"Ah, a thing to touch the heart! Such devotion as that! Alas that the
lady should seem so cold to it! Still, a goddess! What would you? A
queen among goddesses. One would not have them laugh and make little
jokes--make eyes at lovesick boys. No indeed!" He shook his head
rapidly and sighed.
Ste. Marie was silent for a little space, but at length he looked up as
if he had just remembered something.
"And the third man?" he asked.
"Ah yes, the third gentleman," said Bernstein. "I had forgotten him.
The third gentleman I knew well. He had often been here. It was he who
brought these friends to me. He was M. le Capitaine Stewart. Everybody
knows M. le Capitaine Stewart. Everybody in Paris."
Again he observed that his visitor drew a little swift sharp breath, and
that he seemed to be labouring under some excitement.
However, Ste. Marie did not question him further, and so he went on to
tell the little more he knew of the matter: how the four people had
remained for an hour or more, trying many poses; how they had returned,
all but the tall gentleman, three days later to see the proofs, and to
order certain ones to be printed--the young man paying on the spot in
advance--and how the finished prints had been sent to M. le Capitaine
Stewart's address.
When he had finished his visitor sat for a long time silent, his head
bent a little, frowning upon the floor and chafing his hands together
over his knees. But at last he rose rather abruptly. He said--
"Thank you very much indeed. You have done me a great service. If ever
I can repay it command me. Thank you!"
The Jew protested, smiling, that he was still too deeply in debt to M.
Ste. Marie, and so, politely wrangling, they reached the door, and, with
a last expression of gratitude, the visitor departed down the stair. A
client came in just then for a sitting and so the little photographer
did not have an opportunity to wonder over the rather odd affair as much
as he might have done. Indeed, in the press of work, it slipped from
his mind altogether.
But down in the busy boulevard Ste. Marie stood hesitating on the curb.
There were so many things to be done, in the light of these new
developments, that he did not know what to do first.
"Mademoiselle Coira O'Hara!--_Mademoiselle_!" The thought gave him a
sudden sting of inexplicable relief and pleasure. She would be O'Hara's
daughter then. And the boy, Arthur Benham (there was no room for doubt
in the photographer's description), had seemed to be badly in love with
her. This was a new development indeed! It wanted thought, reflection,
consultation with Richard Hartley. He signalled to a fiacre, and when
it had drawn up before him, sprang into it, and gave Richard Hartley's
address in the Avenue de l'Observatoire. But when they had gone a
little way he changed his mind and gave another address, one in the
Boulevard de la Tour Maubourg. It was where Mlle. Olga Nilssen lived.
She had told him when he parted from her the evening before.
On the way he fell to thinking of what he had learnt from the little
photographer Bernstein, to setting the facts, as well as he could, in
order, endeavouring to make out just how much or how little they
signified, by themselves or added to what he had known before. But he
was in far too keen a state of excitement to review them at all calmly.
As on the previous evening they seemed to him to loom to the skies, and
again he saw himself successful in his quest--victorious, triumphant.
That this leap to conclusions was but a little less absurd than the
first did not occur to him. He was in a fine fever of enthusiasm, and
such difficulties as his eye perceived lay in a sort of vague mist, to
be dissipated later on, when he should sit quietly down with Hartley,
and sift the wheat from the chaff, laying out a definite scheme of
action.
It occurred to him that in his interview with the photographer he had
forgotten one point, and he determined to go back, later on, and ask
about it. He had forgotten to inquire as to Captain Stewart's attitude
towards the beautiful lady. Young Arthur Benham's infatuation had
filled his mind at the time, and had driven out of it what Olga Nilssen
had told him about Stewart. He found himself wondering if this point
might not be one of great importance--the rivalry of the two men for
O'Hara's daughter. Assuredly that demanded thought and investigation.
He found the prettily furnished apartment in the Avenue de la Tour
Maubourg a scene of great disorder, presided over by a maid, who seemed
to be packing enormous quantities of garments into large trunks. The
maid told him that her mistress, after a sleepless night, had departed
from Paris by an early train, quite alone, leaving the servant to follow
on when she had telegraphed or written an address. No, Mlle. Nilssen
had left no address at all, not even for letters or telegrams. In short
the entire proceeding was, so the exasperated woman viewed it,
everything that is imbecile.
Ste. Marie sat down on a hamper with his stick between his knees, and
wrote a little note to be sent on when Mlle. Nilssen's whereabouts
should be known. It was unfortunate, he reflected, that she should have
fled away just now, but not of great importance to him, because he did
not believe that he could learn very much more from her than he had
learnt already. Moreover, he sympathised with her desire to get away
from Paris--as far away as possible from the man whom she had seen in so
horrible a state on the evening past.
He had kept the fiacre at the door, and he drove at once back to the Rue
d'Assas. As he started to mount the stair the concierge came out of her
loge to say that Mr. Hartley had called soon after monsieur had left the
house that morning, had seemed very much disappointed on not finding
monsieur, and before going away again had had himself let into
monsieur's apartment with the key of the _femme de menage_, and had
written a note which monsieur would find, _la haut_.
