There were three persons in the carriage. Mr. Hornblower sat with his back to the horses, and two women were on the opposite seat. Both were dressed in black and heavily veiled, but there was about them the indefinable distinction of mistress and maid. It would be difficult to tell precisely in what the distinction consisted, but it was there. Mr. Hornblower glanced behind me as I entered.
"You spoke of a witness," he said.
"He is at the Vantine house," I explained, and sat down beside him.
"This is Mr. Lester," he said, and the veiled lady opposite him, whomI had known at once to be the mistress, inclined her head a little.
Those were the only words spoken. The carriage rolled out to Broadway and then turned northward, making such progress as was possible along that crowded thoroughfare. I glanced from time to time at the women opposite, and was struck by the contrast in their behaviour. One sat quite still, her hands in her lap, her head bent, admirably self-contained; the other was restless and uneasy, unable to control a nervous twitching of the fingers. I wondered why the maid should seem more upset than her mistress, and decided finally that her uneasiness was merely lack of breeding. But the contrast interested me.
At Tenth Street, the carriage turned westward again, skirted Washington Square, turned into the Avenue, and stopped before the Vantine house. Mr. Hornblower assisted the women to alight, and I led the way up the steps. But as we reached the top and came upon the funeral wreath on the door, the veiled lady stopped with a little exclamation.
"I did not know," she said, quickly. "Perhaps, after all, we would better wait. I did not realise…."
"There are no relatives to be hurt, madame," I interrupted. "As for the dead man, what can it matter to him?" and I rang the bell.
Parks opened the door, and, nodding to him, I led the way along the hall and into the ante-room. Godfrey was awaiting us there, and I saw the flame of interest which leaped into his eyes, as Mr. Hornblower and the two veiled women entered.
"This is my witness," I said to the former. "Mr. Godfrey—Mr.Hornblower."
Godfrey bowed, and Hornblower regarded him with a good-humoured smile.
"If I were not sure of Mr. Godfrey's discretion," he said, "I should object. But I have tested it before this, and know that it can be relied upon."
"There is only one person to whom I yield precedence in the matter of discretion," rejoined Godfrey, smiling back at him, "and that is Mr. Hornblower. He is in a class quite by himself."
"Thank you," said the lawyer, and bowed gravely.
During this interchange of compliments, the woman I had decided was the maid had sat down, as though her legs were unable to sustain her, and was nervously clasping and unclasping her hands; even her mistress showed signs of impatience.
"The cabinet is in here," I said, and led the way into the inner room, the two men and the veiled lady at my heels.
It stood in the middle of the floor, just as it had stood since the night of the tragedy, and all the lights were going. As I entered, I noticed Godfrey's gauntlet lying on a chair.
"Is it the right one, madame?" I asked.
She gazed at it a moment, her hands pressed against her breast.
"Yes!" she answered, with a gasp that was almost a sob.
I confess I was astonished. I had never thought it could be the right one; even now I did not see how it could possibly be the right one.
"You are sure?" I queried incredulously.
"Do you think I could be mistaken in such a matter, sir? I assure you that this cabinet at one time belonged to me. You permit me?" she added, and took a step toward it.
"One moment, madame," I interposed. "I must warn you that in touching that cabinet you are running a great risk."
"A great risk?" she echoed, looking at me.
"A very great risk, as I have pointed out to Mr. Hornblower. I have reason to believe that two men met death while trying to open that secret drawer."
"I believe Mr. Hornblower did tell me something of the sort," she murmured; "but of course that is all a mistake."
"Then the drawer is not guarded by poison?" I questioned.
"By poison?" she repeated blankly, and carried her handkerchief to her lips. "I do not understand."
I knew that my theory was collapsing, utterly, hopelessly. I dared not look at Godfrey.
"Is there not, connected with the drawer," I asked, "a mechanism which, as the drawer is opened, plunges two poisoned fangs into the hand which opens it?"
"No, Mr. Lester," she answered, astonishment in her voice, "I assure you there is no such mechanism."
I clutched at a last straw, and a sorry one it was!
"The mechanism may have been placed there since the cabinet passed from your possession," I suggested.
"That is, perhaps, possible," she agreed, though I saw that she was unconvinced.
"At any rate, madame," I said, "I would ask that, in opening the drawer, you wear this gauntlet," and I picked up Godfrey's gauntlet from the chair on which it lay. "It is needless that you should take any risk, however slight. Permit me," and I slipped the gauntlet over her right hand.
As I did so, I glanced at Godfrey. He was staring at the veiled lady with such a look of stupefaction that I nearly choked with delight. It had not often been my luck to see Jim Godfrey mystified, but he was certainly mystified now!
The veiled lady regarded the steel glove with a little laugh.
"I am now free to open the drawer?" she asked.
"Yes, madame."
She moved toward the cabinet, Godfrey and I close behind her. At last the secret which had defied us was to be revealed. And with its revelation would come the end of the picturesque and romantic theory we had been building up so laboriously.
Instinctively, I glanced toward the shuttered window, but the semi-circle of light was unobscured.
The veiled lady bent above the table and disposed the fingers of her right hand to fit the metal inlay midway of the left side.
"It is a little awkward," she said. "I have always been accustomed to using the left hand. You will notice that I am pressing on three points; but to open the drawer, one must press these points in a certain order—- first this one, then this one, and then this one."
There was a sharp click, and, at the side of the table, a piece of the metal inlay fell forward.
"That is the handle," said the veiled lady, and, without an instant's hesitation, while my heart stood still, she grasped it and drew out a shallow drawer. "Ah!" and, casting aside the ridiculous gauntlet, she caught up the packet of papers which lay within. Then, with an effort, she controlled herself, slipped off the ribbon which held the packet together, and spread out before my eyes ten or twelve envelopes. "You will see that they are only letters, Mr. Lester," she said in a low voice, "and I assure you that they belong to me."
"I believe you, madame," I said, and with a sigh of relief that was almost a sob, she rebound the packet and slipped it into the bosom of her gown. "There is one thing," I added, "which madame can, perhaps, do for me."
"I shall be most happy!" she breathed.
"As I have told Mr. Hornblower," I continued, "two men died in this room the day before yesterday. Or, rather, it was in the room beyond that they died; but we believed it was here they received the wounds which caused death. It seems that we were wrong in this."
