"Does M. Gurn live here, please?"
Mme. Doulenques, the concierge at No. 147 rue Lévert, looked at the
enquirer and saw a tall, dark man with a heavy moustache, wearing a soft
hat and a tightly buttoned overcoat, the collar of which was turned up
to his ears.
"M. Gurn is away, sir," she answered; "he has been away for some little
time."
"I know," said the stranger, "but still I want to go up to his rooms if
you will kindly go with me."
"You want----" the concierge began in surprise and doubt. "Oh, I know;
of course you are the man from the what's-its-name company, come for his
luggage? Wait a bit; what is the name of that company? Something
funny--an English name, I fancy."
The woman left the door, which she had been holding just ajar, and went
to the back of her lodge; she looked through the pigeon-holes where she
kept the tenants' letters ready sorted, and picked out a soiled printed
circular addressed to M. Gurn. She was busy putting on her spectacles
when the stranger drew near and from over her shoulder got a glimpse of
the name for which she was looking. He drew back again noiselessly, and
said quietly:
"I have come from the South Steamship Company."
"Yes, that's it," said the concierge, laboriously spelling out the
words: "the South--what you said. I can never pronounce those names. Rue
d'Hauteville, isn't it?"
"That's it," replied the man in the soft hat in pleasant, measured
tones.
"Well, it's very plain that you don't bustle much in your place," the
concierge remarked. "I've been expecting you to come for M. Gurn's
things for nearly three weeks; he told me you would come a few days
after he had gone. However, that's your business."
Mme. Doulenques cast a mechanical glance through the window that looked
on to the street, and then surveyed the stranger from top to toe; he
seemed to be much too well dressed to be a mere porter.
"But you haven't got any handcart or truck," she exclaimed. "You're not
thinking of carrying the trunks on your shoulder, are you? Why, there
are at least three or four of them--and heavy!"
The stranger paused before answering, as though he found it necessary to
weigh each word.
"As a matter of fact I merely wanted to get an idea of the size of the
luggage," he said quietly. "Will you show me the things?"
"If I must, I must," said the concierge with a heavy sigh. "Come up with
me: it's the fifth floor," and as she climbed the stairs she grumbled:
"It's a pity you didn't come when I was doing my work: I shouldn't have
had to climb a hundred stairs a second time then; it counts up at the
end of the day, and I'm not so young as I was."
The stranger followed her up the stairs, murmuring monosyllabic
sympathy, and regulating his pace by hers. Arrived at the fifth floor,
the concierge drew a key from her pocket and opened the door of the
flat.
It was a small modest place, but quite prettily decorated. The door on
the landing opened into a tiny sort of anteroom, from which one passed
into a front room furnished with little but a round table and a few
arm-chairs. Beyond this was a bedroom, almost filled by the large bed,
which was the first thing one saw on entering, and on the right there
was yet another room, probably a little office. Both the first room,
which was a kind of general living room, and the bedroom had wide
windows overlooking gardens as far as one could see. An advantage of the
flat was that it had nothing opposite, so that the occupant could move
about with the windows open if he liked, and yet have nothing to fear
from the inquisitiveness of neighbours.
The rooms had been shut up for several days, since the tenant had gone
away indeed, and there was a stuffy smell about them, mingled with a
strong smell of chemicals.
"I must air the place," the concierge muttered, "or else M. Gurn won't
be pleased when he comes back. He always says he is too hot and can't
breathe in Paris."
"So he does not live here regularly?" said the stranger, scanning the
place curiously as he spoke.
"Oh, no, sir," the concierge answered. "M. Gurn is a kind of commercial
traveller and is often away, sometimes for a month or six weeks
together," and the gossiping woman was beginning a long and incoherent
story when the stranger interrupted her, pointing to a silver-framed
photograph of a young woman he had noticed on the mantelpiece.
"Is that Mme. Gurn?"
"M. Gurn is a bachelor," Mme. Doulenques replied. "I can't fancy him
married, with his roaming kind of life."
"Just a little friend of his, eh?" said the man in the soft hat, with a
wink and a meaning smile.
"Oh, no," said the concierge, shaking her head. "That photograph is not
a bit like her."
"So you know her, then?"
"I do and I don't. That's to say, when M. Gurn is in Paris, he often has
visits from a lady in the afternoon: a very fashionable lady, I can tell
you, not the sort that one often sees in this quarter. Why, the woman
who comes is a society lady, I am sure: she always has her veil down and
passes by my lodge ever so fast, and never has any conversation with me;
free with her money, too: it's very seldom she does not give me
something when she comes."
