"If you two men would understand how you both have been ensnared and
betrayed, listen to the facts I will relate," said Gabrielle, leaning on
the table before her.
"Lies," observed Valerie, as if speaking to herself.
"A few years ago in Paris," continued Mademoiselle Debriege, turning to
her companions, "there lived, as you know, three artists, named Holt,
Glanville, and Egerton. At that time I, too, lived in the Quartier
Latin and became acquainted with them by meeting them frequently at the
Chat Noir, whither I sometimes went in company with the man who had
promised me marriage. The latter, however, forsook me--bah! it was the
usual story--a woman's foolish trust in a man who cast her off like a
frayed glove. You understand?"
She paused, and the colour mounted to her cheeks.
"Ruin came," she went on; "my father, a small tradesman, turned me from
his door, and I found myself wandering friendless, forsaken, and
homeless in the great city. Eventually I obtained an engagement as a
_figurante_ at the Opera, and while there I first met the woman before
you, Valerie Duvauchel. Although a gay coquette, she confided in me the
fact that she was living under the protection of Victor Berard, a
convicted thief. I was poor, earning scarcely enough to keep body and
soul together, when she asked me to assist her and her lover in their
various schemes of robbery. This temptation proved too great, for I was
to receive a fair share of the plunder. The first occasion on which I
participated in the crusade against riches was at a burglary at Auteuil.
We were successful, and I received a thousand francs for my services.
During the nine months I was connected with them I assisted at a number
of robberies of jewellery and plate, sometimes as a decoy, at others
pilfering myself."
"I never knew you allied yourself in that manner with them," remarked
the artist in surprise, "although I often thought the dresses you wore
cost you more than you obtained at the Opera."
"In order to carry out our plans, I was compelled to dress well," she
replied. "But that has little to do with the events that followed.
While assisting Berard, I frequently spent days about the _ateliers_,
and Glanville, the student of the Quai Montabello, and I became
enamoured of one another. He had more money at his command than the
average denizen of the Ile de la Cite, therefore I was not averse to
accompanying him to cafes, balls, and theatres, especially as I had
given up my engagement of the Opera, and was dependent entirely upon the
proceeds of Victor's depredations. After a few months at this life I
discovered, by mere accident, that my English lover was not so devoted
as I believed, and--that he knew Valerie. The affection between this
woman and Egerton was a matter of comment among the students living on
the Quai, but no one suspected that she favoured Glanville, whom
everybody believed idolised me."
"I didn't encourage him. I couldn't help your lover admiring me, could
I?" protested Valerie scornfully.
"My awakening was a cruel one," Gabrielle continued, speaking slowly and
distinctly. "I taxed him with faithlessness, but he denied it so
earnestly that at length I became convinced of his firm affection for me
alone. A few days later a calamity befell us. I had stored in my rooms
a quantity of stolen property previous to disposing of it. One evening,
while I was out, Glanville called, and, entering with his key, sat down
to await me. Hardly a quarter of an hour elapsed before two detectives
and half a dozen policemen entered the place, armed with a warrant.
They searched and quickly found several valuable articles, descriptions
of which had been circulated. Then they arrested and charged him with
perpetrating the robberies."
"Were you arrested also?" asked Hugh, greatly interested in the
narrative.
"No; fortunately Victor got wind of the affair, and warned me not to
return. I was present, however, at the trial. The police had
unfortunately discovered that the property was the proceeds of several
extensive burglaries, and the court sentenced him to ten years'
transportation. The first few months he spent in performing hard labour
at Brest, and at the end of that period I received a letter from him.
It was long and earnest, reminding me of how he was suffering for my
sake, and declaring his passionate love. To this I replied, and, after
the lapse of a few weeks I received another, urging me to marry him. He
said that he was sailing for New Caledonia that day, therefore if I
consented I should be compelled to follow him out there. To meet this
contingency he gave me the address of a bank, where I was to call and
obtain money for my journey; and, further, he stated that in the event
of my consenting to become his wife, he had given orders that three
thousand francs were to be paid annually to me until his liberation.
Naturally, such a proposal caused me grave doubts, especially as I had
discovered a few days previous to his arrest a fresh and most striking
proof of his love for this vile woman who stands now before you."
"Did you marry him after all?" inquired the artist impatiently, for he
had been in ignorance of all this.
"Yes, Valerie and Victor, having suspicions that the police had scented
them, fled from Paris: consequently I was without means. Although I was
fond of Glanville, and admired his courage in shielding me, yet I did
not love him so well as another man I had lately met. However, finding
myself almost destitute, I drew the money from the bank, and sailed for
`La Nouvelle' where, after a few weeks' residence, the Governor gave us
permission to marry. The ceremony was duly performed, and I have here
the lines which prove it," she added, exhibiting a small strip of paper
which she had taken from her pocket.
