In the early '50's Clara Cooper was the belle of the village of Merton. Wooers were many, but favors were few and grudgingly bestowed; and in time all the suitors withdrew, leaving the field clear to Alfred Fluette and Felix Page.
The Coopers and the Fluettes represented the wealth and aristocracy of the community, while Felix Page was a poor, struggling young man whose only advantages and prospects for the future lay in his indomitable pluck and a resolution that was ready to ride roughshod over all opposition.
And Clara favored the poor young man. He went forth from Merton resolved to wrest a fortune from the world and lay it at his sweetheart's feet. She promised to wait for him until he returned with the fulfilment of his ambitious aims.
Alas, though, for the fiery Felix: she was not of a very resolute character, being easily influenced by her sterner parents, whose patrician eyes looked askance upon the presumptuous lover's claims. Besides, Felix was absent—supposedly engaged in his laudable enterprise of wresting a fortune from the world—while Alfred, handsome, polished of manner, patient and persistently attentive, was ever at her elbow.
Then, too, there was Miss Clara's family, to the last one of them espousing Alfred's cause. In the end the girl allowed herself to drift with the current. Felix would have accomplished more to his purpose had he remained at home and married Clara, and then gone after the fortune. At any rate, after one or two letters from Felix, which glowed with hope and boundless zeal, she ceased to hear from him. Doubtless he had come to realize that the wresting operation demanded all his powers; but his silence was easily made to appear of more significance than it deserved. It was construed—for Miss Clara, not by her—as indisputable evidence of forgetfulness. Within the year she married Alfred Fluette.
Six years passed. Alfred Fluette had migrated with his bride to the city. Then Felix Page returned triumphant to Merton. His triumph, however, was short-lived. He was well on the road, even then, to his subsequent commercial success; a good deal of the wresting had been accomplished; but the girl he had steadfastly loved, whom he had never for one instant put out of his thoughts, had married his rival.
To get together most of her report Genevieve had been obliged to labor patiently and painstakingly; when it came to the events associated with Felix Page's return to his birth-place, her task was suddenly transformed from one of gleaning to another equally arduous, of selecting from the plethora of material at her disposal.
One gathers the idea, after reading it all, that his rage was that of a cave-man who returns from the day's hunt to find that his home in the hillside cliff has been despoiled. One thing stands out clear and unmistakable; from that hour his life was embittered, his character warped with the shattering of his ideals. He registered a solemn vow of vengeance against Alfred Fluette, then disappeared.
So much for this portion of the report. Nothing in the subsequent relations of the two men was now obscure.
And here, too, we are given a new light upon Alexander Burke, oiling door-hinges that he might the better spy upon his employer, patiently working out the combination of the hidden safe and running to Alfred Fluette with the old love-letters and mementos—for a price, of course,—playing the vindictiveness of the one against the hatred and fear of the other, and scrupling not to gain profit for himself whenever and wherever he might.
But it is proverbial that a woman invariably reserves the most interesting and important item for the postscript. And it was so with Genevieve's report. I quote the concluding paragraphsin toto.
On the very first day of my arrival, and from the very first person to whom I confided the nature of my errand, I received the surprising intelligence that I was not the first to pursue similar inquiries in Merton. Said my informant: "Why, there was a man here two or three weeks ago, trying to find out all he could about the Pages and the Coopers and the Fluettes. Has some one of them died and left a lot of money?"
I did not think so much of it the first time, but when my second victim told me the same thing, I sat up and began to take notice. Then I extended my inquiries so as to cover my mysterious predecessor.
I soon found out that he had ingratiated himself with everybody in Merton who could give him a scrap of information, and that his inquiries were all directed to one end; namely, the family histories of the Pages, the Coopers, and the Fluettes.
Then, from all the people I could find who had seen and talked to this man, I obtained a description of his appearance and (where they were remembered) his personal peculiarities. One description photographed him for me:
"A tall, lean, lanky feller—real sandy—hair, eyes, eyelashes, eyebrows—no, he did n't have no eyebrows; but all the rest was the same light yaller color. He was pale and sickly lookin'—poor man!—and you could n't tell what he was a-lookin' at when he talked to a body. Any kin o' yourn?"
Who was my mysterious predecessor in the field, if he were not Alexander Burke?
Who, indeed!
Eight o'clock Thursday morning: an hour before, Fanshawe had heard with a sigh of relief that I would take his place that morning. I had since been kicking my heels opposite the rooming house where Alexander Burke had his lodgings.
At the hour mentioned Burke appeared. I retreated into a sheltering doorway, and watched him.
He stood for a moment upon the top step, darting quick glances up and down the street, and intently scanning the few pedestrians who were abroad at the time. Then he came rapidly down the steps, and turned toward the city.
The snow muffled my tread, and he did n't hear my approach—did n't know of my presence until I tapped him upon the shoulder.
"Mr. Burke," said I, "I want you."
With a quick intake of breath, which sounded like the hiss of a snake, he slewed round and fixed me with his expressionless eyes. Also—to complete the simile—his head reared back, like a snake's when it is about to strike. I don't believe that I ever before found such a keen pleasure in arresting a man.
"Want me!" he gasped. "What for?"
"Yes, you." I could not entirely hide my satisfaction. "And because you have reached the end of your rope. I don't intend to stand here and argue about it, either."
In a moment the man was calm—all except his gloved hands. A man's hands will, nine times out of ten, betray him in spite of himself. Burke's fingers were twitching, and folding and unfolding without cessation.
"Swift," he whispered vindictively, "you 'll regret this—so help me God, you will. Curse you! Why do you persecute me? I 'll go with you—of course I shall; how can I help myself when I 'm at the mercy of a brute of a giant, like you?"