The stranger seemed to find the concierge's communications very
interesting, but they did not interrupt his mental inventory of the
room.
"In other words, your tenant does not keep too sharp an eye on his
money?" he suggested.
"No, indeed: the rent is always paid in advance, and sometimes M. Gurn
even pays two terms in advance because he says he never can tell if his
business won't be keeping him away when the rent falls due."
Just then a deep voice called up the staircase:
"Concierge: M. Gurn: have you any one of that name in the house?"
"Come up to the fifth floor," the concierge called back to the man. "I
am in his rooms now," and she went back into the flat. "Here's somebody
else for M. Gurn," she exclaimed.
"Does he have many visitors?" the stranger enquired.
"Hardly any, sir: that's why I'm so surprised."
Two men appeared; their blue blouses and metal-peaked caps proclaimed
them to be porters. The concierge turned to the man in the soft hat.
"I suppose these are your men, come to fetch the trunks?"
The stranger made a slight grimace, seemed to hesitate and finally made
up his mind to remain silent.
Rather surprised to see that the three men did not seem to be acquainted
with each other, the concierge was about to ask what it meant, when one
of the porters addressed her curtly:
"We've come from the South Steamship Company for four boxes from M.
Gurn's place. Are those the ones?" and taking no notice of the visitor
in the room, the man pointed to two large trunks and two small boxes
which were placed in a corner of the room.
"But aren't you three all together?" enquired Mme. Doulenques, visibly
uneasy.
The stranger still remained silent, but the first porter replied at
once.
"No; we have nothing to do with the gentleman. Get on to it, mate! We've
no time to waste!"
Anticipating their action, the concierge got instinctively between the
porters and the luggage: so too did the man in the soft hat.
"Pardon," said he politely but peremptorily. "Please take nothing
away."
One of the porters drew a crumpled and dirty memorandum book from his
pocket and turned over the pages, wetting his thumb every time. He
looked at it attentively and then spoke.
"There's no mistake: this is where we were told to come," and again he
signed to his mate. "Let's get on with it!"
The concierge was puzzled. She looked first at the mysterious stranger,
who was as quiet and silent as ever, and then at the porters, who were
beginning to be irritated by these incomprehensible complications.
Mme. Doulenques' mistrust waxed greater, and she sincerely regretted
being alone on the fifth floor with these strangers, for the other
occupants of this floor had gone off to their daily work long ago.
Suddenly she escaped from the room, and called shrilly down the stairs:
"Madame Aurore! Madame Aurore!"
The man in the soft hat rushed after her, seized her gently but firmly
by the arm, and led her back into the room.
"I beg you, madame, make no noise: do not call out!" he said in a low
tone. "Everything will be all right. I only ask you not to create a
disturbance."
But the concierge was thoroughly alarmed by the really odd behaviour of
all these men, and again screamed at the top of her voice:
"Help! Police!"
The first porter was exasperated.
"It's unfortunate to be taken for thieves," he said with a shrug of his
shoulders. "Look here, Auguste, just run down to the corner of the
street and bring back a gendarme. The gentleman can explain to the
concierge in his presence, and then we shall be at liberty to get on
with our job."
Auguste hastened to obey, and several tense moments passed, during which
not a single word was exchanged between the three people who were left
together.
Then heavy steps were heard, and Auguste reappeared with a gendarme. The
latter came swaggering into the room with a would-be majestic air, and
solemnly and pompously enquired:
"Now then, what's all this about?"
At sight of the officer every countenance cleared. The concierge ceased
to tremble; the porter lost his air of suspicion. Both were beginning to
explain to the representative of authority, when the man in the soft hat
waved them aside, stepped up to the guardian of the peace and looking
him straight in the eyes, said:
"Criminal Investigation Department! Inspector Juve!"
The gendarme, who was quite unprepared for this announcement, stepped
back a pace and raised his eyes towards the man who addressed him: then
suddenly raised his hand to his _képi_ and came to attention.
"Beg pardon, Inspector, I didn't recognise you! M. Juve! And you have
been in this division a long time too!" He turned angrily to the
foremost porter. "Step forward, please, and let's have no nonsense!"
Juve, who had thus disclosed his identity as a detective, smiled, seeing
that the gendarme assumed that the South Steamship Company's porter was
a thief.
"That's all right," he said. "Leave the man alone. He's done no harm."
"Then who am I to arrest?" the puzzled gendarme asked.
