At nine o'clock that night Jim Frobisher walked past the cashier's
desk and into the hall of the Grande Taverne. High above his head
the cinematograph machine whirred and clicked and a blade of silver
light cut the darkness. At the opposite end of the hall the square
screen was flooded with radiance and the pictures melted upon it one
into the other.
For a little while Jim could see nothing but that screen. Then the
hall swam gradually within his vision. He saw the heads of people
like great bullets and a wider central corridor where waitresses with
white aprons moved. Jim walked up the corridor and turned off to the
left between the tables. When he reached the wall he went forward
again towards the top of the hall. On his left the hall fell back,
and in the recess were two large cubicles in which billiard tables
were placed. Against the wall of the first of these a young man was
leaning with his eyes fixed upon the screen. Jim fancied that he
recognised Maurice Thevenet, and nodded to him as he passed. A
little further on a big man with a soft felt hat was seated alone,
with a Bock in front of him--Hanaud. Jim slipped into a seat at his
side.
"You?" Hanaud exclaimed in surprise.
"Why not? You told me this is where you would be at this hour,"
replied Jim, and some note of discouragement in his voice attracted
Hanaud's attention.
"I didn't think that those two young ladies would let you go," he
said.
"On the contrary," Jim replied with a short laugh. "They didn't want
me at all."
He began to say something more, but thought better of it, and called
to a waitress.
"Two Bocks, if you please," he ordered, and he offered Hanaud a cigar.
When the Bocks were brought, Hanaud said to him:
"It will be well to pay at once, so that we can slip away when we
want."
"We have something to do to-night?" Jim asked.
"Yes."
He said no more until Jim had paid and the waitress had turned the
two little saucers on which she had brought the Bocks upside down and
had gone away. Then he leaned towards Jim and lowered his voice.
"I am glad that you came here. For I have a hope that we shall get
the truth to-night, and you ought to be present when we do get it."
Jim lit his own cigar.
"From whom do you hope to get it?"
"Jean Cladel," Hanaud answered in a whisper. "A little later when
all the town is quiet we will pay a visit to the street of Gambetta."
"You think he'll talk?"
Hanaud nodded.
"There is no charge against Cladel in this affair. To make a
solution of that poison paste is not an offence. And he has so much
against him that he will want to be on our side if he can. Yes, he
will talk I have no doubt."
There would be an end of the affair then, to-night. Jim Frobisher
was glad with an unutterable gladness. Betty would be free to order
her life as she liked, and where she liked, to give to her youth its
due scope and range, to forget the terror and horror of these last
weeks, as one forgets old things behind locked doors.
"I hope, however," he said earnestly to Hanaud, "and I believe, that
you will be found wrong, that if there was a murder Ann Upcott had
nothing to do with it. Yes, I believe that." He repeated his
assertion as much to convince himself as to persuade Hanaud.
Hanaud touched his elbow.
"Don't raise your voice too much, my friend," he said. "I think
there is some one against the wall who is honouring us with his
attention."
Jim shook his head.
"It is only Maurice Thevenet," he said.
"Oho?" answered Hanaud in a voice of relief. "Is that all? For a
moment I was anxious. It seemed that there was a sentinel standing
guard over us." He added in a whisper, "I, too, hope from the bottom
of my heart that I may be proved wrong. But what of that arrow head
in the pen tray? Eh? Don't forget that!" Then he fell into a muse.
"What happened on that night in the Maison Grenelle?" he said. "Why
was that communicating door thrown open? Who was to be stripped to
the skin by that violent woman? Who whispered 'That will do now'?
Is Ann Upcott speaking the truth, and was there some terrible scene
taking place before she entered so unexpectedly the treasure
room--some terrible scene which ended in that dreadful whisper? Or
is Ann Upcott lying from beginning to end? Ah, my friend, you wrote
some questions down upon your memorandum this afternoon. But these
are the questions I want answered, and where shall I find the
answers?"
Jim had never seen Hanaud so moved. His hands were clenched, and the
veins prominent upon his forehead, and though he whispered his voice
shook.
"Jean Cladel may help," said Jim.
"Yes, yes, he may tell us something."
They sat through an episode of the film, and saw the lights go up and
out again, and then Hanaud looked eagerly at his watch and put it
back again into his pocket with a gesture of annoyance.
"It is still too early?" Jim asked.
"Yes. Cladel has no servant and takes his meals abroad. He has not
yet returned home."
A little before ten o'clock a man strolled in, and seating himself at
a table behind Hanaud twice scraped a match upon a match-box without
getting a light. Hanaud, without moving, said quietly to Frobisher:
"He is at home now. In a minute I shall go. Give me five minutes
and follow."
Jim nodded.
"Where shall we meet?"
"Walk straight along the Rue de la Liberté, and I will see to that,"
said Hanaud.
He pulled his packet of cigarettes from his pocket, put one between
his lips, and took his time in lighting it. Then he got up, but to
his annoyance Maurice Thevenet recognised him and came forward.
"When Monsieur Frobisher wished me good-evening and joined you I
thought it was you, Monsieur Hanaud. But I had not the presumption
to recall myself to your notice."
"Presumption! Monsieur, we are of the same service, only you have
the advantage of youth," said Hanaud politely, as he turned.
"But you are going, Monsieur Hanaud?" Thevenet asked in distress. "I
am desolated. I have broken into a conversation like a clumsy
fellow."
"Not at all," Hanaud replied. To Frobisher his patience was as
remarkable as Maurice Thevenet's impudence. "We were idly watching a
film which I think is a little tedious."
"Then, since you are not busy I beg for your indulgence. One little
moment that is all. I should so dearly love to be able to say to my
friends, 'I sat in the cinema with Monsieur Hanaud--yes, actually
I'--and asked for his advice."
Hanaud sat down again upon his chair.
"And upon what subject can you, of whom Monsieur Girardot speaks so
highly, want my advice?" Hanaud asked with a laugh.
The eternal ambition of the provincial was tormenting the eager
youth. To get to Paris--all was in that! Fortune, reputation, a
life of colour. A word from Monsieur Hanaud and a way would open.
He would work night and day to justify that word.
"Monsieur, all I can promise is that when the time comes I shall
remember you. But that promise I make now with my whole heart," said
Hanaud warmly, and with a bow he moved away.
Maurice Thevenet watched him go.
"What a man!" Maurice Thevenet went on enthusiastically. "I would
not like to try to keep any secrets from him. No, indeed!" Jim had
heard that sentiment before on other lips and with a greater
sympathy. "I did not understand at all what he had in his mind when
he staged that little scene with Francine Rollard. But something,
Monsieur. Oh, you may be sure. Something wise. And that search
through the treasure room! How quick and complete! No doubt while
we searched Mademoiselle Upcott's bedroom, he was just as quick and
complete in going through her sitting-room. But he found nothing.
No, nothing."