"Undoubtedly," she agreed. "There has never been any such weird mechanism as you described connected with that drawer, Mr. Lester. At least, not since I have had it. There is a legend, you know, that the cabinet was made for Madame de Montespan."
She was talking more freely now; evidently a great load had been lifted from her—perhaps I did not guess how great!
"Mr. Vantine suspected as much," I said. "He was a connoisseur of furniture, and there was something about this cabinet which told him it had belonged to the Montespan. He was examining it at the time he died. What the other man was doing, we do not know, but if we could identify him, it might help us."
"You have not identified him?"
"We know nothing whatever about him, except that he was presumably aFrenchman, and that he arrived onLa Touraine, two days ago."
"That is the boat upon which I came over."
"It has occurred to me, madame, that you may have seen him—that he may even be known to you."
"What was his name?"
"The card he sent in to Mr. Vantine bore the name of Théophile d'Aurelle."
She shook her head.
"I have never before heard that name, Mr. Lester."
"We believe it to have been an assumed name," I said; "but perhaps you will recognise this photograph," and I drew it from my pocket and handed it to her.
She took it, looked at it, and again shook her head. Then she looked at it again, turning aside and raising her veil in order to see it better.
"There seems to be something familiar about the face," she said, at last, "as though I might have seen the man somewhere."
"On the boat, perhaps," I suggested, but I knew very well it was not on the boat, since the man had crossed in the steerage.
"No; it was not on the boat. I did not leave my stateroom on the boat. But I am quite sure that I have seen him—and yet I can't say where."
"Perhaps," I said, in a low voice, "he may have been one of the friends of your husband."
I saw her hand tremble under the blow, but it had to be struck. And she was brave.
"The same thought occurred to me, Mr. Lester," she answered; "but I know very few of my husband's friends; certainly not this one. And yet…. Perhaps my maid can help us."
Photograph in hand, she stepped through the doorway into the outer room. The maid was sitting on the chair where we had left her; her hands clenched tightly together in her lap, as though it was only by some violent effort she could maintain her self-control.
"Julie," said the veiled lady, in rapid French, "I have here the photograph of a man who was killed in this room most mysteriously a few days ago. These gentlemen wish to identify him. The face seems to me somehow familiar, but I cannot place it. Look at it."
Julie put forth a shaking hand, took the photograph, and glanced at it; then, with a long sigh, slid limply to the floor, before either Godfrey or I could catch her.
As she fell, her veil, catching on the chair-back, was torn away; and, looking down at her, a great emotion burst within me, for I recognised the mysterious woman whose photograph d'Aurelle had carried in his watch-case.
For a moment, I stood spell-bound, staring down at that jaded and passion-stained countenance; then Godfrey sprang forward and lifted the unconscious woman to the couch.
"Bring some water," he said, and as he turned and looked at me, I saw that his face was glowing with excitement.
I rushed to the door and snatched it open. Rogers was standing in the hall outside, and I sent him hurrying for the water, and turned back into the room.
Godfrey was chafing the girl's hands, and the veiled lady was bending over her, fumbling at the hooks of her bodice. Evidently she could not see them, for, with a sudden movement, she put back her veil. My heart warmed to her at that act of sacrifice; and after a single glance at her, I turned away my eyes.
I saw Godfrey's start of recognition as he looked down at her; then he, too, looked aside.
"Here's the water, sir," said Rogers, and handed me glass and pitcher.
The next instant, his eyes fell upon the woman on the couch. He stood staring, his face turning slowly purple; then, clutching at his throat, he half-turned and fell, just as I had seen him do once before.
Hornblower, who was staring at the unconscious woman and mopping his face feverishly, spun around at the crash.
"Well, I'll be damned!" he said, in a hoarse voice, as he saw Rogers extended on the floor at his feet. "What's the matter with this house, anyway?"
So great was the tension on my nerves that I could scarcely restrain a shout of laughter. I turned it into a shout for Parks; but his face, when he appeared on the threshold, was too much for me, and I sank into a chair, laughing hysterically.
"For God's sake!" Parks began….
"It's all right," Godfrey broke in, sharply, "Rogers has had another fit. Get the ammonia!"
Parks staggered away, and Mr. Hornblower sat down weakly.
"I don't see the joke!" he growled, glaring at me, his face crimson.
"Get a grip of yourself, Lester," said Godfrey, savagely, seized the pitcher from my hand, and hurried with it to madame.
Ididget a grip of myself, and when Parks came back a moment later with the ammonia, was able to hold up Rogers's head, while Parks applied the phial to his nostrils.
"Give me a whiff of it, too, Parks," I said, unsteadily, and in an instant my eyes were streaming; but I had escaped hysteria. "Straighten Rogers out and let him lie there," I gasped, and sat dizzily down upon the floor. But I dared not look at Hornblower. I felt that another glance at his dazed countenance would send me off again.
Madame, meanwhile, had dashed some water into the face of the unconscious Julie—much to the detriment of her complexion!—watched her a moment, then stood erect and lowered her veil.
"She will soon be all right again," she said; and, truly enough, at the end of a few seconds, the girl opened her eyes and looked dazedly about her. Then a violent trembling seized her.
"What is it, Julie?" asked her mistress, taking her hand. "You knew this man?"
A hoarse sob was the only answer.
"You must tell me," went on madame, quietly but firmly. "Perhaps a crime has been committed. You must tell me everything. You may rely upon the discretion of these gentlemen. You knew this man?"
The girl nodded, and closed her eyes; but the hot tears brimmed from them and ran down over her cheeks.
"In Paris?"
The girl nodded again.
"He was your lover?"
A third nod, and a fresh flood of tears.
"I remember, now," said madame, suddenly. "I saw him with her once. What was he doing in this house?" she went on, more sternly. "Tell us!"
"Madame will never forgive me!" sobbed the girl, and I began to think that she was more concerned for herself than for her lover. The same thought occurred to her mistress too, no doubt, for her voice hardened.
"Try me," she said. "Understand well, you must tell—if not here, then before an officer of the police."
"Oh, no, no!" screamed Julie, sitting suddenly erect. "Never that! I could not bear that! Madame would not be so cruel!"
"Then tell us now!" said the veiled lady, inexorably.
