CHAPTER IIITHE EVIDENCE OF THE DEAD
At thispoint I began to feel a touch of nervousness. I had faced the proprietress of the Domino Club without any, because she had not seen me even in my disguise. But the waiters had been going to and fro throughout the night. I had given orders once or twice, and I could not feel certain that my voice would not be recognized. I told myself that my fear was fanciful, and that the last thing that could occur to anyone’s mind was that a representative of the Home Office, engaged in the investigation, had himself been present on the scene of the crime, if crime it was. But none the less I resolved to do nothing to attract the waiter’s notice, if I could help it.
I saw Tarleton frown as Madame Bonnell returned with her servant. He gave her an authoritative nod.
“Thank you, Madame. I won’t detain you while I am questioning this man.”
The prudent Frenchwoman concealed any vexation she may have felt, and instantly retired, leaving Gerard alone with us.
He was as much the type of the discreet waiter as Madame was of the discreet manageress. If he had only possessed side-whiskers he would have beenthe perfect waiter of the French stage. But he was a good deal younger than Madame, and showed less self-possession. His eyes searched us nervously in turn as though he were looking for someone to propitiate. The physician read his rather white face with one swift glance, and came to his relief.
“You are not under any suspicion, Gerard. Provided you tell the truth, you have nothing to fear.”
The waiter braced himself up with a visible effort. Not, I fancied, that he had any objection to tell the truth, but that it was a rather novel exercise for him. From that moment he neglected the Inspector and me to concentrate his efforts to propitiate on Sir Frank.
“I hear that the man who is dead trusted you. Did he trust you with his real name?”
“Never, sir.” Gerard spread out his two hands to show their emptiness of knowledge. “I knew nothing of him except what I learned from Madame.”
“And that was?”
The waiter looked apprehensive. No doubt the idea crossed his mind that it might be awkward if his account contradicted hers.
“That was very little indeed, sir. She told me to treat him as proprietor. He never paid for what he consumed. I supposed that he was Madame’s partner.”
“Were you the only man who waited on him?”
“For the last four months or six months, yes,sir. He made it his request to Madame and to me that I should bring him everything he ordered.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“Yes, he said to me that I was to carry his glass of wine or his cup of coffee very carefully. ‘See that you do not spill it, and see that nothing is spilled into it by the way’—those were his words, sir, as nearly as I can recollect.”
“What did you think when he said that?”
Gerard’s expressive hands mutely protested that it was not their business to think.
“I do what I am ordered to do, sir, without thinking too much. But Monsieur Wilson himself explained his motive to me. He said, ‘I do not like to have practical jokes played on me, and I fancy there are some practical jokers in thecercle.’”
“Did he saycercleor club?”
“Monsieur, he always spoke to me in French. He had spent much time in Paris, he told me once. I believe——” Gerard interrupted himself, as though doubtful whether his belief would be acceptable as evidence. It struck me that he had been a witness in a court of law at some time or other.
Tarleton threw him a friendly nod. “Go on; tell me what you believe.”
“I think,” Gerard corrected himself, “that perhaps Monsieur Wilson founded this club in order to escape the necessity for going to Paris to amuse himself.”
The examiner moved his head doubtfully.
“You think he had some business, then, which made it necessary for him to remain in London.”
“But I am sure of it!” The waiter’s tone became confident. “Business that assisted him in establishing the club, even. The great people who came here were his customers rather than his personal friends; such is my idea.”
Tarleton turned an approving face to us.
“I think that this man knows what he is talking about. We are dealing with something very daring and very dark. Did you ever guess what the business was?”
The question was darted out suddenly. But the little Frenchman manifested no uneasiness. The doctor’s praise seemed to have given him confidence.
“I supposed sometimes that it was not a lawful business, sir.” He lowered his voice a little and glanced behind him as if to make sure that his employer was not within hearing. “I fancied that Monsieur Wilson might be the proprietor of an establishment for the reception of ladies who did not wish to become mothers.”
I could not resist a slight shudder as the gruesome hint came glibly from the lips of the pasty-faced waiter. He did not look the kind of man who would have made any objection to a post in such an establishment.