"Your honey noon was scarcely pleasant, I should think," observed Hugh
sympathetically.
"Its brevity did not allow either of us to become bored," she said. "I
parted from him at the chapel door, and I have not seen him since."
"Not seen him!" repeated Egerton. "Why, has he not yet obtained his
freedom?"
"Yes; he escaped before he had been there two years. However, we never
met."
"But why did you marry him?" the artist asked. "A convict was hardly a
desirable husband."
"Ah! you wonder. Well, there were several reasons," she said.
"Firstly, I was afraid lest he should expose me with regard to a certain
incident which occurred at Passy, in which Berard and I were implicated.
We were on a midnight expedition, and a policeman who proved
troublesome received an ugly dig with a knife; therefore I was confident
that if this were divulged I should be arrested and sentenced as one of
Victor's accessories. Then, again, I had been told by an Englishman who
knew him that Glanville had an ample income, and this was confirmed by
his offer to provide me with money until his release. Besides, he, on
the other hand, was anxious to marry me in order to secure my silence,
because he knew I had discovered a secret of his which, if not
preserved, might bring dire consequences. It may have been for the best
that we parted so quickly, for as soon as the marriage ceremony was
performed I regretted the rash step, inasmuch as the recollection of my
discovery regarding his alliance with this woman came back to me in all
its hideous reality."
"What alliance?" inquired Valerie, whose firm, set face was as
colourless as the dress she wore.
"It is well you should feign ignorance," Gabrielle replied angrily.
Then, turning to the two men, she said: "In order that you shall
understand matters aright, I shall be compelled to describe the scene.
It took place in a suite of rooms in the Boulevard Haussmann tenanted by
an English dealer in gems named Nicholson."
"What do you know of him?" cried Valerie in a husky voice.
"Have patience and you shall hear," she answered with a sarcastic smile.
Again addressing her companions, she continued her narrative, saying:
"While this woman was living with Victor, she had enchanted Egerton and
Glanville. Both, unaware of one another's feelings, were ecstatic over
her face and figure; both worshipped her, and both were prepared to do
anything to secure her favour."
"That is true," admitted the artist moodily. "I was a brainless fool.
Yet I did not know until now that Glanville had also been smitten by her
fatal beauty."
"He had, nevertheless, as you will see. This woman--who afterwards
assumed the name of Dedieu--with her usual crafty far-sightedness saw
that it was possible to turn the mad impetuosity of you and your
fellow-student to her advantage, and did not fail to embrace the
opportunity. The scheme she concocted was indeed a fiendish one, which
she carried out unaided, and the secret would have been safe even now
had I not been the witness of her crime."
"You--you saw me?" shrieked Valerie in dismay. "You lie! You saw
nothing."
"Her crime! What was it? Tell us quickly," urged Hugh.
"The facts are almost incredible, but they are simply as follows:
Nicholson was her lover, and the safe in his room contained a quantity
of cut and uncut gems. She devised an ingenious plan by which she could
get rid of her lover, obtain the stones, and throw the guilt upon the
two men who were infatuated with her."
"Bah! don't believe her!--she's telling you a pretty romance!" declared
Valerie, striving to appear unconcerned.
But Gabrielle took no notice of her interruptions.
"The way she set about it," she went on, "was, to say the least, skilful
and heartless. Showing favour to each, unknown to the other, she told
them that Nicholson held her enthralled by means of a secret, and that
she was unable to break from him in consequence. An insinuating
proposal she made was likely to lead to but one result--a promise from
each that they would take Nicholson's life."
"Wretch?" hissed the unhappy woman, under her breath.
"She arranged the details of the assassination with both, instructing
each in the manner by which the Englishman was to be killed. Both were
in ignorance of each other's intention, for she gave them strict
injunctions to preserve the secret as they valued their lives. These
facts I afterwards learnt, but I must tell you now how I became aware of
the plot. Glanville had gone to London for a week, and I also had been
away in the country for a few days. It was about half-past nine at
night when I arrived at the St. Lazare Station, and while passing down
the Boulevard Haussmann it suddenly occurred to me that Nicholson, being
a very intimate friend of Glanville's, would most probably be aware
whether he had returned from England. I scarcely know what prompted me,
but I halted before the house and ascended the stairs. The concierge
was absent, and the staircase was in darkness, he having omitted to
light the gas."
"Of course, you knew Nicholson," observed the artist. "I remember it
was I who introduced you."
