SHOWS THE BIRD’S TALONS
For some little time after my mysterious companion had left I sat
forward in the box, gazing down at the wild revelry below, and hoping
that one or other of the party would recognize me.
So great a crowd was there, and so many dresses exactly similar, that
to distinguish Ulrica or Gerald, or, indeed, any of the others, proved
absolutely impossible. They might of course be in one or other of the
supper-rooms, and I saw from the first that there was but little chance
of finding them.
Leaning my elbows on the edge of the box, I gazed down upon the scene
of reckless merriment, but my thoughts were full of the strange words
uttered by the mysterious masker. The packet he had given me I had
transferred to my pocket, and with pardonable curiosity I longed to
open it and see what it contained.
The warning he had given me was extremely disconcerting and worried me.
No woman likes to think that she has unknown enemies ready to take her
life. Yet that was apparently my position.
That life could be taken swiftly and without detection I had plainly
seen in the case of poor Reggie. When I recollected his terrible fate
I shuddered. Yet this man had plainly given me to understand that the
same fate awaited me if I did not adopt the line of conduct that he had
laid down.
Whoever he might be, he certainly was acquainted with all my movements
and knew intimately my feelings. There was certainly no likelihood of
my marriage with old Benjamin Keppel. I scouted the idea. Yet he knew
quite well that the old millionaire had become attracted by me and
reposed in me a confidence that he did not extend to others. The more
I reflected, the more I became convinced that the stranger’s fear of
being recognized arose from the fact that he himself was either the
murderer or an accessory to the murder of poor Reggie.
What did the demand that I should return to London denote? It could
only mean one thing--namely, that my assistance was required.
Whoever were my enemies, they were, I argued, enemies likewise of old
Mr. Keppel. The present which the stranger had pressed upon me was
nothing less than a bribe to secure either my silence or my services.
Try how I would, I could discover absolutely no motive whatever in it
all. It was certain that this man, so cleverly disguised that I could
not distinguish his real height, much less his form or features, had
come there, watched for a favorable opportunity to speak with me, and
then had warned me to sever my friendship with the millionaire.
Leaning there, gazing blankly down upon the crowd screaming with
laughter at the Parisian quadrilles and antics of clown and columbine,
I coolly analyzed my own feelings towards the blunt, plain-spoken old
gentleman with the melancholy eyes. I found--as I had believed all
along--that I admired him for his honest good-nature, his utter lack
of anything approaching “side,” his strenuous efforts to assist in
good works, and his regard for appearances only for his son’s sake.
But I did not love him. No. I had loved one man. I could never love
another--never in all my life.
Yet perhaps he was there disguised beneath a mask and dress of
parti-colored satin! Perhaps he was down there among the dancers,
escorting that woman who had usurped my place. The thought held me in
wonder.
Suddenly I was brought back to a due sense of my surroundings by
the opening of the door of the box and the entry of one of the
theatre-attendants, who, addressing me in French, said:
“I beg m’zelle’s pardon, but the Direction would esteem it a favor if
m’zelle would step down to the bureau at once.”
“What do they want with me?” I inquired quickly with considerable
surprise.
“Of that I have no knowledge, m’zelle. I was merely told to ask you to
go there without delay.”
Therefore, in wonder, I rose and followed the man downstairs and
through the crowd of revellers to the private office of the Direction,
close to the main entrance of the Casino.
In the room I found the Director, an elderly man with short, stiff
gray hair, sitting at a table, while near him stood two men dressed as
pierrots, with their masks removed.
When the door was closed, the Director, courteously offering me a seat,
apologized for disturbing me, but explained that he had done so at the
request of his two companions.
“I may as well at once explain,” said the elder of the two in French,
“that we desire some information which you can furnish.”
“Of what nature?” I inquired with considerable surprise.
“In the theatre, an hour ago, you were escorted by a masker wearing a
dress representing an owl. You danced with him, but were afterwards
lost in the crowd. Search was made through all the rooms for you, but
you could not be found. Where have you been?”
“I have been sitting in the box in conversation with the stranger.”
“All the time?”
“Yes, he took precautions against being seen.”
“Who was he?”
“I have no idea,” I responded, still puzzled at the man’s demand.
“I had better perhaps explain at once to mademoiselle that we are
agents of police,” he said with a smile, “and that the movements of
the individual who met you and chatted with you so affably are of the
greatest interest to us.”
“Then you know who he is?” I exclaimed quickly.
“Yes. We have discovered that.”
“Who is he?”
“Unfortunately, it is not our habit to give details of any case on
which we are engaged until it is completed.”
“The case in question is the murder of Mr. Thorne at the Grand Hotel,
is it not?”
“Mademoiselle guesses correctly. She was a friend of the unfortunate
gentleman’s if I mistake not?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Well,” he said in a confidential tone, while his companion, a slightly
younger man, stood by regarding me and tugging at his mustache, “we
should esteem it a favor if you would kindly relate all that has
transpired this evening. When we saw him meet you we were not certain
of his identity. His disguise was puzzling. Afterwards there could be
no doubt, but he had then disappeared.”
“I had thought that the police had relinquished their inquiries,” I
said, nevertheless gratified to know that they were still on the alert.
“It is when we relax our efforts slightly that we have the better
chance of success,” the detective replied. “Did the man give you any
name?”
“No, he refused to tell me who he was.”
“And what was his excuse for accosting you and demanding a tête-à-tête?”
“He said he wished to warn me of an impending peril. In brief, he told
me that my life was in jeopardy.”
“Ah!” the man ejaculated, and exchanged a meaning glance with his
companion. “And his pretence was to give you warning of it. Did he tell
you by whom your life was threatened?”
