scatter carpet pins about a bedroom, and particularly when the points
are smeared with some mysterious substance. If they had been there
before you retired to bed the chambermaid must certainly have seen
them. She makes a round of the rooms each night at ten o'clock.
Besides, the facts that the bolt had been tampered with, and also that
the man who occupied 175 left so early and so hurriedly, are
additionally suspicious. Yes," he added, "I think we ought to see the
police."
With that object he took me at once to Señor Andrade, the Chief of
Police, a short, stout, alert little man, who heard me with keen
interest and seemed very puzzled.
"The intruder's explanation was certainly a very clever one," he
remarked in French. "It is a pity you did not demand to see his
friend, Pedro Espada. If you had, you would have discovered him to be
nonexistent."
"But he was so clever," I answered. "He told me that at that hour he
could not discover in which room his friend was really sleeping."
"But the night-porter was on duty," exclaimed the hotel manager. "He
had the register and would have been able at once to tell you the
number of the room."
The fellow seemed so frank in revealing to me his money, the
portraits of his family, and his private letters, that I had taken his
statement as the truth.
Yet, even now, I could not believe that he had any sinister
design--not until the Professor had examined those three carpet pins.
In response to close questions put to me by Señor Andrade, with whom
was Señor Rivero, the head of the Detective Branch, I gave a
description of my midnight visitor as accurately as I could. I told
them how I had covered him with my automatic pistol, and how
afterwards we had laughed together at our mental fear of each other.
Señor Rivero, the bald-headed, black-bearded chief of the branch of
criminal investigation, suddenly stopped me when I mentioned the scar
upon the neck of the advocate from Burgos.
"Did you notice that there was any deformity of his hands?" he asked
quickly.
In an instant I recollected that the little finger of his right hand
had been amputated at the first joint, and I told him so.
"Ah!" exclaimed the shrewd, dark-bearded official. "Perhaps we may
here find something of interest. Just a few moments," and he rose and
left us.
We chatted with Señor Andrade for about a quarter of an hour when the
detective returned with a bundle of papers and four photographs of a
man taken in police style upon one negative, full face, three-quarter,
half and profile.
The instant he placed it before me, I exclaimed:
"Why, that is Salavera!"
"I thought as much," remarked the famous detective with a grim smile.
"He is not Salavera, but Rodriquez Despujol, one of the most dangerous
criminals in Spain!"
"Despujol!" cried Señor Andrade. "And he was in Madrid last night!"
Then he added: "Ah! if we had but known."
"True. But why was he in the English gentleman's room?" queried the
detective. "He is a dangerous character, and one would have thought
that instead of being covered he would, on being cornered, have drawn
his knife and attacked his adversary."
"Despujol is no amateur," the Chief of Police agreed. "We've wanted
him for the last five years for the assassination of the banker,
Monteros, in the train between Cordova and Malaga, and yet he always
evades us, even though he is one of the most audacious thieves in
Europe."
"But his friend Pedro?" I remarked, startled at what I had now
learned.
"He does not exist," replied the detective. "You no doubt had a lucky
escape. Had you demanded to see his friend he would no doubt have
killed you. He is a man of colossal strength--a veritable tiger, they
say."
"But what was the motive?" I asked. "I have no valuables, save my
watch and tie pin, and fifty pounds in English money. Surely it was
not worth while to kill me for that!"
"No. That's just it," replied the dark-eyed detective, whose chagrin
was so apparent that Despujol had slipped through his fingers. "The
game was not worth the candle. So he returned after proving to you his
bona fides. And these bona fides he always carries in order to
extricate himself from any ugly situation."
"But the carpet pins?" asked the hotel manager.
The director of the Spanish secret police shrugged his shoulders, and
said:
"Until Professor Vega can make a report we can do nothing. It is no
use basing theories upon mere surmises. So we can only wait for Señor
Vega to tell us what he discovers. Meanwhile, we will try and secure
Despujol--though I fear he has too long a start of us."
He crossed the room to the telephone, and a few minutes later spoke in
Spanish into the instrument in sharp, authoritative tones.
