Monsieur Lefevre sent me from Paris last night. We are expecting news at any moment. Monsieur Duvall is with you, I observe."
"Yes. He is following the man from London. He will telephone me, as soon as he learns his destination."
The man whom Dufrenne had addressed as Lablanche, looked grave. "This affair has, we believe, been engineered by a physician here—Dr. Hartmann—you have heard of him, of course."
Dufrenne turned to his companion. "Hartmann—the man of the stolen war plans.Mon Dieu!Why did I not think of him before?" He seemed deeply chagrined. "Of course—of course—that explains everything."
"Where is Monsieur Duvall to communicate with you?" Dufrenne's companion asked. His voice held a note of brisk authority.
"At the Hotel Metropole. I shall take a room there at once."
"Good. I must leave you for a short time. Await news from me at the hotel. I shall, I hope, be able to inform you, within half an hour, whether our suspicions regarding Dr. Hartmann are correct or not. If they are, you will of course advise Monsieur Duvall accordingly. Above all things, the delivery of the snuff box to Hartmann must be prevented. On that point the Prefect was emphatic." The young man turned into a cross street as he concluded and was swallowed up in the crowd.
Dufrenne, after securing his room at the Hotel Metropole, sat down to wait. He did not have to wait long. The young man, Lablanche, joined him in a short time. "We have just learned," he said, gravely, "that our suspicions are entirely correct. Dr. Hartmann is responsible for the theft of the snuff box, and is momentarily expecting the man who is to deliver it to him."
Dufrenne looked grave. "Duvall should know this without delay," he said.
He had no more than spoken, when the telephone bell in his room rang. He hastened to reply and found Duvall at the other end of the wire. "Come to the Hotel Universelle," the latter said, laconically. "Hurry. I will wait for you."
Dufrenne communicated the message to Lablanche. The latter nodded. "Good!" he said. "Give Monsieur Duvall the information you have, and above all, impress upon him the necessity of acting immediately. There is no time for delay. I will follow at once, with another of our men."
The curio dealer found Duvall pacing anxiously up and down the hotel corridor, pretending to be searching a railway time-table. He nodded imperceptibly toward the café as Dufrenne entered, then turned and went out into the street. The old man followed him—in a few moments they were conversing rapidly in the doorway of a near-by shop.
Dufrenne had but a few words to say, but they were sufficient to show Duvall the extreme gravity of the situation. He stood for several moments, considering the best way by which the delivery of the stolen snuff box to Dr. Hartmann might be prevented. Then he signaled a cab which he saw approaching. "Seltz is breakfasting—inside," he said quickly to Dufrenne. "Don't let him out of your sight. I am going to see Dr. Hartmann." He sprang into the cab, gave the doctor's name to the cabman, and in a moment was being driven rapidly up the street, leaving the little old Frenchman standing blinking with astonishment on the sidewalk.
When Richard Duvall left the Hotel Universelle, en route to the office of Dr. Hartmann, he had no definite idea of just what he intended to do on reaching there. One thought was uppermost in his mind—he must prevent, in some way, and at any cost, the delivery of the snuff box to Hartmann, and since to follow Seltz to the latter's office would avail him nothing, he decided to precede him there.
During the drive, he began to formulate a plan, daring in its conception, extremely dangerous in its execution, yet one which, if carried out with courage and determination, promised success. He was perfecting in his mind the details of this plan when the carriage turned into the driveway at Dr. Hartmann's.
So occupied had he become with his thoughts that he failed to observe the figure of Grace, standing behind the maid in the open doorway; she disappeared into the reception-room before he had alighted from the cab. He went up to the servant, assumed an air of dignified assurance, and announced that he wished to see Dr. Hartmann at once.
The maid ushered him in, glanced into the parlor, observed Grace sitting there, apparently reading, and then throwing open the door to the left which gave admittance to the doctor's office, bade Duvall enter. The latter stepped in at once, without looking into the room across the hall. Had he done so, he would have observed his wife, whom he fully supposed to be quietly waiting for him in Paris, rise from her chair with a frightened face and start impulsively toward him.
For a moment Grace was on the point of calling out—she wanted to let Richard know that she was there. She wanted to see him—to talk to him, to realize the happiness of being once again in his presence. It had been, since their parting the day before, her constant thought. Then she suddenly realized that Monsieur Lefevre had warned her not to appear to recognize her husband, should she meet him in the course of her adventures. The thought checked her—she paused at the door of the reception-room and glanced down the hall.