"Very well, madame!" cried the girl, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, and speaking in a mixture of French and English which I shall not attempt to transcribe. "I will tell; I will tell everything. After all, I was not to blame. It was that creature. I did not love him—but I feared him. He possessed a power over me. He could make me do anything. He even beat me! And still I went back to him!"
"What was his name?" asked the veiled lady.
"Georges Drouet—he lived in the Rue de la Huchette, just off the Rue Saint Jacques—on the top floor, under the gutters. He was bad—bad; —he lived off women. I met him six months ago. He knew how to fascinate one; I thought he loved me. Then he began to borrow money from me, until he had taken all that I had saved; then my rings —every one!" She held up her hands to show their bareness. "Then…."
She stopped and glanced at her mistress.
"Continue!" said the latter. "Tell what you have to tell."
"I knew that madame also…."
She stopped again. I walked over to the window and stood staring at the wooden shutter, strangely moved.
"Well, why not?" she demanded fiercely, and I felt that she was addressing my turned back. "Why not? Shall a woman not be loved? Shall a woman endure what madame endured…."
"That will do, Julie," broke in the veiled lady, her voice cold as ice. "Tell your story."
"I knew of the secret drawer; I had seen madame open it; I knew what it contained. But I was faithful to madame; I loved her; I was glad that she had found some one…. Madame will remember her despair, her horror, when she entered her room to find the cabinet gone, taken away, sold by that…. I, too, was in despair—I desired with my whole soul to help madame. That night I had a rendezvous with him," and she nodded toward the photograph which lay upon the floor. "I told him."
Her mistress stood as though turned to stone. I could guess her anguish and humiliation.
"He questioned me—he learned everything—the drawer, how it was opened—all. But I did not suspect what was in his mind—not for an instant did I suspect. But on the boat I saw him, and then I knew. Well, he has got what he deserved!"
She shivered and pressed her hands against her eyes.
"I think that is all, madame," she added, hoarsely.
"It is all of that story," said Godfrey, in a crisp voice; "but there is another."
"Another?" echoed the veiled lady, looking at him.
"Ask her, madame, for what purpose she called at this house, night before last, and saw Philip Vantine in this room."
"I did not!" shrieked the girl, her face ablaze. "It is a lie!"
"She does not need to tell!" went on Godfrey inexorably. "Any fool could guess. She came for the letters! She had resolved herself to blackmail you, madame!"
"It is a lie!" shrieked the girl again. "I came hoping to save her —to…."
A storm of angry sobbing choked her.
I could see how the veiled lady was trembling. I placed a chair for her, and she sank into it with a murmur of thanks.
"Besides, we have a witness to her visit," added Godfrey. "Shall I call the police, madame?"
"No, no!" and the girl sat upright again, her face ghastly. "I will tell. I will tell all. Give me but a moment!"
She sat there, struggling for self-control, her streaked and grotesque countenance contorted with emotion. Then I saw her eyes widen, and, glancing around, I saw that Rogers had dragged himself to a sitting posture, and was staring at her, his face livid.
The sight of him seemed to madden her.
"It was you!" she shrieked, and shook her clenched fist at him. "It was you who told! Coward! Coward!"
But Godfrey, his face very grim, laid a heavy hand upon her arm.
"Be still!" he cried. "He told us nothing! He tried to shield you —though why he should wish to do so…."
Rogers broke in with a hollow and ghastly laugh.
"It was natural enough, sir," he said hoarsely. "She's my wife!"
It was a sordid story that Rogers gasped out to us; and, as it concerns this tale only incidentally, I shall pass over it as briefly as may be.
Eight or ten years before, the fair Julie—at least, she was fairer then than now!—had come to New York to enter the employ of a family whose mistress had decided that life without a French maid was unendurable. Rogers had met her, had been fascinated by her black eyes and red lips, had, in the end, proposed honourable marriage —quite unnecessarily, no doubt!—had been accepted, and for some months had led an eventful existence as the husband of the siren. Then, one morning, he awakened to find her gone.
He had, of course, entrusted his savings to her—that had been one condition of the marriage!—and the savings were gone, also. Julie, it seems, had been overcome with longing for the Paris asphalt; no doubt, too, she had found herself ennuied by the lack of romance in married life with Rogers; and she had flown back to France. Rogers had thought of following; but, appalled at the difficulty of finding her in Paris, not knowing what he should do if he did find her, he had finally given it up, and had settled gloomily down to live upon his memories. Some sort of affection for her had kept alive within him, and when he opened the door of Vantine's house and found her standing on the steps, he was as wax in her hands.
Julie had listened to all this indifferently, even disdainfully, without denying anything, nor seeking to excuse herself. Perhaps the idea that she needed excuse did not occur to her. And when the story was finished, she was quite herself again; even a little proud, I think, of holding the centre of the stage in the rôle of siren. It was almost a rejuvenescence, and there was gratitude in the gaze she turned on Rogers.
"This is all true, I suppose?" asked the veiled lady.
"All quite true, madame," answered Julie, with a shrug. "I was younger then and the love of excitement was too strong for me. I am older now, and have more sense—besides, I am no longer sought after as I was."
"And so," said madame, with irony, "you are now, no doubt, willing to return to your husband."
"I have been considering it, madame," replied Julie, with astounding simplicity, "ever since I saw him here the other evening, and learned that he still cared for me. One must have a harbour in one's old age."
I glanced at Rogers and was astonished to see that he was regarding the woman with affectionate admiration. Evidently the harbour was waiting, should Julie choose to anchor there.
"I have hesitated," she added, "only because of madame. Where would madame get another maid such as I? No one but I can arrange her hair —no one but I can prepare her bath…."
"We will discuss it," said the veiled lady, "when we are alone. And now, perhaps, you will be so good as to tell us of your previous visit here."
"Very well, madame," and Julie settled into a more comfortable posture. "It was one day on the boat as I was looking down at the passengers of the third class that I perceived Georges—M. Drouet —strolling about. I wasbouleversée—what you call upset with amazement, and then he looked up and our eyes met, and he came beneath me and commanded that I meet him that evening. It was then that I learned his plan. It was to secure those letters for himself and to dispose of them."
"To whom?" asked Godfrey.