I understood him to be speaking to the police commissary at Zaragoza,
explaining that the much-wanted criminal Despujol had left Madrid for
that city, and giving the train by which he was supposed to be
travelling. Then, in turn, he spoke to the commissaries of Alcazar,
Salamanca, Valladolid and Arroyo, thus informing the police along all
the lines of railway leading from the capital.
It was evident that what I had told them caused considerable
excitement. Indeed, after the head of the detective department had
concluded giving his instructions over the telephone, he turned to me
and translated into French the black record of the stranger whom I had
discovered in my room.
That he was a bold and audacious criminal was quickly apparent. In the
Sud express travelling between Madrid and Paris he had drugged and
robbed an Italian jeweller of a wallet containing a quantity of
diamonds, which he took to London at once and disposed of to a
receiver of stolen property at Kilburn.
Another of his daring exploits was the theft of the famous Murillo
from the Castle of Setefillas, near Seville. This he sold to a dealer
in Brussels, who afterwards smuggled it to New York, where it was
bought by a private collector for a very large sum.
Yet again, a few months later he enticed a bank messenger in Barcelona
into a house he had taken for the purpose, and having knocked him
down robbed him of his wallet containing a quantity of English bank
notes and negotiable securities.
Up to five years before he had been convicted many times, but he now
seemed to be able to commit robberies with impunity, and always get
off free. It was believed that he lived in secret somewhere abroad and
only came to Spain to commit thefts. Probably he passed to and fro to
France by one of the obscure mountain tracks through the Pyrenees
known only to those who dealt in contraband--and there are many in
that chain of mountains.
In any case the police were now hot again upon his track.
Suddenly the head of the Detective Department had another inspiration
and rang up both Jaca and Pamplona, which are at the end of each
railway line towards the barrier of mountains which form the French
frontier.
"If he is on his way to France he will go to either one place or the
other," he said.
"But have they his photograph?" I asked.
"A copy of this photograph taken at the prison of Barcelona, is in
every detective office in Spain," was his reply. "Rodriquez Despujol
is the most dangerous and elusive criminal at large," he went on. "He
never leaves anything to chance. No doubt he believed that you were in
possession of something valuable, and his intention was to drug you
and get it. But you were too quick for him. My chief surprise is why,
when he found himself cornered as he was, that he did not draw his
knife and attack you."
"But I had a pistol!" I said.
"Despujol does not fear pistols. Before you could pull the trigger he
could have pounced upon you like a cat!" replied the police official.
"Well, he certainly entirely misled me," I exclaimed. "I even offered
him an apology for my attitude towards him."
The three men laughed heartily.
"An apology to Despujol!" cried the Chief of Police. "How very
amusing!"
"I consider that I was very lucky," I said. "He seems to be a most
desperate character."
"He is," answered Señor Andrade. "We have had inquiries for him from
all over Europe. During the war it seems that he served as a spy of
Germany in France, hence the military authorities there are very
anxious to get him."
"But you think he lives in France and crosses the frontier every now
and then."
"Yes. We received information to that effect about a year ago. He
probably lives as a poor, but perfectly honest man in one of the
remote villages in the Pyrenees, and is perhaps held in high esteem by
all around him. It was the case of the notorious Maurice Tricoche who
escaped us for years and lived near Luchon until he was betrayed by a
woman whose husband he had maltreated. Perhaps Despujol will also be
betrayed. We hope so!"
"I cannot understand why the fellow dared to put foot into Madrid when
he knows how active we are in search of him," remarked Señor Rivero,
turning to me. "He must have followed you with evil intent. The
explanation of mistaking your room was, of course, a good one, but
entirely false."
I longed to tell the police all about the mystery of Stretton Street,
and the grave suspicions concerning the great international financier
who was at that moment at the Ritz. Yet I hesitated for two reasons,
the first being that I feared lest my story should be disbelieved,
and secondly, because I had, on behalf of the beautiful girl with
whom I had fallen in love, set out to solve the enigma by myself, and
bring the culprit to justice.
"If Despujol is arrested I will willingly come forward and give
evidence--that is, if I am still in Spain," I promised.
But both police officials shrugged their shoulders, and the detective
remarked:
"Despujol is a will o' the wisp. There seems little hope of our ever
securing him. Nevertheless we shall continue to do our best to allow
you to face him again one day. And then, señor, you will realize what
a miraculous escape you have had!"
CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH
WHAT THE PROFESSOR FOUND
When I met my friend Hambledon in secret at two o'clock that day under
the trees at a spot in the Retiro, not far from the great Plaza de la
Independencia, we sat down and I described to him my strange midnight
adventure.
He listened in amazement, which was increased when I told him how the
police had recognized in the inoffensive lawyer of Burgos the
notorious bandit Despujol, who was wanted not only by Scotland Yard,
but by the police of Europe.
"But those carpet pins are a curious feature of the affair, Hughie,"
he remarked.
"Yes. The police seem to attach no importance to them--but I do."
"So do I. The opinion of Professor Vega may throw some light upon the
affair."
"I shall call at the Princesa Hospital to-morrow," I said, and then I
inquired the latest information concerning De Gex and his French
friend.
There was little to report. De Gex had not been out of the hotel,
though Suzor had gone to purchase some cigars at eleven o'clock that
morning. While Suzor was absent De Gex had, according to the friendly
concierge, received a visitor, a middle-aged Spanish woman of the
middle-class. She had asked to see him, and on her name being sent up
the great one at once gave orders for her to be admitted.
Again the floor waiter became inquisitive, and heard the financier
speaking in English with his visitor.
"Unfortunate! Most unfortunate!" he heard De Gex say. "I am very glad,
however, that you have come to me so quickly. You had a telegram from
Siguenza--eh?"
"I received it only a quarter of an hour ago, sir," the woman had
replied in broken English.
Then De Gex had apparently given her something for her services, and
dismissed her.
"A telegram from Siguenza!" I exclaimed, when my friend Harry had told
me this. "Now Siguenza is on the direct line from here to the Pyrenees
and the French frontier! That telegram may be from Despujol while in
flight. If so, the police have set a trap for him at his journey's
end, either at Jaca beneath Mont Perdu, or at Pamplona. I wonder if
he'll be caught?"
"He might go on to Zaragoza and then turn to Barcelona and
Marseilles," Hambledon remarked.
"All the frontiers are watched, so it seems almost impossible for him
to escape. But," I added, "I wonder if this information conveyed by
the Spanish woman really concerned the fugitive?"
"I wonder. A man like De Gex, with so many financial irons in the
fire, and with agents in every European capital, is bound to receive
visits from all sorts and conditions of people who bring him
information for profit. When one deals in colossal sums as he does,
one has to cultivate people of all classes," Hambledon said.
"Personally, I don't think the woman's information had anything to do
with your mysterious friend's hurried departure," he added.
"I do. I'm highly suspicious. There was some motive that he did not
attack me, as he could so easily have done, for he's a most desperate
character and has committed several murders when cornered. His
explanation was really wonderful, and I admit that I was so completely
deceived that I actually apologized to him! But," I went on, "we may
perhaps know more when we learn the truth from Professor Vega."
Hence at noon next day I called at the great hospital in the Calle
Alberto Aguilera, and was ushered into the Professor's room.
"Ah, my dear monsieur!" he exclaimed in French, knowing that I spoke
Spanish only with the greatest difficulty. "I am very glad you have
called. Those brass-headed pins which upholsterers often use, and
which you have submitted to me, are most interesting from a
toxicological point of view."
"What?" I gasped. "Were they poisoned?"
"Undoubtedly," replied the grave-faced old expert. "And by somebody
who is _au courant_ with the very latest and undetectable poison. I
searched for alkaloids and glucosids, and used Kippenberger's process,
and then the tests of Marne, Meyer, Scheiblen and Dragendorff. Since
you brought the three pins to me I have been active all the time, for
the problem much interests me. At last--though I did not think that
the substance could possibly contain so subtle, deadly, and as yet
unknown poison--I applied Sonnenschein's reagent--phosphomolybdic
acid--and then I obtained a result--only an hour ago indeed!"
"And what was the result, Professor?"
He looked me straight in the face, and replied: "You have had a very
narrow escape from death, monsieur--a very narrow one. Had you placed
your foot upon one of those upturned points you would have fallen dead
within five seconds!"