“Some of the ladies whom he introduced here had the air of being afraid of him, I thought,” Gerard added by way of confirmation.
Inspector Charles had begun to take notes of this evidence. He now straightened himself up, and looked at Tarleton.
“Wouldn’t it be well to search his clothes, Sir Frank? We might find an address, perhaps?”
“In another minute. Is there any question you would like to put, Cassilis?”
I had to make a call on my courage, as Gerard faced towards me in readiness to be addressed. His figure was not less familiar to me than that of the masked Inquisitor had been. I was now to see whether my voice would sound familiar to him. I dared not modify my usual tone with Tarleton’s keen ears listening.
“We have heard that a royal personage was here last night,” I said slowly and distinctly, and then paused to note the effect.
At my first words Gerard’s watery eyes grew wider for an instant and I feared the worst. Some note must have been struck in the echoing cells of his memory. But the next moment reassured me. Out of the many hundred voices with which a waiter’s memory must be stored, how should he be able to identify one which he had heard say scarcely a dozen words? The man’s face was a perfect blank again before I went on.
“Can you tell us if there were any other strangers present?” I asked boldly. And turning to my chief and the Inspector, I explained, “It seems to me just possible that an attempt may have been planned onthe life of the Crown Prince, and that this man may have been mistaken for him.”
Tarleton did not reject this suggestion so decidedly as the theory of suicide. I saw a thoughtful expression come on his face, as though he was engaged in trying to adjust the idea with another one previously in his mind. Captain Charles took up the scent quite eagerly.
“Do you know what disguise His Royal Highness was wearing?” he demanded.
The waiter hesitated and then shook his head.
“I had my suspicion, sir, but Madame can tell you for certain.”
The Inspector was satisfied with the answer. But Tarleton’s voice rang out sharply.
“Let us have your suspicion, please.”
Gerard had the air of a man who had committed himself, and regrets it.
“Milor,”—he had been sharp enough to notice the Inspector’s use of a title in addressing the consultant—“I particularly noticed one person who appeared to me a stranger who did not very well know his way about the club, and who appeared to have some business with Monsieur Wilson.”
“Ah!” Tarleton’s deep breath told me that he felt himself on a real trail. “And how was this person disguised?”
“The disguise was an extraordinary one, milor. It was that which first attracted my notice. It was at once the costume of a man and of a woman. Thatis to say, the upper part was that of a warrior in armour, and the lower part was a woman’s skirt.”
“Joan of Arc,” exclaimed Charles.
The Frenchman shrank in horror. “But, monsieur, it could not have been Sainte Jeanne! For instance, the helmet was Roman.”
“Neither did she wear a skirt with her armour,” the physician added quietly. “It must have been meant for Zenobia.”
The Inspector’s face showed so clearly that he had never heard of the famous Queen of Palmyra that I should have been amused if I had not been on the rack of suspense. Fortunately, Tarleton was now engrossed in his new line of inquiry.
“In spite of this feminine disguise, in spite of the skirt, you recognized that this stranger was a man, it seems?”
The eloquent hands protested again. “But no, milor; I said I had my suspicion, that is all. Madame——”
The doctor cut him short.
“You thought this person, Zenobia, had some business with Wilson. Tell me, how many persons knew that Wilson wore that disguise last night?”
He turned and pointed to the dead body which lay full in view from where we were seated. Gerard let his eyes follow the gesture and withdrew them with a sickly twinge.
“Everyone knew it, I think. It was the disguise he wore invariably in the club. It was as ifhe came here to meet his clients, and it was necessary for them to know that they were speaking to him.”
Sir Frank Tarleton nodded more than once this time. He evidently felt himself to be getting a firm grip on the problem. I admired the sagacity he had shown in transferring his examination from the proprietress of the club to the waiter. Gerard was proving a much easier witness to deal with than Madame Bonnell. He had not so much at stake.
“And now,” the consultant pursued, “perhaps you can tell us if there were any other persons who showed a desire to meet Wilson last night?”
Gerard brightened up visibly.
“But certainly, milor. There was one in particular who never seemed to take her eyes off him. She danced with him time after time, and when she was not dancing with him herself she watched those who did.”
“And how was she dressed?”