The servant who had admitted Duvall had disappeared toward the rear of the house. Everything about her seemed quiet. She started across the hall, determined to enter the room into which Richard had just vanished, when she heard the sound of rapid footsteps approaching her. With a start she turned and again entered the parlor, assuming a careless manner she by no means felt.
She had scarcely seated herself in the chair by the fire, and opened her book, when she saw Dr. Hartmann appear in the hall and enter the door which led to the outer office.
Grace was undecided as to what she should do next. Her safest course, she ultimately concluded, was to do nothing. She remained quietly in her seat, pretending to read her book, but all the while watching, with anxious eyes, the door on the other side of the hall.
Richard Duvall, meanwhile, had entered the waiting room, his mind fully made up as to the course he was about to pursue. During the few moments which intervened, until the doctor's arrival, he looked keenly about the room, examining it in detail, fixing its entrances and exits firmly in his mind, so as to be prepared for any emergency which might arise.
The room was a large one. Along the side facing the entrance door, as well as that which fronted on the park, were big curtained windows, set in deep recesses, and between them, cases of books. At the far end of the room, toward the rear of the house, was another door. Duvall stole over to it, listened carefully, then slowly opened it and looked within. The room proved to be the doctor's private office, and he saw at once that it was built in a sort of ell, and could not be entered except through the room in which he stood. There was a door, it is true, in the right-hand wall, which had once given entrance to the hall, but against this a heavy instrument case, with glass doors, now stood.
Duvall withdrew his head and shoulders from the doorway, nodding to himself in a satisfied way, then noiselessly closed the door and returned to the center of the room.
In a moment Dr. Hartmann came in, glancing at him sharply. "Good-morning, sir," he remarked, in French. "You wish to see me?"
The detective took a card-case from his pocket and tendered the doctor a card. It was one of many which he carried for such emergencies, and bore the name of Stephen Brooks.
"Yes," he said, pleasantly. "I came to consult you concerning a curious case."
"Indeed!" The doctor looked at the card carelessly. "I see that you are an American." He began to speak in English. "Sit down, please."
"Thank you." Duvall took a chair.
"What is the nature of the case, may I ask?"
"Doctor—I've heard so much of your wonderful cures—of your remarkable success in treating mental disorders, that I have ventured to come to you in the hope that you may be able to help me."
The doctor smiled, not displeased at the other's flattery. "What is the cause of your trouble, Mr. Brooks?"
Duvall observed him thoughtfully for a moment. "If a person has delusions upon one particular subject, is he on that account necessarily insane?"
"Not at all. Manias of various sorts are not uncommon, and generally curable. Why do you ask?"
"Because I want you to treat such a case."
The doctor considered his patient narrowly. "Of course, you understand, Mr. Brooks, that my professional charges are very high."
Duvall took out his pocketbook and removing from it a note for a hundred francs, laid it carelessly on the table. "I have understood so, Doctor," he remarked. "Luckily I am a man of considerable wealth."
"In that event," Hartmann remarked, eying the bill in a gratified way, "I am at your service. What is the nature of your complaint?"
"It isn't about myself that I have come," Duvall hastened to inform him. "It concerns a man in my employ—my valet, to be exact."
"Your valet?" The doctor frowned, and made as though to rise. "My dear sir—"
"One moment, please, Doctor. The man is a most worthy fellow. He has been in my service for years. A Belgian, too, I think. I have a very high regard for him—an excellent servant, except for the peculiar delusions with which he has lately become possessed."
"I fear that I cannot undertake his treatment, Mr. Brooks. I receive only a few patients, and those of the highest standing."
"I know that. I did not propose to have the man quartered here in your house. I merely want you to examine him, in order that I may find out whether his case is curable or not. If it is, I shall take him to Paris and place him under treatment—if not, I must, of course, discharge him. It is for that reason that I have come to you."
"What are the man's symptoms?" asked the doctor, shortly.
"He imagines, from time to time, that he has been robbed."
"That is by no means uncommon. I have seen many such cases. Are these delusions confined to any one subject?"
"No. At times he fancies that money has been taken from him. At other times, jewelry that he has never possessed. Once he accused me of robbing him of a pair of shoes, and demanded that I pay him a large sum of money for them. I have generally succeeded in quieting him by assuring him that the stolen articles would be forthcoming later on."
"Excellent. And how long has this condition been in evidence?"
"About a month, now. During the past week, however, the attacks have been more frequent. Last night he informed me that someone had taken from him a diamond ring—of course he had never owned one—and wanted five thousand francs in return. I assured him that I would get him the money this morning."
"The case does not seem particularly difficult, Mr. Brooks, from what you tell me. Of course I could determine better after a personal examination."