Ste. Marie thanked the woman and went on up to his rooms, wondering why
Hartley had bothered to leave a note instead of waiting or returning at
lunch-time as he usually did. He found the communication on his table
and read it at once. Hartley said--
"I have to go across the river to the _Bristol_ to see some relatives
who are turning up there to-day, and who will probably keep me until
evening, and then I shall have to go back there to dine. So I'm leaving
a word for you about some things I discovered last evening. I met Miss
Benham at Armenonville, where I dined, and in a _tete-a-tete_
conversation we had after dinner she let fall two facts which seem to me
very important. They concern Captain S. In the first place, when he
told us that day, some time ago, that he knew nothing about his father's
will or any changes that might have been made in it, he lied. It seems
that old David, shortly after the boy's disappearance, being very angry
at what he considered, and still considers, a bit of spite on the boy's
part, cut young Arthur Benham out of his will and transferred that share
to _Captain S._ (Miss Benham learnt this from the old man only
yesterday). Also it appears that he did this after talking the matter
over with Captain S., who affected unwillingness. So, as the will reads
now, Miss B. and Captain S. stand to share equally the bulk of the old
man's money, which is several millions (in dols. of course); Miss B.'s
mother is to have the interest of half of both shares as long as she
lives. Now mark this! Prior to this new arrangement Captain S. was to
receive only a small legacy, on the ground that he already had a
respectable fortune left him by his mother, old David's first wife.
(I've heard, by the way, that he has squandered a good share of what he
had.)
"Miss B. is, of course, much cut up over this injustice to the boy, but
she can't protest too much as it only excites old David--she says the
old man is much weaker.
"You see, of course, the significance of all this. If David Stewart
dies, as he's likely to do, before young Arthur's return, Captain S.
gets the money.
"The second fact I learnt was that Miss Benham did not tell her uncle
about her semi-engagement to you or about your volunteering to search
for the boy. She thinks her grandfather must have told him. I didn't
say so to her, but that is hardly possible in view of the fact that
Stewart came on here to your rooms very soon after you had reached them
yourself.
"So that makes two lies for our gentle friend, and serious lies, both of
them. To my mind they point unmistakably to a certain conclusion.
_Captain S. has been responsible for putting his nephew out of the way_.
He has either hidden him somewhere and is keeping him in confinement, or
he has killed him.
"I wish we could talk it over to-day, but, as you see, I'm helpless.
Remain in to-night, and I'll come as soon as I can get rid of these
confounded people of mine.
"One word more! Be careful! Miss B. is, up to this point, merely
puzzled over things. She doesn't suspect her uncle of any crookedness,
I'm sure. So we shall have to tread softly where she is concerned.
"I shall see you to-night.--R.H."
Ste. Marie read the closely written pages through twice, and he thought
how like his friend it was to take the time and trouble to put what he
had learnt into this clear concise form. Another man would have
scribbled: "Important facts--tell you all about it to-night," or
something of that kind. Hartley must have spent a quarter of an hour
over his writing.
Ste. Marie walked up and down the room, with all his strength forcing
his brain to quiet reasonable action. Once he said aloud--
"Yes, you're right, of course. Stewart has been at the bottom of it all
along." He realised that he had been for some days slowly arriving at
that conclusion, and that, since the night before, he had been
practically certain of it, though he had not yet found time to put his
suspicions into logical order. Hartley's letter had driven the truth
concretely home to him, but he would have reached the same truth without
it--though that matter of the will was of the greatest importance. It
gave him a strong weapon to strike with.
He halted before one of the front windows, and his eyes gazed unseeing
across the street into the green shrubbery of the Luxembourg Gardens.
The lace curtains had been left by the _femme de menage_ hanging
straight down and not, as usual, looped back at either side, but he
could see through them with perfect ease although he could not be seen
from outside.
He became aware that a man who was walking slowly up and down a path
inside the high iron palings was in some way familiar to him, and his
eyes sharpened. The man was very inconspicuously dressed, and looked
like almost any other man whom one might pass in the street without
taking any notice of him; but Ste. Marie knew that he had seen him
often, and he wondered how and where. There was a row of lilac shrubs
against the iron palings just inside, and between the palings and the
path, but two of the shrubs were dead and leafless, and each time the
man passed this spot he came into plain view; each time also he directed
an oblique glance towards the house opposite. Presently he turned aside
and sat down upon one of the public benches, where he was almost but not
quite hidden by the intervening foliage.
Then at last Ste. Marie gave a sudden exclamation and smote his hands
together.
"The fellow's a spy!" he cried aloud. "He's watching the house to see
when I go out." He began to remember how he had seen the man in the
street and in cafes and restaurants, and he remembered that he had once
or twice thought it odd but without any second thought of suspicion. So
the fellow had been set to spy upon him, watch his goings and comings
and report them to--no need of asking to whom!
Ste. Marie stood behind his curtains and looked across into the pleasant
expanse of shrubbery and greensward. He was wondering if it would be
worth while to do anything. Men and women went up and down the path,
hurrying or slowly, at ease with the world--labourers, students,
_bonnes_ with market baskets in their hands and long bread loaves under
their arms, nursemaids herding small children, bigger children spinning
diabolo spools as they walked. A man with a pointed black beard and a
soft hat passed once, and returned to seat himself upon the public bench
that Ste. Marie was watching. For some minutes he sat there idle,
holding the soft felt hat upon his knees for coolness. Then he turned
and looked at the other occupant of the bench, and Ste. Marie thought he
saw the other man nod, though he could not be sure whether either one
spoke or not. Presently the newcomer rose, put on the soft hat again
and disappeared down the path, going towards the gate at the head of the
Rue de Luxembourg.
Five minutes later the door-bell rang.
*CHAPTER XIII*
*THE ROAD TO CLAMART*
Ste. Marie turned away from the window and crossed to the door. The man
with the pointed beard removed his soft hat, bowed very politely, and
asked if he had the honour to address Monsieur Ste. Marie.
"That is my name," said Ste. Marie. "_Entrez_, monsieur!" He waved his
visitor to a chair and stood waiting.