"To the person that would pay the greatest price for them, most certainly," answered Julie, surprised that it should have been thought necessary to ask such a question. "They were to be offered first to madame at ten thousand francs each; should she refuse, they were then to be offered to M. le Duc—he would surely desire to possess them!"
The veiled lady shivered a little, and her hand instinctively sought her bosom to assure herself that the precious packet was safe.
"That night," continued Julie, "in my cabin, I tossed and tossed, trying to discover a way to prevent this; for I had seen long since that M. Drouet no longer cared for me—I knew that it was upon some other woman that money would be spent. I decided that, at the first moment, I would hasten to this house; I would explain the matter to M. Vantine, I would persuade him to restore to me the letters, with which I would fly to madame. I knew, also, that I could rely upon her gratitude," added the girl. "After all, one must provide for oneself."
She paused and glanced around the room, smiling at the interest in our faces.
"You have at least one virtue—that of frankness," said the veiled lady. "Continue."
"It was not until evening that I found an opportunity to leave madame," Julie went on. "I hastened here; I rang the bell; but I confess I should have failed, I should not have secured an entrance, if it had not been that it was my husband who opened the door to me. Even after I was inside the door, he refused to permit me to see his master; but as we were debating together, M. Vantine himself came into the hall, and I ran to him and begged that he hear me. It was then that he invited me to enter this room."
She paused again, and a little shiver of expectancy ran through me.At last we were to learn how Philip Vantine had met his death!
"I sat down," continued Julie. "I told him the story from the very beginning. He listened with much interest; but when I proposed that he should restore to me the letters, he hesitated. He walked up and down the room, trying to decide; then he took me through that door into the room beyond. The cabinet was standing in the centre of the floor, and all the lights were blazing.
"'Is that the cabinet?' he asked me, and when I said that most assuredly it was, he seemed surprised.
"'It is an easy thing to prove,' I said, and I went to the cabinet and pressed on the three springs, as I had seen madame do. The little handle at the side fell out, but suddenly he stopped me.
"'Yes, it is the cabinet,' he said. 'I see that. And no doubt the drawer contains the letters, as you say. But those letters do not belong to you. They belong to your mistress. I cannot permit that you take them away, for, after all, I do not know you. You may intend to make some bad use of them.'
"I protested that such a suspicion was most unjust, that my character was of the best, that I was devoted to my mistress and desired to protect her. He listened, but he was not convinced. In the end, he brought me back into this room. I could have cried with rage!
"'Return to your mistress,' he said, 'and inform her that I shall be most happy to return the letters to her. But it must be in her own hands that I place them. The letters are here, whenever it pleases her to claim them."
"I saw that it was of no use to argue further; he was of adamant. So I left the house, he himself opening the door for me. And that is all that I know, madame."
There was a moment's silence; then I heard Godfrey draw a deep breath. I could see that, like myself, he was convinced that the girl was telling the truth.
"Of course," he suggested gently, "as soon as you reached home you related to your mistress what had occurred?"
Julie grew a little crimson.
"No, monsieur," she said, "I told her nothing."
"I should have thought you would have wished to prove your devotion," went on Godfrey, in his sweetest tone.
"I feared that, without the letters, she would misunderstand my motives," said Julie, sullenly.
"And then, of course, without the letters, there would be no reward,"Godfrey supplemented.
Julie did not reply, but she looked very uncomfortable.
The veiled lady rose.
"Have you any further questions to ask her?" she said.
"No, madame," said Godfrey. "The story is complete."
Julie resumed her veil, shooting at Godfrey a glance anything but friendly. The veiled lady turned to me and held out her hand.
"I thank you, Mr. Lester, for your kindness," she said. "Come,Julie," and she moved toward the door, which Rogers hastened to open.
Mr. Hornblower nodded and passed out after them, and Godfrey and I were left alone together.
We both sat down, and for a moment neither of us spoke.
"Well!" said Godfrey, at last. "Well! what a story it would make! AndI can't use it! It's a bitter reflection, Lester!"
"It would certainly shake the pillars of society," I agreed. "I'm rather shaken myself."
"So am I! I was all at sea for a while—I was dumb with astonishmentwhen I heard you and the veiled lady talking about the secret drawer—I could see you laughing at me! I don't know the whole story yet.How did she happen to come to you?"
I told him of Hornblower's visit, of the story he told me, and of the arrangement we had made. Godfrey nodded thoughtfully when I had finished.
"The story is straight, of course," he said. "Hornblower would not be engaged in anything tricky. Besides, I recognised the lady. I suppose you did, too."
"Yes, I have seen pictures of her. And I admired her for putting back her veil."
"So did I. She has changed since the day of her wedding, Lester—she was a smooth-faced girl, then! Three years of life with her duke have left their mark on her!"
He fell silent, staring thoughtfully at the carpet. Then he shook himself.
"And the maid's story was most interesting," he added. "Nevertheless, there are still a number of things which are not quite clear to me."
"There is one thing I don't understand, myself," I said. "I hadn't any idea this was the right cabinet. I didn't see how it could be."
"That's it, exactly. How did it happen, when the veiled lady went toArmand & Son in Paris, that she was directed to Philip Vantine?According to his own story, he did not purchase this cabinet; he hadnever seen it before; it was presumably shipped him by mistake;Armand & Son cable you that it was a mistake; and yet they citeVantine as the purchaser. There is something twisted somewhere,Lester; just where I'll try to find out."
"Which reminds me that Armand's representative hasn't been around yet. No doubt he can straighten the matter out."
"It won't do any harm to hear his story, anyway," Godfrey agreed."Now let's have a look at that drawer."
It was standing open as we had left it, and Godfrey pushed it back into place, called my attention to the cunning way in which its outline was concealed by the inlay about it. Then he worked the spring, the handle fell into place, and he drew the drawer out again, as far as it would come, and examined it carefully.
"The fellow who devised that was a genius," he said, admiringly, pushing it back into place. "I wonder what its contents have been from the days of Madame de Montespan down to the present? Love letters, mostly, I suppose, since they are the things which need concealment most. Don't you wish this drawer could tell its secrets, Lester?"
"There is one I wish it would tell, if it knows it," I said. "I wish it would tell who killed Philip Vantine. I suppose you will agree with me that our pretty theory has got a knock-out blow, this time."
"It looks that way, doesn't it?"
"There is no poisoned mechanism about that drawer—that's sure," I added.