"Yes; I had frequently met him with Glanville, and had been to his rooms
before. Without much difficulty I found the door. It was ajar, and I
pushed it open noiselessly. As I did so I heard loud excited talking,
and recognised one of the voices as that of Valerie. The discovery that
she had called upon this man excited my curiosity, and I resolved to
watch them. They were in a room upon the left of the passage, the door
of which was almost closed. Passing with scarcely a sound, I entered
the sitting-room, and glanced round for some place of concealment.
There were several, but the one I decided upon was behind the heavy
crimson curtains that were drawn across the window overlooking the
boulevard. Scarcely had I retired into my hiding-place when I heard the
Englishman walk to the outer door and close it. Then he returned to the
room in a frenzy of passion, invoking terrible curses upon her. They
spoke in English, which at that time I did not understand; yet it was
evident she had done something to arouse his hatred, for a few moments
later she screamed for mercy, and rushed headlong into the room where I
was. He followed at her heels, and, clutching her by the throat, flung
her backwards upon the sofa. His face was livid with passion, and for
several minutes they struggled together. Then, almost before I was
aware of her intention, I heard a loud report. A puff of smoke curled
between them as he relaxed his hold and grasped convulsively at his
breast. `_Dieu_! Valerie! You--you've shot--me!' were the only words
that he uttered, for he reeled and fell backwards, striking his head
violently upon the corner of the table."
"Did she really murder him?" asked the artist breathlessly.
"Yes; the revolver with which, as I afterwards found, she had shot him
through the heart, was still smoking in her hand. Flinging it from her
to the opposite end of the room, she bent over the body of her lover and
extracted the keys from his pocket. Crossing to the mock bookcase, she
pressed a button and opened it, revealing the ponderous iron doors of
the safe. Without hesitation she quickly applied the keys, and the
handles yielded. In a few moments she had cleared the two iron drawers
of the white paper packets they contained. Satisfying herself that she
had not overlooked anything of value, she quickly closed the safe and
transferred the plunder to the pockets of her dress and jacket."
"_Ciel_! She _does_ know!" escaped Valerie's lips involuntarily, as she
stood trembling and leaning heavily upon the chair, her distended eyes
glaring at the trio before her with a terrible fire of hatred.
"But what of Nicholson?" asked Hugh. "Was he dead?"
"Quite. Death had been almost instantaneous," Gabrielle replied,
speaking in the same distinct, mechanical tones in which she had
recounted the strange incidents. "When the murderess had concluded her
search for the gems, she turned her attention to the body. First, she
bent and satisfied herself that there was no movement of the heart,
then, by dint of exerting every muscle, she managed to drag the body up
and seat it in the chair at the writing-table. The limbs being not yet
rigid, it was an easy task to place it in a natural position, with the
arms leaning upon the table and head bending over, as if reading the
papers, which she spread out upon the blotting-pad. After she had
rearranged the room, she glanced at the watch she wore in a bangle upon
her wrist. Lighting the reading-lamp and turning out the gas, she left
the room with only a dim, subdued light. She had just completed this
when she started at the click of a latchkey in the outer door, and
concealed herself quickly behind a high screen which stood near the
fireplace. Barely had she time to do this before Egerton entered, and,
creeping up cautiously behind the dead man's chair, struck him a
terrible, murderous blow in the back with a long sharp knife he carried
in his hand. The force he used caused the body to overbalance and roll,
with the chair, upon the floor. With scarcely a second look at the
result of his horrible work, he turned and stole out as noiselessly as
he had entered. In a few minutes Valerie, having convinced herself of
his departure, emerged from her hiding-place, and again reseated the
corpse in its chair, at the same time removing the blood from the
clothes with a cloth she obtained from a drawer. For a few minutes she
was engaged in staunching the blood, and prevented it from flowing over
his coat after she had withdrawn the knife from the wound. Subsequently
she went into the adjoining apartment, and was absent about ten minutes.
When she re-entered, Glanville accompanied her. He, too, was also
armed with a knife, the blade of which gleamed in the ray of lamplight
which fell upon it. The murderess crept stealthily behind the corpse
and, bending over, placed her arms around its neck, as if caressing it,
while at that moment, in obedience to a motion from her, the student
rushed up and struck it a violent blow with the knife full in the chest.
Valerie released her hold and again the body lolled upon the floor.
The woman snatched up her hat, and, without casting a glance at the
murdered man or uttering a word, both went out and closed the door after
them. Five minutes later I followed, hardly daring to breathe until I
had reached the boulevard and mingled with the people."