"Then shut up, and come along. I 'll just keep a hand under your arm until we get to headquarters.… Never mind!" as he made a move to unbutton his overcoat. "It's cold enough to keep covered." I had struck down the stealthy hand with considerable vigor, and he winced with pain. The pale eyes flashed a malignant look at me, and straightway became inscrutable again.
Not another word was said until we stood before the clerk at the Central Office. The matter-of-fact way in which he picked up a pen and poised it over the police docket, the callous indifference with which he inquired the prisoner's name and the nature of the charge, made Burke flinch for the first time.
"Wait, Johnson!" I said suddenly to the clerk, as if on second thought. "I don't believe I 'll docket this man yet; I want to keep the pinch quiet for a while."
The game was familiar to Johnson; he laid aside the pen as indifferently as he had taken it up, and returned to his interrupted perusal of the morning paper.
"You come with me," I said to Burke.
I conducted him to the little room behind the Captain's private office—scene of many a heart-to-heart conference—and pushed him toward one of the two chairs which constituted the room's sole furnishing. It was a dim, silent, disheartening place, and I was resolved to have no mercy upon the man whom at last I had succeeded in getting into a position where I could handle him.
"Burke," I began, "I 'm not going to mince matters or stand for any quibbling or lying. I haveyouright where I want you, and whatever leniency you may receive will depend entirely upon your frankness. This is your chance—the last one."
No doubt my expression and manner were grim, I meant them to be and there was no doubt that my obvious confidence in my position impressed the ex-secretary; for the fingers grew more agile, and he licked his dry lips again and again.
"What am I charged with?" he demanded, in a shaking voice.
"Nothing, as yet," I returned cheerfully. "You doubtless noticed that I dispensed with that little formality. Do you know what that means? Just this: no one knows you are here; there is a certain small cell below stairs, dark as Egypt, provided expressly for recalcitrant individuals. You could lie there for a year, and nobody be a whit the wiser. I, for one, wouldn't care how long you stayed."
"Swift," the fellow stammered, "this—this is outrageous!"
"Perhaps," agreed I, carelessly, surveying him with a narrowed look. "I 'm not here to excuse police methods; they 're not very gentle, I 'll admit; but when we deal with crooks we 're obliged to hand them the only treatment they 're amenable to.
"Burke, you can't excite one bit of pity or sympathy in me for you, for I know you to be a cold-blooded, treacherous scoundrel, and whatever you have coming to you is only what you deserve. I 'm fixed to put you through as a principal in the murder of Page—sit down!" I thundered at him, for he had started to rise from his seat. He dropped back limply. "You wait till I 'm through. Your chance is coming in just about a minute. I promise not to interrupt—as long as you tell a straightforward story.
"As I said," I went on, "I 'm prepared to put you through as one of the principals; the bare fact of your arrest should be enough to convince you of my readiness.
"However, while I have n't any desire to spare you, we are in the habit of trading leniency to a rascal who is willing to turn State's evidence. It's a plain business proposition."
I imagined that he perked up a bit at this.
"Ah, then you are not so sure," he seemed to muse; "you would have me convict myself for your precious benefit."
"Maybe you can judge better before I have finished," returned I, unmoved. "You need not tell me anything about yourself, but I do need a few facts to complete my case against the others who were involved in this crime. It's up to you."
I retreated a step, folded my arms, and stood watching him—and waiting. I knew that he could n't tell the truth without filling in the gaps in his own case. I never am deterred by any compunction over the methods I am sometimes obliged to use to make an individual, whom I know deserves no consideration, speak. With a knave like Burke I would as lief resort to thumb-screws, the boot, the rack, or even to choking the words from him, as to trust to persuasion alone. To tell the truth, my preference lies with the means first enumerated: they are much more prompt and direct. The worst indictment that one may bring against the old-time torture is that it was not applied with judgment and discrimination, nor always confined to legitimate ends. I fear that I shock you. But I am not by any means a cruel, blood-thirsty person. I merely speak from long years of experience. Whenever I hear a misguided soul deploring the so-called "third degree"—why, I have something in pickle forhim.
This, however, is not the place to open the pickle-jar.
Perhaps, though, Burke's suffering was as poignant as if his ordeal were physical. How restlessly the man's slender, bloodless fingers curled and uncurled! Still, his self-control was wonderful; his white face remained indecipherable, the pale eyes stared at me unblinkingly and without mirroring a single emotion that I could discern. Then the change came so quickly that it almost caught me off my guard.
One hand shot to his bosom. When it re-appeared something flashed dully in the dim light. At the same time, with a cat-like spring, he was out of his chair and upon me.
I concentrated all my attention upon the hand that held the murderous knife. I caught it as it lunged at me; then, with a quick twist, I bent it backward and behind him, until he groaned with pain. The long-bladed knife clattered to the floor, and I shoved him roughly away from me. Then I picked up the weapon.
The fellow acted for all the world like a whipped and cowed panther. He brought up violently against the wall, where, in a stooping posture, he commenced running to and fro the width of the room, spitting and snarling venomously. The pale eyes were no longer blank. The pupils had widened, and the look of them was deadly.
I smiled with quiet satisfaction, for I knew that Burke was—as we specify it in police parlance—"coming through."
After a while he quieted, and at last stood panting in the corner farthest away from me. I pointed to the chair.
"Sit down," I said, precisely as if he had n't tried his best to murder me but a minute before.
He moved slowly—fearfully—toward the chair, and sank into it. His head was dropped forward, his shoulders were bowed, and the fingers were no longer restless. All the man's defences were at last down.
"Now, then, Burke," I went on calmly, "I suppose we are ready to get down to business?"
He muttered inaudibly, without raising his head.
"What's that?"—sharply,
"You devil!" he whispered.
"Yes, yes, I know. I 've heard that from you before. I don't care to hear it again." I advanced and stood threateningly over him.
