[_The Statement of Domenico Falfani, confidential agent,
made to his employers, Messrs. Becke and Co., of the Private
Inquiry Offices, 279 St. Martin's Lane, W.C._]
I propose, gentlemen, to set down here at length the story of my
mission, and the events which befell me from the time I first received
my instructions. You desired me to pursue and call to strict account a
certain lady of title, who had fallen away from her high estate and
committed an act of rank felony. The circumstances which led up to her
disappearance and the partners of her flight are already well known to
you.
The only indication given me, as you are aware, was that I might take
it for granted that she would go abroad and probably by the most
direct route to the South, to Switzerland and across the Alps into
Italy. My orders having only reached me in the early morning, the
theft having presumably been committed during the night previous to
Sunday, September 21, I was unable to ascertain through the tourist
agencies whether any and what tickets had been booked in the
directions indicated.
My most urgent duty then was to watch the outgoing Continental trains,
the first of which left Charing Cross for Dover and Calais at 9
A.M. I closely watched it therefore, and its passengers, and
travelled with it to Cannon Street, where I continued my search, but
without result. I was greatly helped in my quest by the not unusual
fact noticeable on Sundays, that travellers abroad are few in number.
I had no difficulty in satisfying myself that the lady and her party
were not in this train, and I returned at once to Charing Cross in
time for the second Continental train, the 10 A.M.
I had resolved to book myself by that as far as Amiens, for I knew
that, once there, I should have reached a central point or junction, a
sort of throat through which every train moving southward to Paris or
Switzerland must pass.
There remained, of course, the route via Dover by Ostend and through
Brussels; but I had been informed by you that Ludovic Tiler, my
colleague and coworker, was to undertake the inquiry on that line.
It is part of my business to be thoroughly familiar with the
Continental Bradshaw, and I soon ticked off the different trains that
interested me.
There was first the 11 A.M. from Victoria by Dover and
Calais, where it connected with the Paris express and the sleeping-car
Engadine express, both of which run through Amiens, where, however,
the latter branches off to Basle and beyond, with special cars for
Lucerne, Zurich and Coire.
Then came the 2.20 P.M. from Charing Cross to Folkestone, and
so to Boulogne, Amiens and the rest, travelling the same road as the
Engadine express. This was the last of the day service, as it gave
most time, allowing people to start at the very latest moment, and I
felt it quite probable that my lady would prefer to take it.
I reached Amiens a little before 5 P.M., and I had a wait of
half an hour for the first express from Calais. I was greatly
disappointed when at last it appeared issuing from the tunnel, and
passed me where I stood at the commencement of the platform, taking
stock of each carriage as it passed. The train seemed to be quite
empty; there were no passengers, so the officials, the conductors,
informed me when I talked to them, sad and unhappy at the certain loss
of tips. Only one of them had any luck, Jules l'Echelle, of the
Lucerne sleeping-car, who had one or two people on board.
I questioned him not very hopefully, but was agreeably surprised when
he told me that his clients consisted of two ladies with a child, and
one gentleman. English? Yes, all English. The lady, quite a lady, a
_grande dame belle personne_, tall, fine figure, well dressed; her
companion no doubt her servant; the child, well, an ordinary child, an
infant in arms. What would you?
I had them, I felt sure. There could be no mistaking this description.
I held them in the hollow of my hand. Here they were in this car, and
it would be all my own fault if they escaped me. It would be necessary
only to verify my conclusions, to identify the lady according to the
description and photograph given me. For the rest I knew what to do.
But now a quite unexpected difficulty turned up.
As I have said, there was one other passenger, a gentleman, in the
car, and I felt it would be prudent to make his acquaintance. No doubt
I could tell at the first glance whether or not he was an ordinary
traveller, or whether he was a friend and accomplice of the lady under
observation.
I regret to say that he met me in a very hostile spirit. I was at
great pains to be affable, to treat him with all the courtly
consideration I have at command, and I flatter myself that in the
matter of tact and good-breeding I do not yield to princes of the
blood royal. But my civility was quite thrown away. The man was an
absolute brute, abrupt, overbearing, rude. Nothing would conciliate
him. I offered him a cigar (a Borneo of the best brand, at 10s. the
hundred), and he not only refused it, but positively forbade me to
smoke. There were ladies in the carriage, he said (this was the first
reference made to them), and, when declining to be ordered about, I
proposed to refer the question to themselves, he threw himself
violently upon me and assaulted me brutally.
Fortunately the attendant came to my rescue or I should have been
seriously injured. He lifted me into my compartment very kindly, and
acted like an old friend, as indeed he was, for I remembered him as
the Jules l'Echelle with whom I served some time back as an assistant
at the Baths of Bormio.
It was, of course, clear to my mind that my assailant was associated
in some way with the lady, and probably a confederate. I saw that I
must know more about him, with the least possible delay, and as soon
as Jules had left me, promising to return later and talk of old times,
and the changes that had come over us since then, I ventured to look
out and get a glimpse of the other man, I will not call him gentleman
after his conduct.