"Why?"
"Because each of the points of those three pins, left there as though
by accident by some upholsterer employed by the hotel, was impregnated
by one of the most deadly of all newly-discovered poisons. It is
called by men of my profession orosin, after its discoverer Orosi, and
is certainly a most dangerous poison in the hands of anyone with
criminal intent, because no post-mortem examination known to the
medical profession to-day would be able to detect whether the victim
had been murdered or died of natural causes."
"It astounds me!" I gasped.
"No doubt. But to me, of course, it is a most interesting piece of
research," and the professor went on: "I have never met this substance
before, though I had heard whispers of it. Professor Orosi, who lived
in Cologne a few years ago and is now dead, produced this poison quite
accidentally, and among his intimate friends disclosed its existence,
though he had no idea how to test for it with certainty. For five
years all toxicologists made constant tests until apparently quite by
accident Professor Sonnenschein, of Hanover, discovered the reagent
which would reveal the actual glucosid, and determine its identity. It
gives a yellowish-white precipitate," he added, holding up for my
inspection a small test-tube containing a liquid of the colour he had
indicated.
"Marvellous!" I exclaimed. "I had no idea that medical science could
carry inquiries so far. I know that in criminal cases in London our
pathologists, with their mirror-tests for arsenic, fix the guilt upon
poisoners in a manner most amazing. But I have never heard of this
secret and most subtle poison which was placed beside my bed, the
intention being for me to tread upon the impregnated pin."
"And if you had done so you would have been taken with a sudden fatal
seizure, the cause of which would never have been detected."
"You mean I should have died of poison?"
"You certainly would. No medical aid would have been of any avail, for
orosin is the most deadly substance which has ever been discovered. It
is indeed good for humanity that it is known to only a few
toxicologists, but that in itself reveals the fact, monsieur, that an
exceedingly clever and secret attack has been made upon your life. A
single puncture of the skin with one or other of those pins which were
placed so conveniently at your bedside when you sprang out to meet the
intruder, and you would by this time have been buried as one whose
death had been due to natural causes!"
I held my breath. This declaration by one of the greatest professors
of toxicology in Europe staggered me. A dastardly attempt had been
made upon me by one of the most notorious of modern criminals!
Why? No attempt at assassination is made without some motive, and the
game must ever be "worth the candle."
The whole of the dramatic incidents of the night flashed across my
memory; how I had faced the fellow in my room, challenged him at the
point of my pistol, and compelled him to give me meekly proofs of his
respectability. Truly it was all humorous--but only from Despujol's
point of view.
I recollected those innocent-looking pins which apparently had been
left so carelessly in my room. Each held for me a sudden and
suspicious death.
"The slightest puncture of the skin would inevitably prove fatal," the
Professor continued. "Feeling yourself pricked you would naturally
remove the pin and very quickly afterwards death would supervene. So
prior to it you yourself would no doubt have removed all trace of the
crime!"
"It is as well that such poison is not generally known, or it would be
used by many who wished to get rid of their friends," I remarked.
The Professor laughed, and agreed, saying:
"There are several poisons of the same type which are known only to
toxicologists, and we are very careful not to allow the public
sufficient knowledge of them. I must confess that I never dreamed when
I commenced my investigations that I was in the presence of orosin.
There is sufficient in this little tube"--and he held it to the
light--"to kill a hundred persons. It certainly is one of the most
dangerous of known compounds."
"So it is evident that the man Despujol entered my room and placed the
pins there intending that I should step upon one or other of them!" I
gasped.
"Without doubt. And it seems little short of a marvel that you
escaped," said the Professor.
"It certainly does," I remarked. "But I must tell the police of the
fact you have established. The affair now assumes a new phase. The man
was not in my room with the intention of robbery, but in order to
encompass my death by secret means."
"If you had not so fortunately avoided treading upon the pins you
certainly would not be alive at the moment," remarked the Professor,
again reflectively examining the yellow fluid in the tube. "What
motive could the man have had in gaining access to your room and
placing the pins there? I suppose he did not risk putting them there
before you went to bed, as you might have picked one up on your boot,
and that would have drawn your attention to them. By placing them
there after you were in bed he hoped that, on getting out, your bare
foot would come into contact with one of the impregnated points."