"Look at me," I sternly commanded.
Slowly he raised his head until his eyes met mine. The pallid mask was pinched, and it wore a look of torment.
"Once for all, Burke, are you going to speak?" I suppose the quietness with which I uttered it was ominous to the wretch. "Or will I be obliged to drag you to that cell of which I spoke?"
With a quick gesture, he outspread his arms.
"Enough, Swift, enough!" he cried, in a hoarse, distressed voice. "I know when I 'm beaten; I 'll give up. What do you want?"
"Good," without alteration of tone or manner. "Let's go to a pleasanter place." And we went into the Captain's private room, where a stenographer sat concealed by a screen.
Burke dropped into a chair. I thrust my hands into my coat pockets, and as I slowly paced to and fro, addressed him.
"I 'll tell my story. When I 'm wrong you may correct me. See that you do it, too, because you won't know when I 'm testing you or when I am really ignorant of the facts. You see how much I trust you, Mr. Burke.
"To begin at the beginning, your first treacherous act toward your employer was when you determined to steal the Paternoster ruby, and started in to hunt for it. You had your work all cut out for you, too, Burke; Felix Page was no fool; he would n't trust the safekeeping of so valuable an object even to his confidential clerk, nor could that clerk search for it with impunity.
"You 've been gifted with the same brand of patience, though, Burke, that keeps a cat glued to a rat-hole for hours upon end; you bided your time. And you never let an opportunity slip by you, either.
"Felix Page was in the habit of talking to himself—a trait not uncommon to people who live much to themselves—so you oiled the door-hinges in order that you might steal upon him undetected, from any part of the house, and listen to his self-communings. No wonder, when you talked with me, that you were fearful of the curtained alcove!
"But I 'll be brief. By and by you learned of the hidden safe; then—still with infinite patience—you set about trying to discover its combination. You succeeded."
I halted abruptly in front of him.
"Burke, the opening of that safe door was a revelation; it offered new possibilities which must have overwhelmed you. What did you think when your eyes first fell upon those old love mementos from Clara Cooper to Felix Page? Don't look astonished so soon; wait till I 'm done. I 'll have no difficulty convincing you that my case against you is pretty complete.
"But your find was extremely aggravating, for you were afraid to make use of it. Without doubt, Alfred Fluette would give a pretty penny to get them from Felix Page. But you lacked sand to brave Page's wrath.
"Then what did you do?" I paused to eye him a moment. "Why, you went down to Merton and dug up all the old family skeletons. Now you were surer of your ground; you were ready to levy tribute—blackmail—not from Page, though, because he would have promptly kicked you out—but again your nerve failed you. That's where you have fallen down, Burke, all the way through. You carried a letter or two to Fluette to prove your claims; then, before their loss was discovered, you brought them back again, and replaced them in the safe. Oh, that old man, in his lifetime, inspired a wholesome fear of him in your soul."
Then, circumstantially, I detailed as a statement of the case, my reconstruction of the tragic night, concluding with his hiding the ruby in the bar of soap. At this point I suddenly wheeled upon him, and asked point-blank:
"Tell me what you were doing in Mr. Page's bedroom Friday night, and what it was that surprised you there?"
He stared at me in amazement. He had been, whilst I was talking, slowly regaining his self-possession—crawling into himself, as it were, and pulling down the blinds; and now, when he spoke, it was with something of his old manner.
"Swift, my biggest blunder was in underestimating your intelligence. I thought I could play hob with you; but I was a fool." His face gave me a certain impression of slyness, which I did n't at all like.
"Careful now," I sharply warned.
He sat silent for a moment, then spoke.
"I 'm not taking any more chances. Swift; don't worry.… What was I doing Friday night? I was hunting for the ruby."
"Look here,"—impatiently. "I thought you had trifled enough."
He raised a protesting hand.
"Let me finish. Friday was the first time since Mr. Page's death that I have managed to shake off the man who has been following me. When I became convinced that I really had succeeded in doing so, I stayed under cover until nightfall; then—well, you yourself have said that I 'm an opportunist. I did n't know the cake of soap had been removed from the bath room; when I discovered it was not there I supposed you had found the ruby's hiding-place, and that you had concealed it elsewhere. I was trying to find it, when—when somebody came in."
"One of the Japanese," I supplied.
"They 're not Japanese," he corrected, with a provoking air of superior knowledge. "They are Burmese."
"Whatever they are, you have been playing them and Fluette against each other. Burke, I suppose you can't help lying; it comes easier for you than telling the truth. You know that those fellows managed to steal the bar of soap—"
"While you were watching it," he interpolated.
"—and," I went on, ignoring the thrust, "they notified you and Fluette of the fact Friday morning."
"Yes," he said slowly, after a pause, "they told us they had secured the bar of soap."
"If that's so," I fixed him with a level look, "why did the intelligence floor you so?"
"You draw your conclusions so admirably that you ought to be able to supply the answer to that question yourself."
"I 'm not here for that purpose,"—curtly. "Come, speak up."
He sat for a long while silent; then,—
"Well," said he, "it would come as a shock to any man to be bluntly told that he had just been deprived of a fortune. Mr. Fluette, confident that he was within a step of securing the stone, blamed me with being the cause of his disappointment."
The fellow's demeanor angered me beyond endurance.
"Burke," I cried heatedly, "do you think you can make me believe that a man of Alfred Fluette's calibre would purchase the Paternoster ruby from you, knowing that it was not yours to sell? Bah!" I was filled with disgust.
"Ah, Swift, Swift," the rogue said, complacently wagging his head at me, "there are some things of which even you are ignorant.