He was nowhere in sight, but I could hear his voice, several voices,
talking together at the far end. No doubt he had joined his friends in
their compartment, and the moment seemed opportune to visit his. It
was next to mine, and the door stood invitingly open. A few minutes,
seconds even, would be enough to tell me something of his identity,
perhaps all I wanted to.
At least he made no pretence at mystery; his light baggage lay about,
a dressing bag, a roll of rugs, a couple of sticks and an umbrella
strapped together, all very neat and precise and respectable, and all
alike furnished with a parchment tag or label bearing in plain
language all that I wanted to know.
His name was printed "Lieut.-Col. Basil Annesley," and his club, the
Mars and Neptune, that famous military house in Piccadilly.
Underneath, on all, his destination was written, "Hotel Bellevue,
Bellagio, Como." There could never be the least difficulty in finding
this person if I wanted him, as I thought likely. He was a blustering,
swashbuckling army officer, who could always be brought to account if
he misconducted himself, or mixed himself up in shady transactions.
In my great contentment at the discovery I had been wanting in
caution, and I lingered too long on forbidden ground.
"You infernal scoundrel," cried some one from the door, and once more
I felt an angry hand on my shoulder. "How come you here? Explain
yourself."
"It's all a mistake," I began, trying to make the best of it,
struggling to get free. But he still held me in a grip of iron, and it
was not until my friend Jules appeared that I got out of the enemy's
clutches.
"Here, I say!" shouted Jules vaguely. "This won't do, you know. I
shall have to lodge a complaint against you for brawling."
"Complaint, by George!" he replied, shaking his fist at me. "The boot
is on the other leg, I take it. How is it that I find this chap in my
compartment? Foraging about, I believe."
"Indeed no, Colonel Annesley," I protested, forgetting myself; and he
caught at it directly.
"Oho, so you know my name! That proves what I say. You've been messing
about and overhauling my things. I won't stand it. The man's a thief.
He will have to be locked up."
"I'm not the only thief in the car, then," I cried, for I was now mad
with him and his threats.
"I don't know what you're driving at, or whom you think to accuse; but
I tell you this, my friend, that I shall call in the police at the
next station and hand you over."
I looked at the conductor Jules, appealing for protection. I saw at
once that it would be terrible for me to have any trouble with the
police. They could do me no harm, but I might be delayed, obliged to
leave the train, and I should lose sight of the lady, possibly fail
altogether.
Jules responded at once. "Come, come," he said. "You're talking big.
You might own the whole train. Who might you be?"
"None of your confounded impudence," shouted the Colonel, as he
pointed to one of the luggage labels. "That's who I am. It's good
enough to get you discharged before you're a much older man. And now I
call upon you to do your duty. I have caught this man under suspicious
circumstances in the very act of rifling my effects. I insist upon his
being taken into custody."
"There isn't enough for that," Jules answered, still my friend, but
weakening a little before this masterly army officer, and I felt that
I must speak for myself.
"And if you stop me I will have the law of you for false imprisonment,
and bring heavy damages. You will be doing me a great injury in my
business."
"Precisely what I should like to do, my fine fellow. I can guess what
your business is. Nothing reputable, I feel sure."
"I'm not ashamed of it, and I have powerful friends behind me. I am
acting for--"
"Yes?" he asked me mockingly, for I had checked my tongue, fearing to
say too much.
"It is my affair. Enough that you will feel the weight of their hands
if you interfere with me in carrying out their instructions."
"Well, anyhow, tell me who you are. I've a right to know that in
exchange. You chose to help yourself to my name; now I insist upon
knowing yours."
I told him, not very readily, as may be supposed.
"Domenico Falfani? Is that your own or a 'purser's' name? Come, you
know what I mean. It's part of your stock in trade to understand all
languages, including slang. Is that the name he has given you?"--this
to the conductor. "Show me your way-bill, your _feuille de route_."
Jules at a nod from me produced it, and no doubt understood my reason
when in my turn I claimed to see it.
"I have a clear right," I insisted, overruling all objections raised
by the Colonel; and taking it into my hands I read the names aloud,
"Colonel Annesley, Mrs. Blair, maid and child." I pronounced the name
with great contempt.
"You talk of purser's names," I said sneeringly. "What do you think of
this? Blair, indeed! No more the woman's name than Smith or Jones, or
what you please."
"Speak more respectfully of a lady," cried the Colonel, catching me
tightly by the arm.
"Lady? Oho! Don't, Colonel, drop it. At any rate, she is not Mrs.
Blair; you may take that from me," I said as impressively as a judge
on the bench. "And what's more, Colonel, I wouldn't press charges you
can't substantiate against me, or I may hit back with another not so
easy to meet. Try to stop me at the next station, and I'll stop your
pal--ah, don't"--he had a cruelly strong hand--"your Mrs. Blair, and
she'll find herself in a particularly tight place."
"We'll see about that," said the Colonel, who kept a stiff face, but
was, I think, rather crestfallen. "I shall act as I think best.
Anyhow, get out of this, both of you. This is my private berth, and
you are trespassing."