“Milor, she was hardly dressed at all.” Gerard may have feared another irreverent guess from Captain Charles, for he added quickly: “I heard Monsieur address her as Salome.”
The Inspector was again busy with his note-book. But Sir Frank struck me as not being quite so deeply interested in Salome as he had been in Zenobia.
“And there was also a lady whose costume it is not easy to describe.” Gerard was going on of his own accord now, as though his interest had been kindled in the inquiry. “Part of it was a leopardskin. And she wore a necklace composed of claws of the same beast, as I imagined. In my own mind I called her the Leopardess. Without doubt, her costume was that of an East Indian princess.”
Tarleton’s interest seemed to revive again at the description of the Leopardess. Yet it was impossible to be sure that he was not playing a part to conceal his true opinion of all this from the witness.
“And this lady, did she dance much with Wilson?”
Gerard gave his head an emphatic shake.
“She did not dance with him at all, although he asked her more than once. I am sure of it. I was surprised, for it was not often that he was refused. I saw him speaking to her very earnestly, even threateningly, but it was no use. And she left early, long before the dance was over.”
The examiner shrugged his shoulders. I wondered that he did not point out to the man that a woman who had left early could hardly have played any part in the tragedy. But I was beginning to grasp that it was his method to listen much and speak little when he was face to face with a mystery.
The next moment he had dismissed Gerard abruptly, and risen to his feet. He crossed over to the corpse, followed by Charles and myself, and gazed intently on the exposed face. The slight leaden tinge I had remarked was more noticeable already, and in addition there was a slight roughness of theskin which I understood still less. I took care this time not to make any remark on it.
The specialist’s attention was concentrated on the features and expression of the dead man. After a moment or two he slowly shook his head.
“No,” he pronounced, “that is not the face of a man degraded enough for such a business as the waiter supposed. It is not the face of an adventurer. This was a man of the world, in a good position, able to meet with the people whom he brought to this place on a footing of equality. His motives were not sordid, perhaps, in the first place. We are dealing with a Tiberius rather than a Tigellinus, I think.”
I don’t fancy those names had much more meaning for Captain Charles than Zenobia’s. But he acquiesced respectfully in the judgment.
“From all that we have heard about the Domino Club at Scotland Yard there has never been the slightest suggestion of crime about it,” he observed. “One of the judges of the High Court is a member of it. He has the reputation of being pretty fond of women, but he certainly wouldn’t be mixed up with anything shady.”
“Shaded, but not shady, eh?” Tarleton returned with a curl of the lip. “But come, it is time to see if the dead has any evidence to give about himself.”
Thrusting his gold repeater carelessly into his pocket, he deftly stripped the body of its long Inquisitor’s robe. Underneath was revealed an evening suit of fine material and faultless cut with a white silkwaistcoat and soft-fronted shirt. They were the clothes of a man of good position, as Sir Frank had said, and a man accustomed to respect himself. A Bohemian would scarcely have troubled to dress himself so carefully beneath a domino.
Captain Charles viewed this correct attire with the approval of a military man. “A gentleman as you guessed, Sir Frank.”
“As I inferred,” the doctor responded sharply, “I never guess.” His capable fingers were already exploring the pockets of the corpse. Most of them seemed to be empty, but presently he extracted a silver matchbox from the waistcoat, and opened it. A low sound like a suppressed whistle came from his tight lips as he shook out on the palm of his hand two pellets the size of small peas.
Of all my experiences on that eventful night, or rather morning, this was the most amazing. Only by a strong effort was I able to keep my astonishment within due bounds. Although I had thrown out the suggestion of suicide, the last thing I had expected was to find poison on the dead man’s person.
My chief passed me one of the pellets, and put the other first to his nostrils and then to the tip of his tongue.
“Well?” He motioned to me to imitate his action.
There could be no doubt about the result of the test. “Opium in a highly concentrated form, and soluble,” I whispered hoarsely.
We exchanged looks of intense surprise. The Inspector on his part was evidently surprised by our attitude.
“Then Dr. Cassilis was right after all,” he said, staring at us. “It was suicide?”
The great consultant smiled at him indulgently.