"Here is one of them—listen: the Paternoster ruby was no more Felix Page's than it is yours or mine. It is the property of the king of Burma; it was stolen from him years ago, and the Burmese nobleman who is at present in this country with his retinue—"
"Tshen-byo-yen," I said quietly, and had the satisfaction of beholding Mr. Burke favor me with a startled glance.
"Yes," he pursued, with considerably less assurance, "that's his name."
"And one of the 'retinue,' as you are pleased to call his gang of thugs, is that hideous, misshapen monster that shrieks like a ghoul. I suppose that he too was hunting for the ruby Friday night—after having stolen it the night before." My sarcasm failed to touch Burke. He shuddered, saying:
"The dwarf? He's a mute—Tshen's slave. Tongue 's been torn out. And—truly—believe me; you may easily verify what I say—Tshen is the properly accredited representative of the king of Burma, invested with full power and authority to dispose of the stone. Does the fact that it was stolen from his royal master—that it has for some years been out of the king's possession—in any way lessen or invalidate his right to it? Surely you would not dispute that?"
"I don't propose debating the matter with you." And then I pointed out: "If his claim is good, there are the courts."
Burke's shoulders twitched in a tiny shrug.
"Who can fathom the Oriental mind?" said he, oracularly.
I swung on my heel squarely away from him; I had no more patience for such shuffling with words.
"You come with me," I said curtly; "I 'll at least get you straight on the police docket—since you seem to prefer it to frankness."
He was out of his chair like a flash.
"No—no—no, Swift!" he implored. "I swear I'm telling the truth. Not that I—not that!" He hesitated a second.
"It was n't the ruby that was in the bar of soap"—the words literally dragged from his lips. "Ithought it was. But it was only the paste imitation."
I stared at Burke in speechless amazement.
The tremendous possibilities opened up by this revelation left me bewildered. But the wave of joy which suddenly swept over me was unmistakable.
"Then, how—" I began, and stopped.
If I could not understand, it was only too clear that Burke could not tell me what I wanted to know; for it was also plain that he too was utterly at a loss to account for the circumstance. This, then, had been the intelligence imparted by the Burman on Friday morning, which had so upset Fluette and Burke.
But again, why in the first place should Burke have informed the Burmese of the supposed gem's hiding-place? And how could it have been the replica instead of the real stone? The whole thing was fraught with many perplexities; something here, which I could not seize upon, flaunted itself in obscurity, and if I wanted to learn more from Burke it would not do for him to discover how far I was at sea. Was it possible that he still fostered a hope of getting his fingers upon the real gem?
I was again surveying him with a cold, suspicious eye.
"Burke," I said, "just how did you come to put the gem—or the paste replica—in the soap?"
For a long time he sat contemplating his hand, first the back and then the palm, and then closing the fingers and scrutinizing the nails. Finally, with another shrug and a little gesture in which I read resignation, he said:
"I might as well tell it. As you say, I knew the jewel-box—and I honestly thought it contained the ruby—and the Clara Cooper letters were in the safe, and I never had an opportunity to take them till Tuesday night a week ago. The assurance that Page was going to Duluth that night, combined with the backing Tshen would give me, put me in a position where I could take the ruby and defy Page. I was so sure that Page was going to Duluth that night that I arranged a meeting between Fluette and the Burman at Page's house.
"For you surmised correctly when you declared that Fluette would not buy the ruby on the strength of my representations alone. The purpose of that meeting was to convince Fluette of the good faith of Tshen's claim to the stone, whereupon I was to procure it from the safe—the letters, too—and he was to pay over a certain sum of money for them."
"How much?" I bluntly demanded.
"Two hundred thousand dollars."
So this was the reason why Alfred Fluette must needs help himself to Genevieve's patrimony. That rapacious monster, the Wheat Pit, had exhausted all of his legitimate resources, and so mad was his obsession that he scrupled not to steal.
I entertained only hard feelings for him at that moment. He had not bought the ruby, however, and doubtless Genevieve's fortune was still intact.
"Go on," I commanded curtly. "What happened then?"
"Well, Maillot's arrival demoralized everything. Fluette was to come at ten o'clock, and Tshen at ten-thirty. I did n't know what to do. I had no way of getting them word at that time of night, and I soon realized that Page had given over the trip. I contrived, however, to smuggle all of them up to my room, without anybody being the wiser.
"I explained the state of affairs, and assured them that I would fulfil my part of the agreement as soon as Page and Maillot retired and the house grew quiet.
"Some time after eleven I heard Page and Maillot coming up-stairs. The light was out in my room, and, peering through the crack of my door, I watched Page bid Maillot good-night. The old man was holding a lighted candle in one hand and the small leather box in the other. Iknowit was the ruby he showed Maillot—"
"I suppose you were in the curtained alcove while he and Maillot were talking," I interrupted.
"Not all the time; I didn't dare be. The old man was as sharp as a fox. He didn't trust anybody.
"However, I carried out my part of the programme, all right; but just as I reached the top of the stairs I felt the magnetism of somebody's presence. I looked back and saw Page—he looked positively diabolical—following me. How he enjoyed catching anybody in such a predicament!"
"And then?"
"Well, then—why, I must have lost my head. I started for my room, but the old man commanded me to stop, and I stopped. People generally did when Page told them to. Fluette heard him and came into the hall to learn what was the matter. Page could not see him then because of the angle in the corridor, and the old man paused by theétagèreto light the candle in the iron candlestick.
"After that the old man walked right up to me and held out his hand for the box and the bundle of letters; but before I had time to give them to him, Fluette rushed in between us. His appearance startled the old man so that he recoiled a pace or two. This gave Fluette the opportunity he needed to take the things from me. He smiled at Page, and said:
"'By God, Felix Page, you sha'n't thwart me this time; for once I 've got the upper-hand of you, and I mean to keep it.' Fluette, you see, had put in the time while waiting in my room listening to Tshen's story and examining his credentials.