The concierge broke in to explain: she had been much impressed by the
style and title of the stranger.
"If the gentleman had told me where he came from I would certainly never
have allowed anyone to go for a gendarme."
Inspector Juve smiled.
"If I had told you who I was just now, madame, when you were, quite
naturally, so upset, you would not have believed me. You would have
continued to call out. Now, I am particularly anxious to avoid any
scandal or noise at the present moment. I rely on your discretion." He
turned to the two porters, who were dumb with amazement and could make
nothing of the affair. "As for you, my good fellows, I must ask you to
leave your other work and go back at once to your office in the rue
d'Hauteville and tell your manager--what is his name?"
"M. Wooland," one of the men replied.
"Good: tell M. Wooland that I want to see him here at the earliest
possible moment; and tell him to bring with him all the papers he has
that refer to M. Gurn. And not a word to anyone about all this, please,
especially in this neighbourhood. Take my message to your manager, and
that's all."
* * * * *
The porters had left hurriedly for the rue d'Hauteville and a quarter of
an hour went by. The detective had requested the concierge to ask the
Madame Aurore to whom she had previously appealed so loudly for help, to
take her place temporarily in the lodge. Juve kept Mme. Doulenques
upstairs with him partly to get information from her, and partly to
prevent her from gossiping downstairs.
While he was opening drawers and ransacking furniture, and plunging his
hand into presses and cupboards, Juve asked the concierge to describe
this tenant of hers, M. Gurn, in whom he appeared to be so deeply
interested.
"He is a rather fair man," the concierge told him, "medium height, stout
build, and clean shaven like an Englishman; there is nothing particular
about him: he is like lots of other people."
This very vague description was hardly satisfactory. The detective told
the policeman to unscrew the lock on a locked trunk, and gave him a
small screw-driver which he had found in the kitchen. Then he turned
again to Mme. Doulenques who was standing stiffly against the wall,
severely silent.
"You told me that M. Gurn had a lady friend. When used he to see her?"
"Pretty often, when he was in Paris; and always in the afternoon.
Sometimes they were together till six or seven o'clock, and once or
twice the lady did not come down before half-past seven."
"Used they to leave the house together?"
"No, sir."
"Did the lady ever stay the night here?"
"Never, sir."
"Yes: evidently a married woman," murmured the detective as if speaking
to himself.
Mme. Doulenques made a vague gesture to show her ignorance on the point.
"I can't tell you anything about that, sir."
"Very well," said the detective; "kindly pass me that coat behind you."
The concierge obediently took down a coat from a hook and handed it to
Juve who searched it quickly, looked it all over and then found a label
sewn on the inside of the collar: it bore the one word _Pretoria_.
"Good!" said he, in an undertone; "I thought as much."
Then he looked at the buttons; these were stamped on the under side with
the name _Smith_.
The gendarme understood what the detective was about, and he too
examined the clothes in the first trunk which he had just opened.
"There is nothing to show where these things came from, sir," he
remarked. "The name of the maker is not on them."
"That's all right," said Juve. "Open the other trunk."
While the gendarme was busy forcing this second lock Juve went for a
moment into the kitchen and came back holding a rather heavy copper
mallet with an iron handle, which he had found there. He was looking at
this mallet with some curiosity, balancing and weighing it in his hands,
when a sudden exclamation of fright from the gendarme drew his eyes to
the trunk, the lid of which had just been thrown back. Juve did not lose
all his professional impassivity, but even he leaped forward like a
flash, swept the gendarme to one side, and dropped on his knees beside
the open box. A horrid spectacle met his eyes. For the trunk contained a
corpse!
The moment Mme. Doulenques caught sight of the ghastly thing, she fell
back into a chair half fainting, and there she remained, unable to move,
with her body hunched forward, and haggard eyes fixed upon the corpse,
of which she caught occasional glimpses as the movements of Juve and the
gendarme every now and then left the shocking thing within the trunk
exposed to her view.
Yet there was nothing especially gruesome or repellent about the
corpse. It was the body of a man of about fifty years of age, with a
pronounced brick-red complexion, and a lofty brow, the height of which
was increased by premature baldness. Long, fair moustaches drooped from
the upper lip almost to the top of the chest. The unfortunate creature
was doubled up in the trunk, with knees bent and head forced down by the
weight of the lid. The body was dressed with a certain fastidiousness,
and it was obviously that of a man of fashion and distinction; there was
no wound to be seen. The calm, quiet face suggested that the victim had
been taken by surprise while in the full vigour of life and killed
suddenly, and had not been subjected to the anguish of a fight for life
or to any slow agony.