“I am sure that this discovery has made Dr. Cassilis renounce that theory,” he answered. “A man who was accustomed to take opium in such doses as these would have to take a terrible quantity to kill himself. And this box, is nearly full.”
My brain was buzzing while he spoke. Utter darkness seemed to be settling down on my mind. I gazed at my chief in stupefaction greater than the Inspector’s.
“The problem for Dr. Cassilis and myself is this,” he continued, addressing his explanation to Captain Charles, although I realized that he was speaking at least as much for my benefit. “The corpse shows all the usual symptoms of poisoning by opium. But if the deceased had accustomed his system to opium it is not easy to understand how anyone could have given him enough to produce death. The dose must have been enormous, and he must have detected the taste at once in any ordinary medium such as a cup of coffee.”
I just managed to nod my head with assent.
“The inference I am inclined to draw at the moment,” the specialist concluded, “is that Wilson was not a taker of the drug and that these pelletswere not intended for himself. I think it is more probable that he carried them as weapons of self-defense. Perhaps Salome would have been given one last night if her jealousy had carried her too far, perhaps Zenobia. And perhaps the Leopardess left so early because she had been given one.”
My brain seemed to resume its normal clearness as the doctor spoke. There was really nothing very extraordinary in the coincidence, if he was right. After all, opium was the drug which it was natural for anyone to use in such circumstances. It was practically tasteless, its effects were easily mistaken for those of alcohol even by the victim, till it was too late for him to resist them. And the character of the Domino Club was such, and its members came to it in such secrecy, that one of them might be carried home in a narcotic sleep, and die before wakening from it, without his death ever being traced to the place where he had been.
While these reflections were coming to compose my mind Tarleton was renewing his investigation of the dead man’s pockets. This time the result was negative, so far as I could see. It gave a start to me and to the Inspector when the doctor suddenly raised himself with a look of triumph and exclaimed, “I see it!”
Charles bent forward with a bewildered gaze. I held my breath. The next sentence was decisive.
“There are no keys—not even a latchkey. Whoever drugged him took his keys, and took them for apurpose.” He turned on the startled Inspector, and issued his commands like a general on a battlefield ordering an advance all along the line. “Ring up your people and find out if they have received a report of any house being entered during the night or early this morning. And ask them to send a man round the theatrical costumiers to find out if any of them have supplied costumes lately of a Zenobia and a Salome and an Eastern one with a leopard skin. Though I doubt if you will hear anything about the last. It sounds like one made up privately. Meanwhile we will ask Madame Bonnell to give us some breakfast.”
Madame was charmed to give us breakfast. Gerard’s report of his examination must have impressed her favourably. It was clear by this time that the great Sir Frank Tarleton could be trusted to conduct the investigation with prudence, and not to bring any unnecessary publicity on the Domino Club. She beamed satisfaction when he informed her that he hoped to learn Wilson’s address within the next few minutes, and to have the body removed thither for the inquest. In her absence he added to his instructions to Charles:
“I think, Captain Charles that it will be well if you can go yourself to the Foreign Office and ascertain through them if this Crown Prince actually was present last night. They will feel more confidence in you than in one of the ordinary police.”
The Honourable Captain looked pleased. “Doyou think it is possible that his life was aimed at, after all, Sir Frank?” he added with deference.
Sir Frank shook his head. “That possibility is disposed of by the abstraction of the keys. The solution of the mystery lies there. But it is just possible that the thief chose his occasion; that he relied on the Prince’s presence to screen him from too close an inquiry. At all events I find it difficult to accept too many coincidences in the case.”
I thought I might venture to raise a different point.
“Madame Bonnell had ample time to search the body and remove anything she pleased before Captain Charles came.”
My chief shook his head good-naturedly.
“I haven’t too high an opinion of Madame’s ethical code, but I think sufficiently well of her intelligence to feel pretty sure that if she had had any use for her partner’s keys they would have been back in his pocket before Captain Charles heard that he was dead.”
The remark was unanswerable as far as I was concerned. A moment later the expected message came through from Scotland Yard.
The house of Doctor Weathered, of Warwick Street, Cavendish Square, had been entered during the night, and his safe had been found open, with his bunch of keys in it. And the doctor himself was missing.