"That infuriated Page so that he went clear off his head. He set down the iron candlestick upon the floor, and plunged right into Fluette. Quicker than you can think, they were wrestling furiously for the box and the bundle of letters.
"'I ran into my room and told Tshen what was going on. Three of his party were with him, and they were all so excited that I could scarcely do anything with them. Next I ran back into the hall, where the two men were still struggling and threshing about. They saved their breath for their exertions, each trying with might and main to wrest the precious package from the other.
"All at once the jewel-box was wrenched open. The ruby—or what I thought was the ruby—flew out and fell at my feet. I stooped in a flash and picked it up. As I straightened upright, I saw that Page had succeeded in recovering the jewel-case, although Fluette had the letters. With an oath, Page cast the empty box away from him. 'I 'll cut your heart out for that!' he snarled, and started for Fluette. Fluette hastily jabbed the letters into his coat pocket, grabbed up the candlestick and threw it above his head. The light was extinguished, and the candlestick crushed upon Page's head.
"It was an inspiration that made me press the ruby into the soap; I could n't have found a better hiding-place if I had searched the house over."
I was no longer heeding him. The last doubt had been removed. After all, then, Alfred Fluette was the guilty man.
My heart ached for the three women upon whom the blow would fall the hardest. The tangle was unravelling in accord with my theory. I had warned Genevieve of what she might expect—indeed, she had apprehended the probable outcome herself; it had been hopeless to attempt to prepare Belle. But all this failed to relieve the situation any.
However, the ruby presently rose uppermost in my mind, and with it came a conviction that Burke had not told me everything that he might have respecting the gem. If it had not been in the bar of soap, where was it? Then light flashed upon the enigma.
Burke and the Burmese had been afforded more time than I in which to speculate upon the substitution of the false for the genuine stone, and Burke had not gone inconsiderately to the Page place on Friday night, but, quite the reverse, to prosecute a definite plan of search. How near he came to the goal I did n't appreciate till later.
The discovery by the Burmese that the soap contained merely the paste replica, made them suspect Burke of duplicity. Hence, after Fanshawe and I lost them Friday morning, the Burman had continued to dog the ex-secretary until relieved some time during the day by the misshapen dwarf, who, in turn, had followed him to the Page place after nightfall.
The mute—whose ugly visage Genevieve had seen at the alcove curtains—had attacked him, perhaps in the belief that Burke had found the gem, and that he had been deceiving them respecting it.
It was this struggle in the bedroom which had created such a tumult, frightening Burke within an inch of his life, and driving him pellmell away and to his bed, where he had remained until the following Tuesday. Both had utterly vanished by the time I effected an entrance to the house.
"I can truthfully say, Burke," I confided, "that I never underestimated your intelligence. You did not go blindly to the Page place Friday night. You reasoned that, if Mr. Page displayed the genuine ruby to Maillot, and if the jewel-case contained only the replica when you robbed the safe an hour or so later, why, the substitution must have occurred somewhere between the library table, where Maillot and Page had been sitting, and the safe. Consequently you were encouraged by the assurance that the scope of your search would be restricted.
"I believe you argued correctly. And to keep you out of further mischief, or from setting your precious Burmese upon me again, why, you may stay here a while and think over it."
Despite his protestations, when I left headquarters the last glimpse I had of him was through the bars of a cell door.
I went directly to the Fluette residence to inform Genevieve that her apprehensions and uncertainties had at last crystallized into dread reality. I shall not dwell upon this wretched conference; it is quite enough to say that the poor girl was torn with grief, yet not wholly convinced.
"Knowles,"—she was clinging to my arm, her voice hoarse and distressed,—"it is too terrible—too monstrous for belief. I can not do it—can't believe it—unless I hear the words from Uncle Alfred's own lips. He is here now; he did n't go down-town to-day. The horrible charge has been made—confront him with it. He's up-stairs with Aunt Clara."
"Very well," I quietly returned. "You go and ask him, as calmly as possible, to come down to his study. Don't alarm Miss Belle or her mother; it may not be necessary."
Moving blindly toward the stairs, she paused on the first landing and turned to me a tragic face.
"Courage!" I whispered.
Then she found the strength to carry her on to the end of her revulsive errand. I went direct to the study, and waited.
Fluette came in hastily, his manner wild, his face white and haggard. Genevieve, distressed and heart-broken, followed close behind him. She closed the door. The man began speaking at once, incoherently, in a harsh, strident whisper that signified constricted throat muscles.
"So! It's come at last! You—keep it from—from—my God! keep it from my wife and daughter!"
I answered him roughly, in an attempt to keep him from breaking completely down.
"Pull yourself together, man! What sort of way is this to act?" I surveyed his abject figure an instant, then added with some bitterness: "It is not I that you fear, but your own conscience."
I was thinking of the women.
He slumped into a chair, clasped his out-stretched hands upon the writing-table, and allowed his head to droop between his arms. At that moment I heard Belle calling "Papa!" She was running lightly down the stairs. Again she called, and I knew that she was coming swiftly toward the library.
Genevieve made a move as if to bolt the door, but I checked her with a gesture. Of what use would it be to bar the way of her who came so impulsively? The dreadful truth must be broken to her. It was a task that no third person might assume; let her hear it wrung from her father's unwilling lips.
"Papa!" She was approaching quickly. How youthful and self-reliant her voice sounded! The sweet, girlish contralto jarred painfully upon at least two of our tense, waiting group. And Belle continued to advance all unsuspectingly.
"Papa, where are you? Why don't you answer?"
Genevieve ran over to her uncle, and laid one arm across his bowed shoulders.
"Uncle! Uncle!" She shook him, striving in an agitated way to rouse him to a sense of realization. "Uncle! Sit up! Don't go all to pieces, this way! Belle is at the door!"
