also it is not easy to recognise a civilian suddenly appearing in
uniform. What is fresh, Michel?"
"Something pretty serious, sir. According to your instructions we have
been shadowing the Superior of the Nogent Convent."
"Well, what have you discovered?"
"Every Tuesday evening the Superior leaves Nogent and goes to Paris."
"Where?"
"To one of the branches of her religious house in the Boulevard
Jourdan."
"No. 180?"
Michel was dumbfounded.
"Yes, sir, you knew?"
"No," said Juve, coldly. "What does she do at this branch?"
"There are four or five old nuns there. The Superior spends Tuesday
night there and on Wednesday goes back to Nogent about one in the
afternoon."
"And you know no more than that?"
"No, sir. Must we go on with the shadowing?"
"No, it is not worth while. Return to the Prefecture and report to M.
Havard."
When the two men had left, Fandor turned to Juve.
"What do you make of it?"
Juve shrugged his shoulders.
"Michel is an idiot. That house has two exits; one to the Boulevard, the
other to waste ground that leads to the fortifications. The Superior, or
Lady Beltham, goes there to change her dress, and then hastens to some
prearranged meeting elsewhere. The house at Neuilly will bear
watching."
XXIX
THROUGH THE WINDOW
"What a splendid fellow! One can count on him at any time. A friendship
like his is rare and precious."
Fandor had just left Juve, and the detective could not help being
strangely moved as he thought of the devotion shown him by the
journalist.
The detective was still in his wheel chair; with a skilful turn he went
back to the balcony and his post of observation.
Evening was coming on. After a fine day the sky had become leaden and
overcast with great clouds: a storm was threatening. Juve swore.
"I shan't see much this evening; this confounded Josephine is so
sentimental that she loves dreaming in the gloaming at her window
without lighting up. Devil take her!"
Juve had armed himself with his spy-glass; he apparently levelled it at
Porte Maillot, and in that way he could see something of the movements
of Josephine in the rooms opposite him.
"Flowers on the chimney and on the piano! Expecting her lover probably!"
Suddenly he started up in his chair.
"Ah! some one has rung her bell. She is going toward the entrance door."
A minute passed; in the front rooms Juve no longer saw anyone. Josephine
must be receiving a visitor.
Some minutes more went by; a heavy shower of rain came down and Juve was
forced to leave his balcony.
When he resumed his watching he could not suppress an exclamation of
surprise.
"Ah, if he would only turn! This cursed rain prevents me from seeing
clearly what is afoot. The brute! Why won't he turn! There, he has laid
his bag on a chair, his initials must be on it, but I can't read them.
Yet the height of the man! His gestures! It's he, sure enough, it's
Chaleck!"
Juve suddenly abandoned his post of observation, propelled his chair to
the back room of the suite and seized the telephone apparatus.
"Hello! Give me the Prefecture. It is Juve speaking. Send at once
detectives Léon and Michel to No. 33 C Boulevard Pereire South. They
are to wait at the door of the house and arrest as they come out the
persons I marked as numbers 14 and 15. Let them make haste."
"Assuredly Chaleck won't leave at once if he has come to see Josephine;
no doubt he has important things to say. Léon and Michel will arrive in
time to nab him first and Josephine after. And to-morrow, when I have
them handcuffed before me, it's the deuce if I don't manage to get the
truth out of them."
Juve went back to his look-out.
"Oh, they seem very lively, both of them; the talk must be serious.
Josephine doesn't look pleased. She seems to disagree with what Chaleck
is saying. One would think he was giving her orders. No! she is down on
her knees. A declaration of love! After Loupart and Dixon it's that
infernal doctor's turn!"
Juve watched for a moment longer the young woman and the mysterious and
elusive Chaleck.
"Ah! that's what I feared! Chaleck is going and Léon and Michel haven't
come!"
Juve hesitated. Should he go down, rush to the Boulevard and try to
collar the ruffian? That wasn't possible. Juve lived on the fifth floor,
so that he had one more story to get down than Chaleck, then there was
the railway line between him and Josephine's house. Chaleck would have
ample time to disappear. But Juve reassured himself.
"Luckily he has left his hold-all, and if I mistake not, that is his
stick on the chair. Therefore he expects to come back."
Powerless to act, Juve witnessed the exit of Chaleck, who soon appeared
at the door of Josephine's house and went striding off. Juve followed
him with his eyes, intensely chagrined. Would he ever again find such a
good opportunity of laying hands on the ruffian?