"It was certainly a most fiendish plot!" I declared. "And I thank you,
Professor, for taking all this trouble with your analysis and so
establishing the truth. I will go to the police and inform them."
"Yes. I wish you to do that, for the fellow is undoubtedly in
possession of orosin, and intends to use it. Perhaps he has already
killed people by the same subtle and secret means."
"He must be arrested at all costs," I said. "Already the police all
over Spain are watching for him, and special surveillance is being
kept along all the railways and on the frontier."
"Any person with orosin in his possession should be detained and
examined," the Professor declared. "I wonder where he obtained it?"
"Who knows?" I exclaimed, but I was reflecting whether, after all, my
presence in Madrid was not known to De Gex. If so, was it possible
that he had hired the notorious Despujol to attack me in secret!
"Of course we know that there is a secret traffic in poisons.
Medico-legists, with the police, have established that fact over and
over again," said Professor Vega. "But the vendors are very difficult
to trace. One was found only six months ago--a doctor living in a
suburb of Copenhagen. But orosin is not known to a dozen people beyond
those who study toxicology. Hence this man Despujol must have been
supplied with it by someone who knew."
The suspicion had arisen in my mind that De Gex and his agent Suzor
knew that I was in Madrid for the purpose of watching them, and they
had resorted to a very clever and secret means of getting rid of me
once and for all. If the notorious criminal Despujol was in their pay
he would no doubt afterwards blackmail them, now that the desperate
plot had failed. Again, could it be possible that Moroni had had any
hand in supplying this most effective and dangerous of all secret
poisons to the Spanish malefactor who snapped his defiant fingers
under the very nose of the police?
As I sat in that quiet room of the Professor's, a room that smelt
strongly of chemicals, though it was filled mostly with books, I could
not refrain from shuddering when I reflected upon the narrow escape I
had had. Yet if De Gex resorted to such measures, he must certainly
hold me in great fear. Besides, if my life was threatened, so also was
that of my friend Harry Hambledon, who remained so vigilant in the
serene belief that his presence was undetected.
At that time I never dreamed that the great financier who controlled
the destinies of certain European States never moved without a police
official being in attendance, and that surveillance was kept upon him
as though he were royalty travelling incognito. De Gex, it seemed, was
ever afraid that one of his enemies, the hundreds whom he had ruined
by dint of sharp practice, unscrupulous dealing, and flagrant bribery,
might seek revenge.
Hence, though neither Hambledon nor myself knew of it, both De Gex and
his toady and agent, Gaston Suzor, were well aware of our presence,
and, moreover, were kept posted concerning our movements from day to
day!
Though we were in ignorance of all this, yet the desperate nature of
the plot against me caused me to wonder what exactly was the fear in
which De Gex held me. Of course it concerned Gabrielle Tennison. But
exactly how, I failed to surmise.
One thing was certain, that the mystery-man of Europe intended to rid
himself of me, and in this he was being aided by certain of his
friends, chief among whom were Suzor and Moroni. That the assassin
Despujol was only a paid servant was quite clear. But the pay must
have been a very handsome sum to cause him to dare to come to Madrid
so boldly and run the risk of arrest.
I smiled at my own innocence when I remembered how completely he had
imposed upon me by showing me his papers of identity, and the
photographs of his pretended family. Truly only a great criminal could
have remained so imperturbed and polite to the man whom he intended
should die.
"This drug orosin is a very mysterious one, I suppose?" I remarked a
few seconds later as the Professor, who had offered me a cigar, was in
the act of lighting up.
"Yes. A very weak solution taken by the mouth produces extraordinary
effects upon the human brain. The latter almost instantly becomes
unbalanced and the victim lapses into an unconscious state for days,
even for weeks," he said. "Very often the brain is quite normal, save
that a complete loss of memory follows the return to consciousness. In
other cases orosin has produced complete and hopeless dementia."
"Always hopeless?" I asked eagerly, recollecting my own case and that
of Gabrielle Tennison.
"Not always hopeless. There have been cases that have been cured."
"Do you know any personally?" I demanded breathlessly.