"Uncle, Uncle! Sit up! Don't go to pieces this way""Uncle, Uncle! Sit up! Don't go to pieces this way"
"Uncle, Uncle! Sit up! Don't go to pieces this way""Uncle, Uncle! Sit up! Don't go to pieces this way"
And sure enough, as the bent figure painfully straightened a light rap sounded upon the panel, and Belle's fresh young voice again called:
"Are you in there, papa? May I come in?"
Genevieve drew suddenly back to a shadowed corner, wringing her hands with a helpless, despairing gesture. Fluette rose unsteadily to his feet. Then the door opened, and Belle stood framed in the doorway.
The man's look darted feverishly between the two girls—Genevieve well-nigh overcome, while the smile on Belle's handsome face quickly gave way to an expression of bewilderment, and then to a dawning one of alarm. Next she rushed into the room, and stopped abruptly. Bending a look of anxious inquiry first upon her cousin and then upon me, she finally confronted her father.
"Papa," she faltered, her voice quaking with the fear that suddenly gripped her heart, "what is it? What does this mean?" Then, as she started blindly toward him, she uttered one piercing, agonizing cry: "Papa!"
Unconsciously he brushed aside her beseeching arms. He did not answer her directly; his words were a response to the charge that I had not yet made.
"Man, you are right," he said huskily, "it is my conscience. It is not you that accuse me, but the pure eyes of these two innocent girls—the unspoken reproach of that broken, white-haired woman who sits in silence up-stairs—those fling the charge into my face—sear it into my very soul—every minute of the day and night.
"Take me. I am guilty. It was I who killed Felix Page."
It is needless to dwell upon the scene in Alfred Fluette's study; I shall take up merely such details as constitute an integral part of this memoir, and hurry along.
After Genevieve had led Belle away, Mr. Fluette quickly mastered himself. The bitter moment of the confession once passed, it seemed as if his mind had been relieved of a great burden, and he talked to me with comparative unreserve. But his appearance was in pitiable contrast with what it must have been before he wandered into devious ways. He was crushed, his mien one of hopeless submission to whatever the future might have in store for him.
"First of all," he began, with impressive earnestness, "I want to emphasize the fact that when I snuffed out that man's life I was in imminent peril of my own. When I snatched up the candlestick, if ever a man had murder in his heart Felix Page had at that moment.
"The rest was automatic; I could no more have stayed the deadly blow than I can now hope to escape its consequences. Revolt from almost a lifetime of pitiless, persistent persecution filled me with an irresistible impulse to destroy and rendered my arm invincible."
I went with him, step by step, over the ground that is already familiar. Felix Page had ever been the thorn in his flesh.
"It wasn't as if I had a tangible enemy," he declared; "he would n't come out into the open and fight. His aims were always petty, he perpetually annoyed and harassed me by mean and ignoble ways, which I was obliged to bear with an assumption of ignoring them, or else lower myself to his level to meet them. Any bold, decisive stroke would at least have won my respect; but no, the cunning hound knew that my disposition could not forever turn aside his sly thrusts; he knew that, by degrees but inevitably, he was warping my nature, slowly but surely destroying all that was best in me.
"Well," bitterly, "he has succeeded. He has ruined me not only financially, but body and soul as well.
"Time and time again he flaunted in my face some old letters which my wife wrote when she was a mere girl. They were such as any artless, inexperienced girl might write to a man who has for the moment captured her fancy; but how could that be made clear to a public ever greedy for scandal? How would those letters read in the light of my wife's years and the dignity of her present position? Yet the scoundrel has threatened me times without number that he would scatter them broadcast.
"Then—the ruby: that was a crowning stroke. He deliberately stepped in and wrested it from my grasp simply because he in some way found out that I had set my heart upon it for my collection. It was as if he perpetually had his fingers upon the pulse of my desires and intentions; he seemed to divine and anticipate my every move.
"But I was soon reconciled to the stone's loss, and I would have remained so had it not been for that creature, Burke. When he put the idea into my mind that perhaps Page had no legal title to it, I was tempted—and I fell. He presented to me too good an opportunity to retaliate for me to let it pass.
"It was a foolish thing for me to do, going to his house that fatal Tuesday night; but there was no other way. Burke was willing to procure the stone from its hiding-place, but flatly refused to assume the risk of conveying it through the streets. Page was to be away from town that night, so in an evil moment I decided to take the chance.
"You know what happened. I failed to get the gem that night; your unrelaxing vigilance prevented Burke from getting at where he supposed he had hidden it, and at last the Burmese determined to make the attempt Thursday night. Friday morning I was to have again met Tshen-byo-yen to close the deal for the stone, when one of his henchmen notified Burke and me that the attempt had been a failure, that they had succeeded in securing only the replica. We both charged Burke with double-dealing."
I started suddenly at his last words; a possibility had flashed into my mind, so huge and significant that I could comprehend it only by degrees. I spoke with quick eagerness.
"Mr. Fluette, do you think the Burmese would have devoted all these years to recovering the jewel, if they were willing to sell it to the first would-be purchaser that happened along? Doesn't that strike you as a bit peculiar?—as being inconsistent with their unflagging zeal, their tireless efforts to regain what they contend was once stolen from them? Those fellows are very far from home, please bear in mind."
"I never before regarded it in that light," he thoughtfully returned.
He was not interested, and did not press me for an explanation. But his suggestion of Burke's double-dealing had given me an idea which was clearing away one dark corner of the puzzle: the possibility was opening up more rapidly. I looked at him shrewdly.
"Just how did Maillot's story of his experience with Page impress you?" I asked.
He gave me a quick glance.
"It was amazing. I could not believe that Maillot was wilfully fabricating; yet, to accept his extraordinary story left me, as the only alternative, a conviction that Felix Page had either undergone a change of heart, or else had lost his mind."