Chaleck vanished round the corner of the street, and Juve again took to
watching Josephine! The young woman did not appear to be upset by her
late visitor. She sat, her elbows on the table, turning with a listless
finger the pages of a volume.
"Clearly he is coming back," thought Juve, "or he would not have left
his things there. I shall nab him in a few days at latest."
Juve was about to leave his post of observation when he saw Josephine
raise her head in an attitude of listening to an indefinable and
mysterious noise.
"What is going on?" Juve asked himself. "She cannot be already watching
for Chaleck's return."
Then Juve started.
"Oh! oh!"
He had just seen Josephine at a single bound spring toward the window.
The young woman gazed steadily in front of her, her arms outstretched in
a posture of horror. She seemed in a state of abject terror. There was
no mistaking her motions. She was panic-stricken, panting, trembling in
all her limbs. Juve, who lost no movement of the hapless woman, felt a
cold sweat break out on his forehead.
"What's the matter with her? There is nobody in the room, I see nothing!
What can frighten her to that extent? Oh, my God!"
Forgetting all precautions, all the comedy he was preparing so carefully
for the neighbour's benefit, he sprang to his feet, deserting his wheel
chair. His hands clenched on the rail of the balcony while spellbound by
the sight he beheld, he leaned over the rail as if in a frantic desire
to fling himself to the young woman's help. Josephine had bestridden the
sash of her window. She was now standing on the ledge, holding with one
hand to the rail of her balcony and her body flung backwards as if mad
with terror.
"What is happening? Oh, the poor soul!"
Josephine, uttering a desperate cry, had let go of the supporting rail
and had flung herself into space. Juve saw the young woman's body spin
in the air, heard the dull thud that it made as it crashed against the
ground.
"It is monstrous!"
Juve beside himself tore down the stairs full tilt, passed breathlessly
the porteress, who seemed likely to faint at the sight of the headlong
pace of the supposed paralytic.
He went round Boulevard Pereire, darted along the railway line, and,
panting, got to the side of the ill-starred Josephine. At the sound of
her fall and the cries she uttered people had flown to the windows,
passers-by had turned round: when Juve got there a ring of people had
already formed round the unfortunate woman. The detective roughly pushed
some of them aside, knelt down beside the body and put his ear to the
chest.
"Dead? No!"
A faint groan came from the lips of the poor sufferer. Juve realised
that by unheard-of luck, Josephine, in the course of her fall, had
struck the outer branches of one of the trees that fringed the
Boulevard. This had somewhat broken the shock, but her legs were
frightfully broken and one of her arms hung lifeless.
"Quick!" commanded Juve. "A cab; take her to the hospital."
As soon as help was forthcoming, Juve, recalled to the duties of his
profession, asked himself:
"What can have occurred? What was it she tried to escape by throwing
herself into space? I saw the whole room, there was no one with her. She
must have been the victim of a delusion."
XXX
UNCLE AND NEPHEW
"So, uncle, you have decided to live at Neuilly?"
"Oh, it's quite settled. Your aunt finds the place charming, and
besides, it would be so pleasant to have a garden. Also, the land is
sure to grow more valuable in this neighbourhood and the purchase of a
house here would be a good speculation!"
The stout man, as he uttered the word "speculation," beamed. The mere
sight of him suggested the small tradesman grown rich by dint of long
and arduous years of toil, retired from business and prone to fancy he
was a man of genius.
Compared with him the young man he styled nephew, slim, elaborately
elegant, his little moustache carefully curled, gave the impression of
coming out of a draper's shop and wanting to be taken for a swell.
Evidently the nephew courted the uncle and flattered him.
"You are right, land speculations are very sure and very profitable. So
you wrote to the caretaker of the house to let you view it?"
"I did, and he answered, 'Come to-day or to-morrow. I shall be at your
orders.' That is why I sent you word to go with me, for since you are
the sole heir of my fortune----"
"Oh, uncle, you may be sure----"
The Madeleine tramway where the two men were talking aloud, heeding
little the amused notice of the other passengers, pulled up a moment in
the Place de l'Eglise at Neuilly.
"Let us get down. Boulevard Inkermann begins here."
With the pantings and gaspings of a man whose stoutness made all
physical exercise irksome, the uncle lowered himself off the footboard
of the tram. The young man sprang to his side. After five minutes' walk
the two men were in front of Lady Beltham's house, the identical house
to which Juve and Fandor had previously come before to make exhaustive
inquiries.