“No. He refused any details, but he made certain suggestions as to the
course I should pursue.”
“That sounds interesting. What did he suggest?”
I hesitated for a few moments. Then, reflecting that the stranger was
evidently under the observation of the police, and that the latter were
still trying to bring poor Reggie’s assassin to justice, I resolved to
reveal all that had passed between us.
Therefore I gave a brief outline of our conversation, just as I have
written it in the foregoing pages. Both detectives on hearing my story
seemed very puzzled.
“You will pardon my intrusion,” exclaimed the agent of police who
had first spoken, “but as you will see, this is a clue which must
be thoroughly investigated. Will mademoiselle forgive me for asking
whether there is any truth in the man’s surmise that you were about to
become engaged to marry M’sieur Keppel?”
“None whatever,” I answered frankly. “I can only suppose that some
unfounded gossip has arisen, as it so often does, and that it has
reached his ears.”
“Yet he threatens--or at least warns you of peril--if you should become
the wife of this wealthy m’sieur! Ah! there seems some very deep
motive; but what it really is we must seek to discover. When we have
found it we shall have, I feel confident, a clue to the murderer of
M’sieur Thorne.”
“But there is still another rather curious fact,” I went on, now
determined to conceal nothing. “He declared that it was necessary for
my well-being that I should return to London, and there meet some
person who would visit me on the second of next June.”
“Ah! And you intend keeping that appointment, I presume.”
“I intend to do nothing of the kind,” I replied with a laugh. “The
affair is a very ugly one, and I have no desire whatever that my name
should be linked further with it.”
“Of course. I quite understand the annoyance caused to mademoiselle.
It is sufficient to have one’s friend murdered in that unaccountable
manner without being pestered by mysterious individuals who mask
themselves and prophesy all sorts of unpleasant things if their orders
are not obeyed. Did you promise to go to London?”
“I said I would consider the advisability of doing so.”
“You were diplomatic--eh?” he said with a laugh. “It is unfortunate
this fellow has slipped through our fingers so cleverly, very
unfortunate.”
“But if he is known to you there will surely not be much difficulty in
rediscovering him?”
“Ah! that’s just the question, you see. We are not absolutely certain
as to his identity.” Then after a slight pause he glanced at me and
asked suddenly, “Mademoiselle has a friend--or had a friend--named
Cameron--a M’sieur Ernest Cameron? Is that so?”
I think I must have blushed beneath the pieces of black velvet that hid
my cheeks.
“That is correct,” I stammered. “Why?”
“The reason is unimportant,” he answered carelessly. “The fact is
written in the papers concerning the case, and we like always to verify
facts in such a case as this--that’s all.”
“But he has no connection with the tragic affair,” I hastened to
declare. “I haven’t spoken to him for nearly two years--we have been
apart for quite that time.”
“Of course,” said the man reassuringly. “The fact has nothing to do
with the matter. I merely referred to it in order to gain confirmation
of our information. You mentioned something of a proposed yachting
cruise. What did this mysterious individual say regarding that?”
“He warned me not to go on board the Vispera----”
“The Vispera?” he interrupted. “The owner of the yacht is m’sieur the
millionaire, is he not?”
I responded in the affirmative.
“And this M’sieur Keppel has invited you to go with others on a cruise
to Naples?”
“Yes. But how did you know that it was to Naples?” I inquired.
“All yachts sailing from Nice eastward go to Naples,” he answered,
laughing. “I suppose the programme includes a run to the Greek islands,
Constantinople, Smyrna, and Tunis--eh?”
“I think so, but I have not yet heard definitely.”
“You have accepted the invitation, I take it?”
I nodded.
“And that, of course, lends color to the belief that m’sieur the
millionaire is in love with you, for it is well known that although he
has that magnificent yacht he never goes on a pleasure cruise.”
“I can’t help what may be thought by gossips,” I said hastily. “Mr.
Keppel is a friend of mine--nothing further.”
“But this friendship has apparently caused certain apprehensions to
arise in the minds of some persons of whom your mysterious companion
was the mouthpiece--the people who threatened you with death should you
disobey them.”
“Who are those people, do you imagine?” I inquired, deeply in earnest,
for the matter seemed to grow increasingly serious.
“Ah!” he answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “If we knew that we
should have no difficulty in arresting the assassin of M’sieur Thorne.”
“Well, what do you consider my best course?” I asked, utterly
bewildered by the mysterious events of the evening.
“I should advise you to keep your own counsel and leave the inquiries
to us,” was the detective’s rejoinder. “If this man again approaches
you, make an appointment with him later and acquaint us with the time
and place at once.”
“But I don’t anticipate that I shall see him again.” Then, determined
to render the police agents every assistance, even though they had been
stupidly blind to allow the stranger to escape, I drew from my pocket
the small packet which he had given me.
“This,” I said, “he handed to me at the last instant, accompanied by a
hope that I would not fail to keep the appointment in London.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will you permit us to open it?” he inquired, much interested.
“Certainly,” I responded. “I am anxious to see what it contains.”
The detective took it and cut the string with his pocket-knife; then,
while his subordinate and the Director of the Casino craned their necks
to investigate, he unwrapped paper after paper until he came to a
square jewel-case covered in dark-crimson leather.
“An ornament, I suppose?” exclaimed the detective.
Then he opened the box, and from its velvet-lined depths something fell
to the ground which caused us to utter a loud cry of surprise in chorus.
The detective bent and picked it up.
I stood dumfounded and aghast. In his hand was a bundle of folded
French bank-notes--each for one thousand francs.
They were the notes stolen from Reginald Thorne by his assassin.