"It did n't occur to you that Page might be trying a game of his own?"
"No."
"Did you ever see the replica?" I asked.
"Yes, many times. It is a remarkably excellent imitation—silicate of alumina; the weight, color, and hardness, the measurements—table, girdle, andculasse—all correspond exactly with the original. It lacks only in density, and perhaps a trifle in—but no; it would require an expert test to determine that it was not a true ruby."
"Then," I eagerly pursued, "even an expert might be imposed upon by the replica?"
"Well," he slowly admitted, "perhaps—yes. But not for long; men who deal in precious stones after a time develop a sort of sixth sense that protects them against imposition. It is too subtle to define; but any diamond merchant will tell you that the most perfect imitation will raise a doubt in his mind as to its genuineness; a true stone, never."
When I considered his special knowledge of the subject in general, and of the Paternoster ruby in particular, I was astounded at his obtuseness. Later, I was no less astounded at my own.
"Is it possible, Mr. Fluette," I went on, with an enthusiasm which he did not in the least share, "that it never occurred to you what Burke's game might be? With the connivance of these Burmese, he was deliberately attempting to swindle you; he meant to practise the old familiar game of 'switching' the false for the real stone. The Burmese want the stone, not the money without the stone; but for a generous share in the proceeds, they were willing to lend themselves to Burke's fraud. There 's the Oriental for you."
The man stared at me dully. I continued, warming with the subject.
"And Felix Page—he was craftier than even you give him credit for. Mr. Fluette, there 's nothing extraordinary in Maillot's story of his Tuesday night adventure—except our stupidity in comprehending its real significance.
"Remember Page's strict injunction to Maillot not to let the jewel-case out of his possession until he and Miss Belle were married; think of the alacrity with which he acceded to Maillot's request; think of his sly chuckles and furtive manner, of his attitude during the whole of that remarkable conference, and tell me what it means if he, too, didn't intend palming off the false stone on you? Maillot and Miss Belle once married, then the young man—in complete innocence, to be sure—would have handed you, not the ruby, but—the replica."
Slowly the dull look died out in Alfred Fluette's eyes, and in spite of his distress, his face flushed darkly with anger.
"The hound!" he muttered through his clenched teeth. "What a dupe I 've been. But," he added, with kindling interest, "whereisthe ruby, then?"
"Ah, precisely. That's what I would like to know myself. I think, however, I have the key that will unlock its hiding-place, when I learn how to use it." And I showed him the cipher. He shook his head over it; it was utterly meaningless to him.
There was one phase of our conference concerning which I insisted that the wretched man be minutely circumstantial. Our talk touching upon this point was much too painful for me to reproduce here in its entirety; but after I had almost literally dragged from him every minute detail of the actual tragedy, I felt justified in offering a word of encouragement.
It is sufficient simply to record now the point brought out, to supplement it with certain details acquired from Burke, and to state that it had a vital bearing upon the outcome of the case. The Page affair was by no means closed yet.
When Mr. Fluette struck the blow with the candlestick he was standing at the angle of the balustrade nearest the rooms which Burke and Maillot were occupying. Mr. Page was facing in that direction—that is, toward the west—and consequently his left side was opposed to the balustrade. Such were the respective positions of the two men at the instant the candlestick was snatched from the floor.
Immediately after the blow was struck both Burke and Fluette were thrown into a panic. The latter at once ran wildly down the front stairs, stumbling over the body on the landing, and out at the front door and away. Burke followed hastily after him, his teeth chattering with fright, and promptly bolted the front door. The act was accomplished so soon after the flight that Fluette, overcome with horror at his deed, distinctly heard the bolt shoot while he was speeding down the walk.
Burke had already informed me that after he made fast the front door he ran back to the rear stairs—he was afraid to pass again the body on the landing—where he observed the rear door wide-open. This he also closed and locked, then hurried up to the second floor, being governed by only one idea—to secure, as quickly as he possibly could, Maillot's companionship.
Between the instant he started to follow Fluette down-stairs and the time he stood rapping at Maillot's door, he had consumed much less than a minute. Some time later he thought of the Burmese, but when he looked into his room it was empty. The open back door accounted for their absence.
When I departed from Alfred Fluette—and I did that very thing; walked deliberately away from him, leaving him hopeful in the midst of his household—my heart was exultant, although I had in contemplation a task that might have dismayed Hercules.
But sometimes, usually when we are least expecting it, or when we are getting our affairs into too much of a muddle. Providence intervenes, and with a decisive stroke straightens matters out for us. After all, it is ridiculous wasting so much time and energy in rough-hewing our ends, when the shaping lies with other hands than ours. On this day of days Providence appeared in the guise of Dr. Wentworth De Breen.
His buggy drew up at the curb beside me.
"Hullo!" was his gruff salutation.
I was pleased at the meeting.
"The very man I was wanting to see," said I. "How many hospitals are there in the city and the immediate vicinity?"
He eyed me in his customary serious, intent manner. I amplified:
"I have n't the least idea, you know. Perhaps I could name a dozen, perhaps a score; but there might be five hundred. Anyhow, I have to search them all—or, until I find what I want."
"The deuce you have!" he jerked out. "Anything to do with your ruby case?"
"Everything," said I.
"Well!" He stared at me a moment, then with a sudden movement whipped the fur lap-robe aside. "Get in here," he commanded, in his abrupt manner.
The next instant I was seated beside him, and his spirited mare was dashing along the street at a pace which I regarded as altogether too reckless. Dr. De Breen had a weakness for spirited horses, and he handled them with a careless ease that never failed to excite in me a secret envy; for—I here confess it—I always have been a bit afraid of horses, whether spirited or not; not much, but just enough to make me cautious. I never take any liberties with even a blind and spavined derelict.