"You see, my boy," declared the stout party, "it is not at all a bad
looking house. Evidently it has not been lived in for a long time, its
state of outside dilapidation shows how neglected it has been, but it
is possible that inside there may not be many repairs to be made."
"In any case, the garden is very fine."
"Yes, the grounds are large enough. And then what I like is its
wonderful seclusion: the wall surrounding it on all sides is very high,
and the entrance gate would be hard for robbers to tackle."
"Shall I ring?"
"Yes, ring."
The young man pressed the button, a peal rang out in the distance:
presently the porter appeared. He was a big fellow with long whiskers
and a distinguished air, the perfect type of the high-class servant.
"You gentlemen have come to see the house?"
"Exactly. I am M. Durant. It is I who wrote to you."
"To be sure, sir, I remember."
The porter showed the two visitors into the garden, and forthwith the
stout man drew his nephew along the paths. The sense of proprietorship
came over him at once; he spared his relative none of the points of the
property.
"You see, Emile, it isn't big, but still it is amply sufficient. No
trees before the house, which allows a view of the Boulevard from all
the windows. The servants' quarters being in the far part of the garden
can in no way annoy the people in the house: Notice, too, that the trees
are quite young and their foliage thin. I don't care for too luxuriant
gardens which are apt to block the view."
"That's right, Uncle."
The porter, who was following the two, broke in upon the ecstasy of the
prospective owner.
"Would you gentlemen like to see the house?"
"Why, certainly, certainly."
The stout man, however, before entering, was bent on going round it. He
noticed the smallest details, growing more and more enthusiastic.
"Look, Emile, it is very well built. The ground floor is sufficiently
raised so as not to be too damp. This big terrace, on which the three
French windows open, must be very cheerful in summer. Oh, there are
drain pipes at the four corners! And we mustn't fail to see the cellars.
I'm sure they are very fine. Bend down over the air-holes; what do you
think of the gratings that close them? And, now, shall we go in?"
The porter led them to the main entrance door.
"Here is the vestibule, gentlemen, to the left, the servants' hall and
kitchen; to the right, the dining-room; facing you a small drawing-room,
then the large drawing-room, and, lastly, the double staircase leading
to the first floor."
The stout man dropped into a chair.
"And to whom does this place belong?"
"Lady Beltham, sir."
"She does not live here?"
"Not now. At this moment she is travelling."
In the wake of the porter, uncle and nephew went through the rooms on
the ground floor. As happens in all untenanted houses, the damp had
wrought terrible havoc. The flooring, worm-eaten, creaked under their
feet, the carpets had large damp spots on them, the paper hung loose on
the walls, while the furniture was covered with a thick coat of dust.
"Don't pay any attention to the furniture, Emile, it matters little;
what we must first look at is the arrangement of the rooms. Why, there
are iron shutters--I like that."
"To be sure, Uncle, they are very practical."
"Yes, yes; to begin with, when those shutters are closed it would be
impossible from the outside to see anything in the rooms. Not even the
least light."
The porter proceeded to show them the first floor of the house.
"There is only one staircase?" asked the stout man.
"Yes, only one."
"And what is the cause of the unusual dampness? We are far from the
Seine; the garden is not very leafy."
"There is a leaky cistern in the cellars, sir. Here is the largest
bedroom. It was my Lady's."
"Yes, one sees it has been the last room to be lived in."
At this harmless remark the porter seemed very upset.
"What makes you think that, sir?"
"Why, the chairs are pushed about as though recently used. There is much
less dust on the furniture. And--there's a print--look at the desk,
there is a trace of dust on the diary. The blotting paper has been moved
lately, some one has been writing there--why, what's wrong with you?"
As he listened to the stout man's remarks the porter grew strangely
pale.
"Oh," he stammered, "it's nothing, nothing at all."
"One would say you were afraid."
"Afraid? No, sir. I am not afraid--only----"
"Only what?"
"Well, gentlemen, it is best not to stay here--Lady Beltham is selling
the house because it is--haunted!"
Neither of the visitors seemed impressed by the statement of their
guide. The elder laughed a jolly laugh.
"Are there ghosts?"
"Why, sir, 'spirits' come here."
"Have you seen them?"
"Oh! certainly not, sir. When they are there, I shut myself up in the
lodge, I can assure you----"
"When do they appear?"
"They come almost always on Tuesday nights."