"No, and never has been," Godfrey agreed.
"And that leaves us all at sea, doesn't it? It leaves the whole affair more mysterious than ever. I can't understand it," and I sat down in my bewilderment and rubbed my head. I really felt for an instant as though I had gone mentally blind. "There is one thing sure," I added. "The killing, whatever its cause, was done out there in the ante-room, not in here."
"What makes you think that?"
"We believe that Drouet came here to get Vantine's permission to open this drawer and get the letters, no doubt representing himself as the agent of their owner."
"I think it's a pretty good guess," said Godfrey, pensively.
"Our theory was that, after being shown into the ante-room, he discovered the cabinet, tried to open the drawer, and was killed in the attempt. But it is evident enough now that there is nothing about that drawer to hurt any one."
"Yes, that's evident, I think," Godfrey agreed.
"If he had opened the drawer, then, he would have taken the letters, since there was nothing to prevent him. Since they were not taken, it follows, doesn't it, that he was killed before he had a chance at the drawer? Perhaps he never saw the cabinet. He must have been killed out there in the ante-room, a few minutes after Parks left."
"And how about Vantine?" Godfrey asked.
"I don't know," I said, helplessly. "He didn't want the letters—if he opened the drawer at all, it was merely out of curiosity to see how it worked. Only, of course, the same agency that killed Drouet, killed him. Yes—and now that I think of it, it's certain he didn't open the drawer, either."
"How do you know it's certain?"
"If he had opened the drawer," I pointed out, "and been killed in the act of opening it, it would have been found open. I had thought that perhaps it closed of itself, but you see that it does not. You have to push it shut, and then snap the handle up into place."
"That's true," Godfrey assented, "and it sounds pretty conclusive. If it is true of Vantine, it is also true of Drouet. The inference is, then, that neither of them opened the drawer. Well, what follows?"
"I don't know," I said helplessly. "Nothing seems to follow."
"There is an alternative," Godfrey suggested.
"What is it?" I demanded.
"The hand that killed Drouet and Vantine may also have closed the drawer," said Godfrey, and looked at me.
"And left the letters in it?" I questioned. "Surely not!"
He glanced at the shuttered window, and I understood to whom he thought that hand belonged.
"Besides," I protested, "how would he get in? How would he get away?What was he after, if he left the letters behind?" Then I rosewearily. "I must be getting back to the office," I said. "This isSaturday, and we close at two. Are you coming?"
"No," he answered; "if you don't mind, I'll sit here a while longer and think things over, Lester. Perhaps I'll blunder on to the truth yet!"
I got back to the office to find that M. Félix Armand, of Armand et Fils, had called, and, finding me out, had left his card with the pencilled memorandum that he would call again Monday morning. There was another caller, who had awaited my return—a tall, angular man, with a long moustache, who introduced himself as Simon W. Morgan, of Osage City, Iowa.
"Poor Philip Vantine's nearest living relative, sir," he added. "I came as soon as possible."
"It was very good of you," I said. "The funeral will be at ten o'clock to-morrow morning, from the house."
"You had a telegram from me?"
"Yes," I answered.
He hitched about in his chair uneasily for a moment. I knew what he wanted to say, but saw no reason to help him.
"He left a will, I suppose?" he asked, at last.
"Oh, yes; we have arranged to probate it Monday. You can examine it then, if you wish."
"Have you examined it?"
"I am familiar with its provisions. It was drawn here in the office."
He was pulling furiously at his moustache.
"Cousin Philip was a very wealthy man, I understand," he managed to say.
"Comparatively wealthy. He had securities worth about a million and a quarter, besides a number of pieces of real property—and, of course, the house he lived in. He owned a very valuable collection of art objects—pictures, furniture, tapestries, and such things; but what they are worth will probably never be known."
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because he left them all to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Outside of a few legacies to old servants, he left his whole fortune to the same institution."
I put it rather brutally, no doubt, but I was anxious to end the interview.
Mr. Morgan's face grew very red.
"He did!" he ejaculated. "Ha—well, I have heard he was rather crazy."
"He was as sane as any man I ever knew," I retorted drily. And then I remembered the doubts which had assailed me that last day, when Vantine was fingering the Boule cabinet. But I kept those doubts to myself.
"Ha—we'll have to see about that!" said my visitor, threateningly.
"By all means, Mr. Morgan," I assented heartily. "If you have any doubt about it, you should certainly look into it. And now, if you will pardon me, I have many things to do, and we close early to-day."
He got to his feet and went slowly out; and that was the last I ever saw of him. I suppose he consulted an attorney, learned the hopeless nature of his case, and took the first train back to Osage City. He did not even wait for the funeral.
Few people, indeed, put themselves out for it. There was a sprinkling of old family friends, representatives of the museum and of various charities in which Vantine had been interested, a few friends of his own, and that was all. He had dropped out of the world with scarcely a ripple; of all who had known him, I dare say Parks felt his departure most. For Vantine had been, in a sense, a solitary man; not many men nodded oftener during a walk up the Avenue, and yet not many dined oftener alone; for there was about him a certain self-detachment which discouraged intimacy. He was a man, like many another, with acquaintances in every country on the globe, and friends in none.
All this I thought over a little sadly, as I sat at home that night; and not without some self-questioning as to my own place in the world. Most of us, I think, are a little saddened when we realise our unimportance; most of us, no doubt, would be a little shocked could we return a day or two after our death and see how merrily the world wags on! I would be missed, I knew, scarcely more than Vantine. It was not a pleasant thought, for it seemed to argue some deficiency in myself.
Then, too, the mystery of Vantine's death had a depressing effect upon me. So long as there seemed some theory to build on, so long as there was a ray of light ahead, I had hoped that the tragedy would be explained and expiated; but now my theory had crumbled to pieces; I was left in utter darkness, from which there seemed no way out. Never before, in the face of any mystery, had I felt so blind and helpless, and the feeling took such a grip upon me that it kept me awake for a long time after I got to bed. It seemed, in some mysterious way, that I was contending with a power greater than myself, a power threatening and awful, which could crush me with a turn of the wrist.