"Exactly. And if you find no other conditions of an alarming nature, you think a cure possible?"
"Undoubtedly. When can I see the man?"
Duvall took out his watch. "I requested him to meet me here to-day at noon," he said. "I did not tell him he was coming for a medical examination. He might have refused to come. I let him think that you might be able to recover the diamond ring he thinks has been stolen from him. I thought it best to humor him. I should have brought him with me, but he had arranged to go this morning to see his people, who live in the town. He was to come directly here, after leaving them." He went over to the window and looked toward the road. "I am surprised that he is so late. Usually he is punctuality itself."
The doctor rose. "No doubt he will be here very soon," he remarked. "You can wait here, if you like. I will join you on his arrival. Meanwhile, as I have some matters to attend to in my office, I beg that you will excuse me." He opened the door at the rear of the room, which led to his private office. "When the man arrives, kindly let me know."
Duvall glanced toward the door through which Dr. Hartmann had just passed, then paused for several moments, listening; then he walked noiselessly across the room, and paused before the study door. Within all was quiet. Stooping down, he applied his eye to the keyhole. Dr. Hartmann sat at a large rosewood desk, busily writing.
With a smile of satisfaction the detective arose, and going to the door which led to the hall, drew from the lock the key which stood in it, and then, opening the door slightly, inserted the key in the lock on the other side of the door. As he did so, he peered out across the hall, and for a moment the key almost dropped from his fingers. There, facing him, sat Grace, his wife, whom he had supposed to be safely in Paris. The sight for a moment completely upset him—he paused, gazing at her with an expression of incredulity.
Grace rose, and came toward her husband, her face pale, her lips parted. "Richard," she whispered softly, then became suddenly silent as he pressed his finger to his lips.
As they stood there thus, facing each other in grave uncertainty, Duvall heard the sound of a vehicle being driven up the graveled road. He glanced toward the glass entrance door and saw a cab approaching the house, in which sat Seltz. He turned to Grace, and spoke in a voice so low as to be scarcely audible.
"Open the door at once—before the man can ring. Pretend to be a maid. Show him in here immediately. Quick." He withdrew into the waiting-room, leaving Grace staring at him in amazement. For a moment she hesitated. It seemed so cruel, to be this near to him, and yet to not even be able to touch his hand! Then she went quickly to the front door and threw it open as Seltz came up the steps.
Richard Duvall, alone in Dr. Hartmann's outer office, had not long to wait. He had hardly succeeded in throwing off the agitation which the unexpected sight of Grace had caused him, when the door from the hall was opened, and Grace admitted Seltz to the room.
The latter glanced at Duvall with a curious look, but said nothing. Grace withdrew, closing the door quietly after her. The detective went up to the newcomer and addressed him in a low tone.
"You are Oscar Seltz, from London?" he asked, bluntly.
The man appeared greatly taken back. "Yes," he said, haltingly. "I wish to see Dr. Hartmann."
"About the snuff box, of course?"
Again the man started. "Who are you?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.
"I am Dr. Hartmann's assistant. He has been waiting for you. You have the box with you, of course?"
The man felt carefully in his pocket, and presently drew out a small object done up in paper. "Yes, I have it. The price was to be twenty-five hundred francs."
"That is correct," remarked the detective. "Give it to me."
Seltz drew back his hand. "I want the money first, and I cannot deliver it to any one but Dr. Hartmann."
"Dr. Hartmann is in the next room," said Duvall, with a pleasant smile. "He has the money all ready for you. I will call him. But first, let me see if you have really secured what we want." He held out his hand. "Don't be afraid," he said. "I shall not leave the room. The box will not be out of your sight."
Seltz appeared to consider the matter for a brief moment, but the detective's manner reassured him. He extended the package toward Duvall. "It is there, all right," he laughed, softly. "And a hard time I had getting it."
Without making any comment, Duvall took the package, quickly tore off the coarse paper wrappings, and saw inside a small round ivory box, its top ornamented with a number of small pearls, arranged in a circular design about its circumference. He glanced swiftly at it, crushed the paper into his pocket, then started toward the door at the rear.
"Where are you going?" demanded Seltz, harshly, his hand going toward his pocket, as though for a weapon.
"To call the doctor, my man," Duvall replied. "Don't excite yourself. He will be here in a moment, with your money." Without a moment's hesitation he crossed to the study door and tapped lightly upon it. As he did so, his back was toward Seltz, hence the latter did not see the swift movement, by which he conveyed the snuff box to the pocket of his waistcoat. When, after a few moments' delay, Dr. Hartmann appeared on the threshold, Duvall's hands were both quite empty.