"Good God! Is it really true?" demanded Egerton excitedly.
"True? Bah! Surely you are not such an imbecile as to believe the foul
lies of that woman?" shouted Hugh's wife. "She has no proof."
"I'll convince you before I have finished," answered Gabrielle. "The
strangest phase of the affair yet remains to be narrated--"
"_Diable_!" cried the trembling woman passionately. "Ah! you would
crush me, would you not?" she said, with a hollow laugh. "You--you
would hurry me off to pay the penalty without a moment's pity. But I
shall be out of your reach. You see well enough that you can't succeed;
bah! you are vanquished."
Gabrielle took no heed of this sudden outburst of fury. Drawing from
her pocket a crumpled newspaper, she said--
"This is a copy of the _Gaulois_, containing a full report of the
discovery of the body, and if you read it you will find the three
distinct wounds described as I have explained."
"Then, after all, I am not a murderer?" cried the artist, suddenly
recognising how he had been tricked by the woman who had so artfully
cast her toils about him and bound him to do her bidding.
"No; you are innocent."
"Ah, Gabrielle," he cried earnestly, "how shall I ever thank you enough
for clearing up the awful mystery and removing the guilty burden from my
conscience?"
"Before you thank me, hear the end," she said calmly. "I told you how I
married Glanville. Well, at that time I believed him to be a student of
whose conviction I had unfortunately been the cause. Yet after his
escape he wrote to me, making an appointment for me to meet him in
London, and admitting that Glanville was only a name he had assumed in
order that his friends should not discover that he had entered Bohemia.
It was his hobby to study Art--"
"Who was he, then?" inquired Hugh, interrupting.
"Your brother."
"Douglas?" he ejaculated, in abject amazement.
"Yes."
"Surely you must be mistaken," cried Egerton incredulously.
"I said I would convince you. Here is the letter," and she handed the
missive for their inspection.
"Did you meet as arranged?" Hugh asked breathlessly, recognising his
brother's handwriting.
"No. Long before the enactment of the tragedy, this woman and her
myrmidons, Victor Berard and Pierre Rouillier, _alias_ Chavoix, had
discovered who Glanville was, and also that he had a brother who would
inherit the estate in the event of his decease. Yet the plot does not
seem to have occurred to them until after his imprisonment. My husband
arrived in England several days earlier than I expected--"
"And they murdered him?"
"Yes. From place to place they followed him until a fitting opportunity
occurred, and, as you are aware, they carried out their evil design in
an omnibus in a clever, audacious manner that baffled the police. The
murder remained a mystery, and it was not until several months
afterwards that I succeeded in obtaining conclusive evidence proving
that either Valerie or her accomplice, Berard, assassinated him. They
were unaware that I had married him, for I had returned to Paris and
gone upon the stage again. But I afterwards accepted a London
engagement, and set myself to watch the development of their skilfully
concocted plans."
"But what was their object in taking his life?" Hugh inquired,
bewildered by the extraordinary narrative.
"It was quite plain. Immediately after our marriage, before we left the
chapel, I told Douglas that it was Valerie who had killed Nicholson, and
not himself, as he believed. The reason I did so was in order that he
should see how he had been tricked, and the announcement, I feel sure,
transformed his love for her into deadly hate. Before he left `La
Nouvelle' I believe he managed to write to her explaining that he had
discovered her treachery, and announcing his intention of seeking
revenge. It was the knowledge that he had discovered her secret that
first prompted them to murder him. Their design was a deep one, to
ultimately obtain your money. They saw that it was impossible for
Valerie to marry Douglas after what had occurred, while on the other
hand it was obvious that if they killed him the estate would pass to
you, and Valerie could afterwards marry you for the sole object of
obtaining possession of the money. They believed, too, that if Douglas
died, Valerie's secret would be safe, therefore what greater incentive
to commit the murder could there have been?"
"Could they not have obtained his money without taking his life?" asked
Hugh.
"No. The preservation of the secret of Valerie's guilt was to them of
vital importance, for while Douglas lived he would always have her in
his power. She little thought, however, that it was I who had witnessed
her crime and told Douglas the truth. She felt confident that by
killing him she would be free."
"And that she did, alas!" Trethowen added bitterly. "Ah! you have
little idea of the terrible extremities to which they resorted in order
to ensure the success of their nefarious plot. Indeed, the conspiracy
was a devilish one; they hesitated at nothing. They had no money when
Valerie commenced to allure you by her crafty smiles, and you would
never imagine how they obtained sufficient to make you believe she was
wealthy."
"How did they? Tell me."