And warming to his subject the porter gave details. He got the
impression first on one occasion when her Ladyship was absent. She had
left some days before for Italy. It was Sunday, and then during Tuesday
night while walking in the garden he heard movements inside the house.
"I went to fetch my keys and when I came back I found nobody! I thought
at first it was burglars, but I saw nothing had been taken away. Yet, I
was not mistaken, furniture had been moved. There were bread crumbs on
the floor."
The young man roared with laughter.
"Bread crumbs! Then your spirits come and sup here?"
The uncle, equally amused, asked:
"And what did Lady Beltham think when you told her that?"
"Lady Beltham laughed at me. But, sir, I had my own ideas. I watched in
the garden daily and I heard the same sounds and always on Tuesday
nights. At last I laid a trap; I put a chalk mark round the chairs in
Lady Beltham's room, she being still away. Well, sir, when I came to the
house again on Thursday the chairs had been moved. I told Lady Beltham,
and this time she seemed very much frightened. It is since then she made
up her mind to sell the house."
"For all that, what makes you say they are spirits?"
"What else could it be, sir. I also heard the sounds of chains jangling.
One night I even heard a strange and terrible hiss."
"Well!" cried the stout man, beginning to go down the staircase, "since
the house is haunted I shall have to pay less for it; eh, Emile?"
"You will buy, sir, in spite of that?"
"To be sure. Your phantoms alarm me less than the damp."
"Oh, the damp? That can be easily remedied. You will see that we have a
central heating stove installed."
The porter led his visitors down a narrow stair to the cellars.
"Take care, gentlemen, the stairs are slippery."
Then he observed: "You don't need a candle, the gratings are big enough
to give plenty of light."
"What is that?" asked the young man, pointing to a huge iron cylinder
embedded in the earth and rising some four-and-a-half feet above the
floor.
"The cistern of which I spoke, as you can see for yourselves, it is all
but full."
The porter hurried them on.
"That is the heating stove. There are conductors throughout the house.
When it is in full blast the house is even too warm."
"But your grate stove is in pieces!" objected the stout man, pointing
with his stick to iron plates torn out of one side of the central
furnace.
"Oh, sir, that happened at the time of the floods. But it won't cost
much to put it right. If you gentlemen will examine the inside of the
apparatus you will see that the pipes are in perfect order."
The uncle followed the porter's suggestion.
"Your pipes are as big as chimneys; a man could pass through them."
The inspection ended, uncle and nephew bestowed a liberal tip on their
guide. They would think it over and write or come again soon.
The two relatives retraced their steps to Boulevard Inkermann.
"Fandor?"
"Juve?"
"We have got them!"
Uncle and nephew--that is to say, Juve and Fandor--could talk quite
freely now.
"Juve, are you certain that we have got them?"
Juve pushed his friend into a wine-shop and ordered drinks. He then drew
from his pocket a piece of paper, quite blank.
"What is that?"
"A bit of paper I picked up on Lady Beltham's desk while the porter's
back was turned. It will serve for a little experiment. If it is not
long since a hand rested on it, we shall find the print."
"On this blank paper?"
"Yes, Fandor. Look!"
Juve drew a pencil from his pocket and scratched off a fine dust of
graphite which he shook over the paper. Gradually the outline of a hand
appeared, faint, but quite visible.
"That is how," resumed Juve, "with this very simple process, you can
decipher the finger prints of persons who have written or rested their
hands on anything--paper, glass, even wood. According to the clearness
of this outline which is thrown up by the coagulation of the
plumbago--thanks to the ordinary moisture of the hand--which was laid
on the paper, I can assure you that some one wrote on Lady Beltham's
desk about ten days ago."
"It is wonderful," said Fandor. "Here, then, is proof positive that her
Ladyship visits her house from time to time."
"Correct--or at least that some one goes there, for that is a man's
hand."
"Well, what are you going to do now, Juve?"
"Now? I'm off to the Prefecture to get rid of my false embonpoint, which
bothers me no end. I have never been so glad that I am not naturally
stout."
Fandor laughed.
"And I own to you that I shan't be sorry to get rid of my false
moustache. All the while I was inspecting that cursed house, this
moustache kept tickling my nose and making me want to sneeze."
"You should have done so."
"But suppose my moustache had come off?"
XXXI
LOVERS AND ACCOMPLICES
"Oh! who is that?"
From the shadow issued some one who calmly replied:
"It is I."
"Ah!--I know you now, but why this disguise?"