Vantine's will was probated next morning. He had directed that his collection of art objects be removed to the museum, and that the house and such portion of its contents as the museum did not care for be sold for the museum's benefit. I had already notified Sir Caspar Purdon Clarke of the terms of the will, and the museum's attorney was present when it was read. He stated that he had been requested to ask me to remain in charge of things for a week or two, until arrangements for the removal could be made. It would also be necessary to make an inventory of Vantine's collection, and the assistant director of the museum was to get this under way at once.
I acquiesced in all these arrangements, but I was feeling decidedly blue when I started back to the office. Vantine's collection had always seemed to me somehow a part of himself; more especially a part of the house in which it had been assembled. It would lose much of its beauty and significance ticketed and arranged stiffly along the walls of the museum, and the thought came to me that it would be a splendid thing for New York if this old house and its contents could be kept intact as an object lesson to the nervous and hurrying younger generation of the easier and more finished manner of life of the older one; something after the fashion that the beautiful old Plantin-Moretus mansion at Antwerp is a rebuke to those present-day publishers who reckon literature a commodity, along with soap and cheese.
That, of course, it would be impossible to do; the last barrier to the commercial invasion of the Avenue would be removed; that heroic rear-guard of the old order of things would be destroyed; in a year or two, a monster of steel and stone would rise on the spot where three generations of Vantines had lived their lives; and the collection, so unified and coherent, to which the last Vantine had devoted his life, would be merged and lost in the vast collections of the museum. It was a sad ending.
"Gentleman to see you, sir," said the office-boy, as I sat down at my desk, and a moment later, M. Félix Armand was shown in to me.
I have only to close my eyes to call again before me that striking personality, for Felix Armand was one of the most extraordinary men I ever had the pleasure of meeting. Ruddy-faced, bright-eyed, with dark full beard and waving hair almost jet black—hair that crinkled about his ears in a way that I can describe by no other word than fascinating—he gave the impression of tremendous strength and virility. There was about him, too, an air of culture not to be mistaken; the air of a man who had travelled much, seen much, and mixed with many people, high and low; the air of a man at home anywhere, in any society. It is impossible for me, by mere words, to convey any adequate idea of his vivid personality; but I confess that, from the first moment, I was both impressed and charmed by him. And I am still impressed; more, perhaps, than at first, now that I know the whole story—but you shall hear.
"I speak English very badly, sir," he said, as he sat down. "If you speak French…."
"Not half so well as you speak English," I laughed. "I can tell that from your first sentence."
"In that event, I will do the best that I can," he said, smiling, "and you must pardon my blunders. First, Mr. Lester, on behalf of Armand et Fils, I must ask your pardon for this mistake, so inexcusable."
"Itwasa mistake, then?" I asked.
"One most embarrassing to us. We can not find for it an explanation. Believe me, Mr. Lester, it is not our habit to make mistakes; we have a reputation of which we are very proud; but the cabinet which was purchased by Mr. Vantine remained in our warehouse, and this other one was boxed and shipped to him. We are investigating most rigidly."
"Then Mr. Vantine's cabinet is still in Paris?"
"No, Mr. Lester; the error was discovered some days ago and the cabinet belonging to Mr. Vantine was shipped to me here. It should arrive next Wednesday onLa Provence. I shall myself receive it, and deliver it to Mr. Vantine."
"Mr. Vantine is dead," I said. "You did not know?"
He sat staring at me for a moment, as though unable to comprehend.
"Did I understand that you said Mr. Vantine is dead?" he stammered.
I told him briefly as much as I knew of the tragedy, while he sat regarding me with an air of stupefaction.
"It is curious you saw nothing of it in the papers," I added. "They were full of it."
"I have been visiting friends at Quebec," he explained, "It was there that the message from our house found me, commanding me to hasten here. I started at once, and reached this city Saturday. I drove here directly from the station, but was so unfortunate as to miss you."
"I am sorry to have caused you so much trouble," I said.
"But, my dear Mr. Lester," he protested, "it is for us to take trouble. A blunder of this sort we feel as a disgrace. My father, who is of the old school, is most upset concerning it. But this death of Mr. Vantine—it is a great blow to me. I have met him many times. He was a real connoisseur—we have lost one of our most valued patrons. You say that he was found dead in a room at his house?"
"Yes, and death resulted from a small wound on the hand, into which some very powerful poison had been injected."
"That is most curious. In what manner was such a wound made?"
"That we don't know. I had a theory…."
"Yes?" he questioned, his eyes gleaming with interest.
"A few hours previously, another man had been found in the same room, killed in the same way."
"Another man?"
"A stranger who had called to see Mr. Vantine. My theory was that both this stranger and Mr. Vantine had been killed while trying to open a secret drawer in the Boule cabinet. Do you know anything of the history of that cabinet, Monsieur Armand?"
"We believe it to have been made for Madame de Montespan by MonsieurBoule himself," he answered. "It is the original of one now in theLouvre which is known to have belonged to the Grand Louis."
"That was Mr. Vantine's belief," I said. "Why he should have arrived at that conclusion, I don't know—"
"Mr. Vantine was a connoisseur," said M. Armand, quietly. "There are certain indications which no connoisseur could mistake."
"It was his guess at the history of the cabinet," I explained, "which gave me the basis for my theory. A cabinet belonging to Madame de Montespan would, of course, have a secret drawer; and, since it was made in the days of de Brinvilliers and La Voisin, what more natural than that it should be guarded by a poisoned mechanism?"
"What more natural, indeed!" breathed my companion, and I fancied that he looked at me with a new interest in his eyes. "It is good reasoning, Mr. Lester."
"It seemed to explain a situation for which no other explanation has been found," I said. "And it had also the merit of picturesqueness."
"It is unique," he agreed eagerly, his eyes burning like two coals of fire, so intense was his interest. "I have been from boyhood," he added, noticing my glance, "a lover of tales of mystery. They have for me a fascination I cannot explain; there is in my blood something that responds to them. I feel sometimes that I would have made a great detective—or a great criminal. Instead of which, I am merely a dealer in curios. You can understand how I am fascinated by a story so outré as this."
"Perhaps you can assist us," I suggested, "for that theory of mine has been completely disproved."
"Disproved? In what way?" he demanded.
"The secret drawer has been found…."
"Comment?" he cried, his voice sharp with surprise. "Found? The secret drawer has been found?"
"Yes, and there was no poisoned mechanism guarding it."