"Rouillier--whom you know as Chavoix--is an adroit swindler, and to his
ingenuity the credit for it is due. Some months previously he had
insured his life for a large amount, and having made a holograph will
bequeathing the money to an imaginary person named Chavoix, he then
succeeded in finding a poor, destitute Frenchman in Soho who slightly
resembled himself. Aided by Berard and Holt he drugged his victim,
placed his own card-case and letters in his pocket, and flung him from a
train on the District Railway. The insensible man was run over and
killed. The body was discovered much mutilated, and the insurance
company, believing that he had fallen from the train, paid the money
over to Pierre, who was already living in a secluded village in Belgium,
and who had taken the name of Chavoix."
"How horrible to sacrifice a life for a paltry sum!" Hugh exclaimed,
unable even then to fully realise the truth of the extraordinary story
of conspiracy and crime.
"The manner in which they got rid of you was quite as ingenious as their
dealings with that old scoundrel Graham, and all their other plans. You
remember, you were in Paris when arrested?"
"Yes."
"Well, it was your wife who informed the police. She represented that
you were Douglas Trethowen, who had escaped from `La Nouvelle.' You
were identified by the photograph in the _dossier_ at Monsieur Goron's
bureau, hence your arrest. The police had already discovered Valerie's
_liaison_ with the murdered man Nicholson, and when you were
interrogated you admitted that you were her husband. This strengthened
their suspicions that you were guilty of complicity in the murder, even
if you did not actually kill your wife's lover. Again, they had
previously obtained evidence that Douglas Trethowen was seen to leave
the house on the night of the tragedy accompanied by Valerie, therefore
it was not surprising that the heavy sentence was passed upon you,
especially as Pierre Rouillier gave damning information against you in
secret."
"This is all so strange, mademoiselle, that I can scarcely believe it,"
Trethowen remarked. "Yet my brother's connection with this woman--this
murderess--accounts for the picture and letters of hers which I found
among his papers. I remember now that one of the letters contained the
words `Boulevard' and `Montabello.' Yes," he cried, suddenly realising
the truth; "what you have told me tallies with the facts. My brother
has been murdered, and I have been victimised by this vile, debased
creature, in a manner that has almost cost me my life. I believe you
have spoken the truth. My lifelong thanks are due to you for your
self-denial in watching the complicated game of these wretches, and rest
assured I shall not overlook your claim upon me as my poor brother's
widow." Turning to Valerie, who still stood ashen pale and trembling,
he paused, looking straight into her unflinching eyes with a terrible
expression of loathing and hatred.
"You!" he cried. "As for you--you know what punishment a murderess
deserves! I little dreamed that such a fair form could hide so black a
heart; yet it seems that while pretending to reciprocate my love you
were planning my destruction--"
"No," she cried wildly. "I--I loved you--once," and she stretched out
her hand as if to grasp his arm. He stepped back quickly, saying--
"Keep away! Your touch is polluting!"
Her submissive and resigned attitude instantly changed as he uttered
this reproach. Her look was menacing and full of hate. She turned
furiously upon Gabrielle, and poured forth a torrent of abuse.
But she exposed herself to terrible reprisals.
Mdlle. Debriege was not a woman to be cowed by the vindictive insults
heaped upon her. She had nourished a natural and bitter hatred against
this woman who had robbed her of her husband, and now the opportunity
for revenge had come she did not fail to take advantage of it.
In plain, pointed words she addressed her, without sparing one cause of
complaint or a single reproach, and in their full hideousness casting in
her teeth the enormity of her sins. She repaid with interest in that
moment all the countless sufferings the guilty woman had caused,
completely overwhelming her with vituperation. Valerie heard her out
with but little interruption, and when at length Gabrielle concluded,
there was a moment's silence.
"Now, madame," exclaimed Hugh sternly, addressing his wife, "we will end
this our last interview, for you and I will never meet again. From the
bottom of my heart I hate you, hoping that a just retribution will be
yours. When it comes, you will probably recollect the words of a man
who loved you dearer than his life. Coombe never before gave shelter to
a murderess, and it shall do so no longer. The hour is late, therefore
I will grant you until to-morrow, but if you have not left here by
midday I shall call in the police and give you up to justice. You
understand--I shall not depart from my word. The tie which bound us has
been broken, and I curse the day when I was so blindly infatuated as to
link my life with yours."
"Hugh! Hugh! I--I am penitent. Have pity."
"You had none for me. I have none."
"Hugh! Forgive!"
"Never!"
As he turned from her, Egerton unlocked the door, and in silence they
went out, while the unhappy woman tottered forward, and in despair cast
herself upon the couch, burying her face in the silken cushions.