"What d'ye want to find?" he bluntly asked, after we had ridden the better part of five minutes in silence.
"A disabled Burmese," was the reply. "I trust to find some part of his upper-works in a more or less damaged condition."
"Burmese!" he echoed in an exclamation. "Good. I win. Larrimer bet me a five he was a Javanese." The doctor sniffed scornfully, "Devilish lot Larrimer knows about ethnology." He then became lucid.
"Larrimer's head at the Drevel Hospital, y' know; deuced clever at the operating-table, but set in his ideas. Lord, dynamite would n't move him; stubborn's no name for it.
"Your Burmese is there: triple fracture of the left parietal, left clavicle and bladebone badly crushed; trephined him last night. Beggar 'll die."
"It certainly sounds serious enough," commented I. "Is the parietal a part of his upper-works?"
He jabbed with the tip of one gloved finger the side of my head nearest him, which happened to be the right.
"That's your right parietal," he explained; "the left one 's on the other side."
"Thank Heaven for sending you across my path this day!"—fervently. "That's my man."
The doctor was a good deal of a scoffer. "Heaven had nothing to do with it," said he, with unnecessary asperity. "I knew you 'd be wanting to see him; I was hunting for you. Beggar speaks English fairly well, and he let out a word or two that made me think he knew something you ought to know.… Whoa! Jump out!"
We entered the hospital, and soon were at the bedside of the dying man. The operation had relieved the brain from the pressure of the fractured skull, and the man's wanderings were interspersed with rational periods, during which his story was taken down in shorthand, with infinite difficulty, by the hospital's stenographer. I have taken the liberty of preparing a summary from the long rambling account, sufficient to show my justification for anticipating that the case was on the eve of taking an unexpected turn, and to satisfy the curious respecting certain aspects of the ruby's history.
The man, whose name was Chaya, was a priest of the temple at Tounghain, Upper Burma, "where the sublime Da-Fou-Jan sits in eternal meditation among the thousand caverns that lie beyond Mandalay." His companions were also priests, and Tshen-byo-yen was a wealthy noble of the district, whose family was accountable to the king for the safeguarding of the temple's sacred relic—the "Heart of Budda." Thus was the great ruby known, and the rich crimson jewel was averred by tradition to be nothing less holy than the actual blood of "the Perfectly Enlightened One," bestowed upon mankind in an imperishable form.
Naturally, the gem was greatly venerated and not to be profaned by impious hands. But in the time of Tshen's father, it was stolen from the temple by an English adventurer, who succeeded in escaping out of the country with it and making his way to London.
However, a curse went with the ruby. In the temple its influence was beneficent, its crimson glow benignant and abounding with blessings for all true believers; but when desecrated by the plundering vandal's touch it became a great power for evil.
Therefore it came to pass that by the time the reckless Englishman set foot upon his native soil he was only too glad to part with his ill-gotten treasure at almost any price. He was in rags, starving and broken in health.
Thus it was that the rough, uncut gem passed into the possession of Luca Paternostro.
The recovery of the Heart of Budda straightway became a sacred charge upon all the priests. Tshen's father devoted his entire fortune to the cause. With infinite patience, laboring tirelessly, the Burmese never lost sight of their precious relic; but in England they soon found that conditions were vastly different from those of their home country. It was impossible to approach the object which they coveted; and their opinion of legal redress was based upon their familiarity with what passed for justice in Burma. But they never grew disheartened; and at last their opportunity came.
It was Tshen's father who slew Paternostro. It was he who won undying honor by recovering the jewel. It was he who, hard-pressed by the police, was obliged to seek the nearest sanctuary, which happened to be France. The rest we know.
But the gem still carried its baleful spell, for we also know how the expert whom the Paternostros carried with them to Paris, was drowned just as the homeward-bound vessel was entering Dover harbor.
So much for the ruby's eventful history.
Chaya's declaration also confirmed my conclusions respecting Burke's designed imposition upon Alfred Fluette—which, by the way, he seemed to regard as perfectly legitimate. And then it concluded with the most important matter of all.
On the night of Felix Page's murder, while his companions were all in the second story, Chaya had remained on guard below. He had watched Page following Burke up-stairs, after the robbery, but could not warn the thief without alarming the pursuer.
After the struggle began in the hall, Chaya harkened to it a while, then dashed up the rear stairs to take a hand, in case the jewel was to be snatched from his companions at the very moment of victory. He passed through the bath room during the brief period Burke was in his own room informing Tshen of the state of affairs, entered the hall, where, by the dim light of the solitary candle, the two men were locked in combat. The struggle was so furious that his presence was not noticed. He proceeded to thenorth-eastangle of the balustrade, where he crouched around the corner and followed through the balusters the uncertain issues of the fight.
He watched the two chief actors so intently, in fact, that he failed to perceive Burke snatch up the supposed ruby from the floor; but he did see Page wrest the leather case from Fluette.
Now was the time for him to act. He was armed with a black-jack—a ball of lead wrapped in leather and with a short, flexible leather handle—and just as Fluette grabbed up the iron candle-stick he plunged forward.
At this instant the light was extinguished, and he received the full weight of a human body as it staggered backward. He supposed it to be Page's. He struck out blindly with his own cruel weapon, at the same time shoving the body away from him. He felt his bludgeon crush upon his victim's head; and then he was himself felled to the floor with a tremendous blow that blotted out everything else for him. The base of the candlestick had found a mark wholly unsuspected by any one.
He knew afterwards that his companions had carried him down the rear stairs and away; that they tried to doctor him until they grew alarmed at the seriousness of his injuries; whereupon they deserted him in his room, after notifying the landlord, who had in turn notified the hospital authorities. Chaya was well supplied with funds, so there had been no difficulty on that score.