He breathed deeply for an instant; then he pulled himself together with a little laugh.
"Really," he said, "I must not indulge myself in this way. It is a kind of intoxication. But you say that the drawer was found and that there was no poison? Was the drawer empty?"
"No, there was a packet of letters in it."
"Delicious! Love letters, of a certainty!Billets-douxfrom the great Louis to the Montespan, perhaps?"
"No, unfortunately they were of a much more recent date. They have been restored to their owner. I hope that you agree with me that that was the right thing to do?"
He sat for a moment regarding me narrowly, and I had an uneasy feeling that, since he undoubtedly knew of whom the cabinet had been purchased, he was reconstructing the story more completely than I would have wished him to do.
"Since the letters have been returned," he said, at last, a little drily, "it is useless to discuss the matter. But no doubt I should approve if all the circumstances were known to me. Especially if it was to assist a lady."
"It was," I said, and I saw from his face that he understood.
"Then you did well," he said. "Has no other explanation been found for the death of Mr. Vantine and of this stranger?"
"I think not. The coroner will hold his inquest to-morrow. He has deferred it in the hope that some new evidence would be discovered."
"And none has been discovered?"
"I have heard of none."
"You do not even know who this stranger was?"
"Oh, yes, we have discovered that. He was a worthless fellow namedDrouet."
"A Frenchman?"
"Yes, living in an attic in the Rue de la Huchette, at Paris."
M. Armand had been gazing at me intently, but now his look relaxed, and I fancied that he drew a deep breath as a man might do when relieved of a burden. At the back of my brain a vague and shadowy suspicion began to form—a suspicion that perhaps M. Armand knew more of this affair than he had as yet acknowledged.
"You did not, by any chance, know him?" I asked carelessly.
"No, I think not. But there is one thing I do not understand, Mr. Lester, and you will pardon me if I am indiscreet. But I do not understand what this Drouet, as you call him, was doing in the house of Mr. Vantine."
"He was trying to get possession of the letters," I said.
"Oh, so it was that!" and my companion nodded. "And in trying to get those letters, he was killed?"
"Yes, but what none of us understands, M. Armand, is how he was killed. Who or what killed him? How was that poison administered? Can you suggest an explanation?"
He sat for a moment staring thoughtfully out of the window.
"It is a nice problem," he said, "a most interesting one. I will think it over, Mr. Lester. Perhaps I may be able to make a suggestion. I do not know. But, in any event, I shall see you again Wednesday. If it is agreeable to you, we can meet at the house of Mr. Vantine and exchange the cabinets."
"At what time?"
"I do not know with exactness. There may be some delay in getting the cabinet from the ship. Perhaps it would be better if I called for you?"
"Very well," I assented.
"Permit me to express again my apologies that such a mistake should have been made by us. Really, we are most careful; but even we sometimes suffer from careless servants. It desolates me to think that I cannot offer these apologies to Mr. Vantine in person. Till Wednesday, then, Mr. Lester."
"Till Wednesday," I echoed, and watched his erect and perfectly-garbed figure until it vanished through the doorway. A fascinating man, I told myself as I turned back to my desk, and one whom I should like to know more intimately; a man with a hobby for the mysteries of crime, with which I could fully sympathise; and I smiled as I thought of the burning interest with which he had listened to the story of the double tragedy. How naïvely he had confessed his thought that he would have made a great detective—or a great criminal; and here he was only a dealer in curios. Well, I had had the same thought, more than once—and here was I, merely a not-too-successful lawyer. Decidedly, M. Armand and myself had much in common!
The coroner's inquest was held next day, and my surmise proved to be correct. The police had discovered practically no new evidence; none, certainly, which shed any light on the way in which Drouet and Philip Vantine had met death. Each of the witnesses told his story much as I have told it here, and it was evident that the jury was bewildered by the seemingly inextricable tangle of circumstances.
To my relief, Drouet's identity was established without any help from me. The bag which he had left on the pier had been opened at the request of the police and a card-case found with his address on it. Why he had sent in to Vantine a card not his own, and what his business with Vantine had been, were details concerning which the police could offer no theory, and which I did not feel called upon to explain, since neither in any way made clearer the mystery of his death.
An amusing incident of the inquest was the attempt made byGoldberger to heckle Godfrey, evidently at Grady's suggestion.
"On the morning after the tragedy," Goldberger began sweetly, "you printed in theRecorda photograph which you claimed to be that of the woman who had called upon Mr. Vantine the night before, and who was, presumably, the last person to see him alive. Where did you get that photograph?"
"It was a copy of one which Drouet carried in his watch-case," answered Godfrey.
"Since then," pursued Goldberger, "you have made no further reference to that feature of the case. I presume you found out that you were mistaken?"
"On the contrary, I proved that I was correct."
Goldberger's face reddened, and his look was not pleasant.
"'Prove' is rather a strong word, isn't it?" he asked.
"It is the right word."
"What was the woman's connection with the man Drouet?"
"She had been his mistress."
"You say that very confidently," said Goldberger, his lips curling."After all, it is merely a guess, isn't it?"
"I have reason to say it confidently," retorted Godfrey quietly, "since the woman confessed as much in my presence."
Again Goldberger reddened.
"I suppose she also confessed that it was really she who called uponMr. Vantine?" he sneered.
"She not only confessed that," said Godfrey, still more quietly, "but she told in detail what occurred during that visit."
"The confession was made to yourself alone, of course?" queriedGoldberger, in a tone deliberately insulting.
Godfrey flushed a little at the words, but managed to retain his self-control.
"Not at all," he said. "It was made in the presence of Mr. Lester and of another distinguished lawyer whose name I am not at liberty to reveal."
Goldberger swallowed hard, as though he had received a slap in the face. I dare say, he felt as though he had!
"This woman is in New York?" he asked.
"I believe so."
"What is her name and address?"
"I am not at liberty to answer."
Goldberger glared at him.
"Youwillanswer," he thundered, "or I'll commit you for contempt!"
Godfrey was quite himself again.
"Very well," he said, smiling. "I have not the slightest objection.But I would think it over, if I were you. Mr. Lester will assure youthat the woman was in no way connected with the death either ofDrouet or of Mr. Vantine."
Goldberger did think it over; he realised the danger of trying to punish a paper so powerful as theRecord, and he finally decided to accept Godfrey's statement as a mitigation of his refusal to answer.