"Madame the Superior--I present myself--Doctor Chaleck. Isn't my
disguise as good as yours?"
"What do you want of me? Speak quickly, I am frightened."
"To begin with, I thank you for coming to the tryst at your house--at
ours. For five Tuesdays I have waited in vain. But first, madame,
explain your sudden conversion, the reason of your sudden entry into
Orders. That is a strange device for the mistress of Gurn."
Doctor Chaleck held under the lash of his irony the unhappy woman who
seemed overcome by anxiety. The two were facing each other in the large
room that formed the middle of the first floor of the house in Boulevard
Inkermann at Neuilly. It was, in fact, the only room fit to use: they
had left to neglect and inclement weather the other rooms in the elegant
mansion which some years before was considered in the Parisian world as
one of the most comfortable and luxurious in the foreign colony.
It was in truth here that in days gone by the tragic drama had been
played: death had laid its cold hand upon the gilded trappings of the
great apartment and laughter and joy had taken flight. However, time
passes so quickly and evil memories so soon grow dim that many had
forgotten the grim happenings which three years before had beset the
mansion on the Boulevard.
It was at first the deep mourning of Lady Beltham whose husband had been
mysteriously done to death at Belleville. Then, some weeks later,
occurred the awful scene of the arrest of Lord Beltham's murderer, just
as he was leaving the house, an arrest due to Juve, who, though he
succeeded in laying hands on the assassin, the infamous Gurn, was not
able to prove--sure though he might be of it--that the slayer of the
husband was the lover of the wife.
After these shocking events Lady Beltham left France, dismissing the
many attendants with whom she loved to surround herself like a true
queen of beauty, luxury and wealth.
At rare intervals the Lady, whose existence grew more and more
mysterious, went back for a few days to her house at Neuilly. She would
vanish, would reappear, living like a recluse, almost in entire
solitude, receiving none of her old acquaintances.
About a year ago she seemed to want to settle finally at Boulevard
Inkermann. Workmen began to put the house in order again, the lodge was
opened and a family of caretakers came; then suddenly the work had been
broken off; some weeks went by while Lady Beltham lived alone with her
companion; then both disappeared.
Lady Beltham shivered, and, gathering about her shoulders the cloak
which covered her religious habit, muttered: "I'm cold."
"Beastly weather, and to think this is July."
Chaleck crossed to a register in the corner of the room.
"No good to leave that open! An icy wind comes through the passage to
the cellar."
Lady Beltham turned in alarm toward her enigmatic companion.
"Why did you let it be supposed I was dead?"
"Why did you yourself leave here two days before the crime at the Cité
Frochot?"
Lady Beltham hung her head and with a sob in her voice:
"I was deserted and jealous. Besides, I was enduring frightful remorse.
The idea had come to me to write down the terrible secret which haunted
my spirit, to give the story to some one I could trust, an attorney, and
then----"
"Go on, pray!"
"And, then, what I had written suddenly vanished. It was after that I
lost my head and fled. I had long been meaning to withdraw from the
world. The Sisters of St. Clotilde offered to receive me in their house
at Nogent."
Chaleck added brutally:
"That isn't all. You forgot to say you were afraid. Come, be frank,
afraid of Gurn, of me!"
"Well, yes, I was afraid, not so much of you, but of our crimes. I am
also afraid of dying."
"That confession you wrote became known to some one who confided it to
me."
"Heavens," murmured the unhappy woman. "Who mentioned it?"
Chaleck had again crossed to the register, which, although closed by him
some moments before, was open again, letting into the room a blast of
icy air from the basement.
"This can't stay shut, it must be seen to," he muttered.
Lady Beltham, shaken by a nervous tremour, insisted:
"Who betrayed me? Who told?"
Chaleck seated himself by her side.
"You remember Valgrand, the actor? Well, Valgrand was married. His wife
sought to clear up the mystery of his disappearance and went--where, I
ask you? Why, to you, Lady Beltham! You took her as companion! It would
have been impossible to introduce a more redoubtable spy into the house
than the widow Valgrand, known by you under the false name of Mme.
Raymond."
Lady Beltham remained panic-stricken.
"We are lost!"
Chaleck squeezed her two hands in a genuine burst of affection.
"We are saved!" he shouted. "Mme. Raymond will talk no more!"
"The body at the Cité Frochot!"
Chaleck nodded. "Yes."
She looked at him in alarm, mingled with repulsion and horror.