Juve half turned to the concierge.
"When did you see M. Gurn last? Exactly, please: it is important."
Mme. Doulenques babbled something unintelligible and then, as the
detective pressed her, made an effort to collect her scattered wits.
"Three weeks ago at least, sir: yes, three weeks exactly; no one has
been here since, I will swear."
Juve made a sign to the gendarme, who understood, and felt the body
carefully.
"Quite stiff, and hard, sir," he said; "yet there is no smell from it.
Perhaps the cold----"
Juve shook his head.
"Even severe cold could not preserve a body in that condition for three
weeks, and it's not cold now, but there is this:" and he showed his
subordinate a small yellowish stain just at the opening of the collar,
close to the Adam's apple, which, in spite of the comparative thinness
of the body, was very much developed.
Juve took the corpse under the arm-pits and raised it gently, wishing to
examine it closely, but anxious, also, not to alter its position. On the
nape of the neck was a large stain of blood, like a black wen and as big
as a five-shilling piece, just above the last vertebra of the spinal
column.
"That's the explanation," the detective murmured, and carefully
replacing the body he continued his investigation. With quick, clever
hands he searched the coat pockets and found the watch in its proper
place. Another pocket was full of money, chiefly small change, with a
few louis. But Juve looked in vain for the pocket-book which the man had
doubtless been in the habit of carrying about with him: the pocket-book
probably containing some means of identification.
The inspector merely grunted, got up, began pacing the room, and
questioned the concierge.
"Did M. Gurn have a motor-car?"
"No, sir," she replied, looking surprised. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, for no particular reason," said the inspector with affected
indifference, but at the same time he was contemplating a large nickel
pump that lay on a what-not, a syringe holding perhaps half a pint, like
those that chauffeurs use. He looked at it steadfastly for several
minutes. His next question was addressed to the gendarme who was still
on his knees by the trunk.
"We have found one yellow stain on the neck; you will very likely find
some more. Have a look at the wrists and the calves of the legs and the
stomach. But do it carefully, so as not to disturb the body." While the
gendarme began to obey his chief's order, carefully undoing the clothing
on the corpse, Juve looked at the concierge again.
"Who did the work of this flat?"
"I did, sir."
Juve pointed to the velvet curtain that screened the door between the
little anteroom and the room in which they were.
"How did you come to leave that curtain unhooked at the top, without
putting it to rights?"
Mme. Doulenques looked at it.
"It's the first time I've seen it like that," she said apologetically;
"the curtain could not have been unhooked when I did the room last
without my noticing it. Anyhow, it hasn't been like that long. I ought
to say that as M. Gurn was seldom here I didn't do the place out
thoroughly very often."
"When did you do it out last?"
"Quite a month ago."
"That is to say M. Gurn went away a week after you last cleaned the
place up?"
"Yes, sir."
Juve changed the subject, and pointed to the corpse.
"Tell me, madame, did you know that person?"
The concierge fought down her nervousness and for the first time looked
at the unfortunate victim with a steady gaze.
"I have never seen him before," she said, with a little shudder.
"And so, when that gentleman came up here, you did not notice him?" said
the inspector gently.
"No, I did not notice him," she declared, and then went on as if
answering some question which occurred to her own mind. "And I wonder I
didn't, for people very seldom enquired for M. Gurn; of course when the
lady was with him M. Gurn was not at home to anybody. This--this dead
man must have come straight up himself."
Juve nodded, and was about to continue his questioning when the bell
rang.
"Open the door," said Juve to the concierge, and he followed her to the
entrance of the flat, partly fearing to find some intruder there, partly
hoping to see some unexpected person whose arrival might throw a little
light upon the situation.
At the opened door Juve saw a young man of about twenty-five, an obvious
Englishman with clear eyes and close-cropped hair. With an accent that
further made his British origin unmistakable, the visitor introduced
himself:
"I am Mr. Wooland, manager of the Paris branch of the South Steamship
Company. It seems that I am wanted at M. Gurn's flat on the fifth floor
of this house, by desire of the police."
Juve came forward.
"I am much obliged to you for putting yourself to this inconvenience,
sir: allow me to introduce myself: M. Juve, an Inspector from the
Criminal Investigation Department. Please come in."
Solemn and impassive, Mr. Wooland entered the room; a side glance
suddenly showed him the open trunk and the dead body, but not a muscle
of his face moved. Mr. Wooland came of a good stock, and had all that
admirable self-possession which is the strength of the powerful
Anglo-Saxon race. He looked at the inspector in somewhat haughty
silence, waiting for him to begin.