As the doctor entered the room, the detective gave a quick nod toward Seltz. "My man," he remarked, in a low tone. "He seems to be rather bad, this morning;" then aloud, "Oscar, this is Doctor Hartmann."
Seltz bowed, then stood uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as the doctor bent upon him a searching glance. "Sit down, my good fellow," the latter presently remarked, as he took a chair.
"I—I don't think I had better, sir," he stammered. "I am in somewhat of a hurry—"
The doctor interrupted him, in a soothing voice. "There, there. Sit down. I want to talk to you."
Seltz glanced helplessly toward Duvall, apparently somewhat confused by the reception which Dr. Hartmann had accorded him. It was not entirely what he had expected.
"I have explained everything to the doctor," remarked Duvall hastily. "He understands about the money you requested." He looked significantly at Dr. Hartmann.
"Then I hope the matter can be settled at once," said Seltz, apparently much relieved. He made no movement to sit down, but continued to look expectantly at Dr. Hartmann.
The latter nodded in a grave and reassuring way. "Give yourself no uneasiness, my man. Everything will be satisfactorily arranged. Meanwhile, sit down, if you please, and tell me something about yourself. I understand you have been greatly worried, of late. Not quite yourself—let us say."
Seltz looked at him in blank amazement. "I haven't been worried by anything, except the business which brought me here. I want my money—"
"Exactly—exactly," the doctor assented, in a soothing voice. "You shall have your money in due time. I promise you that. But first sit down and let us have a little chat."
Seltz sat down, helplessly. Apparently he was at a loss as to just what to say next. The doctor had told him that the money he expected would be forthcoming—he resigned himself in patience to await the latter's pleasure. For a moment he glanced at Duvall, however. "You should not have taken it from me," he said, peevishly.
Duvall looked quickly at Dr. Hartmann. The latter at once spoke up. "Give the matter no further thought, my man," he said, gravely. "I will see that you are fairly treated. But before we go ahead, I want you to tell me more about yourself—your life—your amusements—"
"What the devil have my amusements got to do with the matter?" exclaimed Seltz, his voice trembling with anger. "I tell you I want my money."
"And I tell you you shall have it. But, now, I insist that you let the matter drop for the present and answer my questions, otherwise I can do nothing to help you."
The remark quieted Seltz somewhat. He was, after all, in a peculiar position. The snuff box was gone. He cursed his stupidity in having let it pass out of his possession before the price agreed upon for its delivery had been forthcoming. That Dr. Hartmann did not question the payment of the money, however, was reassuring. He determined to answer as well as he could whatever questions the doctor might see fit to ask him.
The latter continued to examine his supposed patient with a shrewdly professional air. "How old are you, my man?" he suddenly inquired.
"Thirty-six."
"Do you drink?"
"Yes—I—I drink occasionally."
"Use any drugs?"
"No."
"Appetite good?"
"Yes."
"Sleep well?"
"Yes—pretty well."
"Have you had any shock, recently. Has anything happened to make you nervous, or excitable?"
Seltz glanced nervously from Duvall to the doctor and back again. What, he wondered, was the purpose of this examination? Was Dr. Hartmann trying to lead him into damaging admissions concerning the method he had employed to secure the snuff box? He scowled, then suddenly spoke. "It's none of your affair, is it? if I have."
"Oscar!" said Duvall, in a tone of remonstrance. "Don't speak to the doctor in that way."
"Oscar!" The man turned on the detective angrily. "Look here—you took that—that—" he hesitated, fearful that some trap had been set for him—"that article away from me—now see that I get my money."
The doctor glanced at Duvall. "He seems to be possessed with the one idea," he remarked,sotto voce, then turned to Seltz again. "My good man, I have already assured you that Mr. Brooks and myself will see that you get your money. What more do you want?"
"I want the money," Seltz cried, losing his patience, "and I want it quick." He sprang from his chair, and his hand shot toward his pocket, whence it reappeared in a moment with a revolver. "No more of this nonsense, now. I want the cash."
The doctor, who had also sprung to his feet, started toward the angry barber with outstretched hands. Seltz whirled on him, the revolver pointed directly at Hartmann's head. "Keep off," he cried. In his excitement he had forgotten Duvall, who at once seized him from behind. "Look out, Doctor," he cried, as he threw his arm about the fellow's neck and slowly throttled him. "He's gone quite insane—dangerous—take away the revolver."
As he spoke, he tightened his arm about Seltz's throat until the latter gasped for breath. The revolver fell from his nerveless grasp—he clutched at the detective's arm and tried to tear it from his throat, all the while groaning and sputtering at a great rate.