"That is only one of the details which Commissioner Grady has missed," Godfrey added, pleasantly.
"That will do," Goldberger broke in, and Godfrey left the stand.
I was recalled to confirm his story. I, also, of course, refused to give the woman's name, explaining to Goldberger that I had learned it professionally, that I was certain she had been guilty of no crime, and that to reveal it would seriously embarrass an entirely innocent woman. With that statement, the coroner was compelled to appear satisfied.
Grady did not go on the stand; he was not even at the inquest. In fact, since the first day, he had not appeared publicly in connection with the case at all; and I had surmised that he did not care to be identified with a mystery which there seemed to be no prospect of solving, and from which no glory was to be won. The case had been placed in Simmonds's hands, and it was he who testified on behalf of the police, admitting candidly that they were all at sea. He had made a careful examination of the Vantine house, he said, particularly of the room in which the bodies had been found, and had discovered absolutely nothing in the shape of a clue to the solution of the mystery. There was something diabolical about it; something almost supernatural. He had not abandoned hope, and was still working on the case; but he was inclined to think that, if the mystery was ever solved, it would be only by some lucky accident or through the confession of the guilty man.
Goldberger was annoyed; that was evident enough from the nervous way in which he gnawed his moustache; but he had no theory any more than the police; there was not a scintilla of evidence to fasten the crime upon any one; and the end of the hearing was that the jury brought in a verdict that Philip Vantine and Georges Drouet had died from the effects of a poison administered by a person or persons unknown.
Godfrey joined me at the door as I was leaving, and we went down the steps together.
"I was glad to hear Simmonds confess that the police are up a tree," he said. "Of course, Grady is trying to sneak out of it, and blame some one else for the failure—but I'll see that he doesn't succeed. I'll see, anyway, that Simmonds gets a square deal—he's an old friend of mine, you know."
"Yes," I said, "I know; but we're all up a tree, aren't we?"
"For the present," laughed Godfrey, "we do occupy that undignified position. But you don't expect to stay there forever, do you, Lester?"
"Since my theory about the Boule cabinet exploded," I said, "I have given up hope. By the way, I'm going to turn the cabinet over to its owner to-morrow."
"To its owner?" he repeated, his eyes narrowing. "Yes, I thought he'd be around for it, though I hardly thought he'd come so soon. Who does it happen to be, Lester?"
"Why," I said, a little impatiently, "you know as well as I do that it belongs to Armand & Son."
"You've seen their representative, then?" he queried, a little flush of excitement which I could not understand spreading over his face.
"He came to see me yesterday. I'd like you to meet him, Godfrey. He is Félix Armand, the 'son' of the firm, and one of the most finished gentlemen I ever met."
"I'd like to meet him," said Godfrey, smiling queerly. "Perhaps I shall, some day; I hope so, anyway. But how did he explain the blunder, Lester?"
"In some way, they shipped the wrong cabinet to Vantine. The right one will get here onLa Provenceto-morrow," and I told him in detail the story which Felix Armand had told me. "He was quite upset over it," I added, "His apologies were almost abject."
Godfrey listened intently to all this, and he nodded with satisfaction when I had finished.
"It is all most interesting," he commented.
"Did M. Armand happen to mention where he is staying?"
"No, but he won't be hard to find, if you want to see him. He's at one of the big hotels, of course—probably the Plaza or the St. Regis. He's too great a swell for any minor hostelry."
"What time do you expect him to-morrow?"
"Sometime in the afternoon. He's to call for me as soon as he gets Vantine's cabinet off the boat. Godfrey," I added, "I felt yesterday when I was talking with him that perhaps he knew more about this affair than he would admit. I could see that he guessed in an instant who the owner of the letters was, and what they contained. Do you think I ought to hold on to the cabinet a while longer? I could invent some pretext for delay, easily enough."
"Why, no; let him have his cabinet," said Godfrey, with an alacrity that surprised me. "If your theory about it has been exploded, what's the use of hanging on to it?"
"I don't see any use in doing so," I admitted, "but I thought perhaps you might want more time to examine it."
"I've examined it all I'm going to," Godfrey answered, and I told myself that this was the first time I had ever known him to admit himself defeated.
"I have a sort of feeling," I explained, "that when we let go of the cabinet, we give up the only clue we have to this whole affair. It is like a confession of defeat."
"Oh, no, it isn't," Godfrey objected. "If there is nothing more to be learned from the cabinet, there is no reason to retain it. I should certainly let M. Armand have it. Perhaps I'll see you to-morrow," he added, and we parted at the corner.
But I did not see him on the morrow. I was rather expecting a call from him during the morning, and when none came, I was certain I should find him awaiting me when I arrived at the Vantine house, in company with M. Armand. But he was not there, and when I asked for him, Parks told me that he had not seen him since the day before.
I confess that Godfrey's indifference to the fate of the cabinet surprised me greatly; besides, I was hoping that he would wish to meet the fascinating Frenchman. More fascinating, if possible, than he had been on Monday, and I soon found myself completely under his spell. There had been less delay than he had anticipated in getting the cabinet off the boat and through the customs, and it was not yet three o'clock when we reached the Vantine house.
"I haven't seen Mr. Godfrey," Parks repeated, "but there's others here as it fair breaks my heart to see."
He motioned toward the door of the music-room, and, stepping to it, I saw that the inventory was already in progress. The man in charge of it nodded to me, but I did not go in, for the sight was anything but a pleasant one.
"The cabinet is in the room across the hall," I said to M. Armand, and led the way through the ante-room into the room beyond.
Parks switched on the lights for us, and my companion glanced with surprise at the heavy shutters covering the windows.
"We put those up for a protection," I explained. "We had an idea that some one would try to enter. In fact, one evening wedidfind a wire connecting with the burglar-alarm cut, and, later on, saw some one peering in through the hole in that shutter yonder."
"You did?" M. Armand queried quickly.
"Would you recognise the man, if you were to meet him again?"
"Oh, no; you see the hole is quite small. There was nothing visible except a pair of eyes. Yet I might know them again, for I never before saw such eyes—so bright, so burning. It was the night that Godfrey and I were trying to find the secret drawer, and those eyes gleamed like fire as they watched us."