"Will you kindly let me know, sir, the instructions your firm had with
regard to the forwarding of the baggage which you sent for to this flat
of M. Gurn's this morning?"
"Four days ago, Inspector," said the young man, "on the 14th of December
to be precise, the London mail brought us a letter in which Lord
Beltham, who had been a client of ours for several years, instructed us
to collect, on the 17th of December, that is, to-day, four articles
marked H. W. K., 1, 2, 3 and 4, from M. Gurn's apartments, 147 rue
Lévert. He informed us that the concierge had orders to allow us to take
them away."
"To what address were you to despatch them?"
"Our client instructed us to forward the trunks by the first steamer to
Johannesburg, where he would send for them; we were to send two invoices
with the goods as usual; the third invoice was to be sent to London, Box
63, Charing Cross Post Office."
Juve made a note of Box 63, Charing Cross in his pocket-book.
"Addressed to what name or initials?"
"Simply Beltham."
"Good. There are no other documents relating to the matter?"
"No, I have nothing else," said Mr. Wooland.
The young fellow relapsed into his usual impassive silence. Juve watched
him for a minute or two and then said:
"You must have heard the various rumours current in Paris three weeks
ago, sir, about Lord Beltham. He was a very well-known personage in
society. Suddenly he disappeared; his wife left nothing undone to give
the matter the widest publicity. Were you not rather surprised when you
received a letter from Lord Beltham four days ago?"
Mr. Wooland was not disconcerted by the rather embarrassing question.
"Of course I had heard of Lord Beltham's disappearance, but it was not
for me to form any official opinion about it. I am a business man, sir,
not a detective. Lord Beltham might have disappeared voluntarily or the
reverse: I was not asked to say which. When I got his letter I simply
decided to carry out the orders it contained. I should do the same again
in similar circumstances."
"Are you satisfied that the order was sent by Lord Beltham?"
"I have already told you, sir, that Lord Beltham had been a client of
ours for several years; we have had many similar dealings with him. This
last order which we received from him appeared to be entirely above
suspicion: identical in form and in terms with the previous letters we
had had from him." He took a letter out of his pocket-book, and handed
it to Juve. "Here is the order, sir; if you think proper you can compare
it with similar documents filed in our office in the rue d'Hauteville";
and as Juve was silent, Mr. Wooland, with the utmost dignity, enquired:
"Is there any further occasion for me to remain here?"
"Thank you, sir, no," Juve replied. Mr. Wooland made an almost
imperceptible bow and was on the point of withdrawing when the detective
stayed him once more. "M. Wooland, did you know Lord Beltham?"
"No, sir: Lord Beltham always sent us his orders by letter; once or
twice he has spoken to us over the telephone, but he never came to our
office, and I have never been to his house."
"Thank you very much," said Juve, and with a bow Mr. Wooland withdrew.
* * * * *
With meticulous care Juve replaced every article which he had moved
during his investigations. He carefully shut the lid of the trunk, thus
hiding the unhappy corpse from the curious eyes of the gendarme and the
still terrified Mme. Doulenques. Then he leisurely buttoned his overcoat
and spoke to the gendarme.
"Stay here until I send a man to relieve you; I am going to your
superintendent now." At the door he called the concierge. "Will you
kindly go down before me, madame? Return to your lodge, and please do
not say a word about what has happened to anyone whatever."
"You can trust me, sir," the worthy creature murmured, and Juve walked
slowly away from the house with head bowed in thought.
There could be no doubt about it: the body in the trunk was that of Lord
Beltham! Juve knew the Englishman quite well. But who was the murderer?
"Everything points to Gurn," Juve thought, "and yet would an ordinary
murderer have dared to commit such a crime as this? Am I letting my
imagination run away with me again? I don't know: but it seems to me
that about this murder, committed in the very middle of Paris, in a
crowded house where yet nobody heard or suspected anything, there is an
audacity, a certainty of impunity, and above all a multiplicity of
precautions, that are typical of the Fantômas manner!" He clenched his
fists and an evil smile curled his lips as he repeated, like a threat,
the name of that terrible and most mysterious criminal, of whose hellish
influence he seemed to be conscious yet once again. "Fantômas! Fantômas!
Did Fantômas really commit this murder? And if he did, shall I ever
succeed in throwing light upon this new mystery, and learning the secret
of that tragic room?"