"Hopelessly insane, I fear," said the doctor, as he picked up the fallen revolver. "You had best take him away at once."
"But, Doctor, I can't do anything with him in this violent state. Can't you give him something to quiet him?"
"Nothing but a hypodermic. He wouldn't swallow a drug, I fear."
"Then give him a hypodermic at once. I've got to get him away from here, somehow." He tightened his hold on Seltz's throat as the latter struggled furiously, trying his best to get away. Luckily for Duvall, his adversary was a man of only moderate strength, but he struggled like the madman the doctor supposed him to be, trying in vain to speak. The detective's arm, however, tightly wound about his throat, effectually prevented his cries from becoming intelligible.
"I'm so sorry, Doctor," Duvall went on, as Hartmann prepared his hypodermic needle and approaching the struggling man, took hold of one of his arms and bared it with a quick motion. "I wouldn't have subjected you to all this annoyance for anything. The poor fellow has been getting worse for days, but I had no idea, when he left me this morning, that he would be like this."
"It frequently happens," the doctor remarked, as he pressed the syringe into the man's forearm and then withdrew it quickly. "There—he'll soon be all right now. Just hold him there for a few moments longer, Mr. Brooks and he'll be sleeping like a child."
Even as he spoke, the struggles of the man in Duvall's arms became less violent—his efforts to cry out less vigorous. "It's a sad case," the detective remarked. "I am very much afraid that he must be sent to an asylum."
"Undoubtedly the best place for him, my dear sir," remarked Hartmann, dryly. "I see your cab is waiting, outside. As soon as the man is quiet, I will have one of my attendants help you to carry him to it." He went over to Seltz, who was now struggling faintly, and felt his pulse. "He is quite harmless now," he observed, looking keenly into the man's face. "I will call one of my men." He went to the wall and pressed an electric button.
Duvall allowed the limp body of the barber to slip softly into a chair. "Poor Oscar!" he said, musingly, looking down at the huddled-up figure. "What a pity! Such a faithful fellow, too!" He turned to Hartmann. "I feel almost as though I had lost an old friend."
The doctor smiled. "Rather a dangerous one, I should say," he remarked, as he glanced at the revolver on the table. "You will want this, I suppose."
Duvall took the revolver and thrust it into his pocket. "Might as well take it along, I suppose, doctor. Now about my bill—do I owe you anything in addition to the fee I paid you on my arrival?" He felt for his pocketbook.
"Nothing, my dear sir." The doctor smiled. "I feel that in accepting your fee I am robbing you." He drew the note from his pocket, but Duvall waved it aside.
"I insist, my dear sir. You have given me your valuable time, at least, even if you could do this poor fellow no good." He paused, as an attendant in a gray uniform entered the room.
"Max," said the doctor, addressing the man, "help this gentleman put his friend into the cab."
The man came forward, and he and Duvall picked up the limp figure of Seltz, who was now sleeping soundly. In a few moments they had transferred him to the cab outside.
As they left the house, Duvall saw Grace standing near the door, her face pale, her eyes seeking his. He avoided her glances, making no sign that he recognized her. The doctor, somewhat annoyed, requested her, with elaborate but firm politeness, to withdraw. She did so, without looking back, but her heart was beating until it shook her whole body, and she longed to run to her husband and drive off with him, in spite of the doctor's presence. Somehow she felt that the necessity which had kept her a prisoner in this house no longer existed—that Richard had succeeded in recovering the ivory snuff box, and would soon send her word to join him, so that they might return to Paris together. She went to her room, ordered some luncheon brought to her, and sat down to await his message.
Meanwhile, Duvall, with Seltz beside him, drove rapidly away from the house, his arm about the man's unconscious figure. At the gate of the park he saw another cab waiting, and in a moment perceived that it contained Dufrenne, who in accordance with his instructions had been following Seltz. Duvall nodded to him, then pointed silently down the street. Dufrenne at once ordered his driver to follow. In a short time they had reached the Hotel Metropole, and Seltz, with the assistance of two of the porters, had been carried upstairs and placed on the bed. Duvall explained to the manager of the hotel that the man was a friend of his, who had been taken ill, and needed to sleep for a few hours. He also engaged the adjoining room at once, and thither he and Dufrenne presently repaired to examine the snuff box which, until now, had been reposing safely in the detective's waistcoat pocket.
He drew it out, when they were alone, and silently handed it to Dufrenne. The little old Frenchman took one look at it, then threw up his hands with a cry of joy. "It is the Ambassador's snuff box. Heavens be praised!" he cried, as the tears coursed down his withered cheeks.