THE MYSTERY OF THE BOULE CABINET
_A Detective Story_
BY
BURTON E. STEVENSON
With Illustrations by THOMAS FOGARTY
1911
To
A.B.M.
Fellow-Sherlockian
CONTENTS
I A CONNOISSEUR'S VAGARY
II THE FIRST TRAGEDY
III THE WOUNDED HAND
IV THE THUNDERBOLT
V GRADY TAKES A HAND
VI THE WOMAN IN THE CASE
VII ROGERS GETS A SHOCK
VIII PRECAUTIONS
IX GUESSES AT THE RIDDLE
X PREPARATIONS
XI THE BURNING EYES
XII GODFREY IS FRIGHTENED
XIII A DISTINGUISHED CALLER
XIV THE VEILED LADY
XV THE SECRET OF THE UNKNOWN FRENCHMAN
XVI PHILIP VANTINE'S CALLER
XVII ENTER M. ARMAND
XVIII I PART WITH THE BOULE CABINET
XIX "LA MORT!"
XX THE ESCAPE
XXI GODFREY WEAVES A ROMANCE
XXII "CROCHARD, L'INVINCIBLE!"
XXIII WE MEET M. PIGOT
XXIV THE SECRET OF THE CABINET
XXV THE MICHAELOVITCH DIAMONDS
XXVI THE FATE OF M. PIGOT
XXVII THE LAST ACT OF THE DRAMA
XXVIII CROCHARD WRITES AN EPILOGUE
ILLUSTRATIONS
CLUTCHING AT HIS THROAT, HE HALF-TURNED AND FELL
"I GRABBED HER AGAIN, AND JUST THEN MR. VANTINE OPENED THE DOOR AND
CAME OUT INTO THE HALL."
"A MOMENT LATER M. FÉLIX ARMAND WAS SHOWN IN"
WITH HIS BACK TO THE DOOR, STOOD A MAN RIPPING SAVAGELY AWAY THE
STRIPS OF BURLAP
CHAPTER I
A CONNOISSEUR'S VAGARY
"Hello!" I said, as I took down the receiver of my desk 'phone, in
answer to the call.
"Mr. Vantine wishes to speak to you, sir," said the office-boy.
"All right," and I heard the snap of the connection.
"Is that you, Lester?" asked Philip Vantine's voice.
"Yes. So you're back again?"
"Got in yesterday. Can you come up to the house and lunch with me
to-day?"
"I'll be glad to," I said, and meant it, for I liked Philip Vantine.
"I'll look for you, then, about one-thirty."
And that is how it happened that, an hour later, I was walking over
toward Washington Square, just above which, on the Avenue, the old
Vantine mansion stood. It was almost the last survival of the old
régime; for the tide of business had long since overflowed from the
neighbouring streets into the Avenue and swept its fashionable folk
far uptown. Tall office and loft buildings had replaced the
brownstone houses; only here and there did some old family hold on,
like a sullen and desperate rear-guard defying the advancing enemy.
Philip Vantine was one of these. He had been born in the house where
he still lived, and declared that he would die there. He had no one
but himself to please in the matter, since he was unmarried and lived
alone, and he mitigated the increasing roar and dust of the
neighbourhood by long absences abroad. It was from one of these that
he had just returned.
I may as well complete this pencil-sketch. Vantine was about fifty
years of age, the possessor of a comfortable fortune, something of a
connoisseur in art matters, a collector of old furniture, a little
eccentric--though now that I have written the word, I find that I
must qualify it, for his only eccentricity was that he persisted, in
spite of many temptations, in remaining a bachelor. Marriageable
women had long since ceased to consider him; mothers with maturing
daughters dismissed him with a significant shake of the head. It was
from them that he got the reputation of being an eccentric. But his
reasons for remaining single in no way concerned his lawyers--a
position which our firm had held for many years, and the active work
of which had come gradually into my hands.
It was not very arduous work, consisting for the most part of the
drawing of leases, the collecting of rents, the reinvestment of
funds, and the adjustment of minor differences with tenants--all of
which were left to our discretion. But occasionally it was necessary
to consult our client on some matter of unusual importance, or to get
his signature to some paper, and, at such times, I always enjoyed the
talk which followed the completion of the business; for Vantine was a
good talker, with a knowledge of men and of the world gained by much
travel and by a detached, humourous and penetrating habit of mind.
He came forward to meet me, as I gave his man my hat and stick, and
we shook hands heartily. I was glad to see him, and I think he was
glad to see me. He was looking in excellent health, and brown from
the voyage over.
"It's plain to see that the trip did you good," I said.
"Yes," he agreed; "I never felt more fit. But come along; we can talk
at table. There's a little difficulty I want you to untangle for me."
I followed him upstairs to his study, where a table laid for two had
been placed near a low window.
"I had lunch served up here," Vantine explained, as we sat down,
"because this is the only really pleasant room left in the house. If
I didn't own that plot of ground next door, this place would be
impossible. As it is, I can keep the sky-scrapers far enough away to
get a little sunshine now and then. I've had to put in an air filter,
too; and double windows in the bedrooms to keep out the noise; but I
dare say I can manage to hang on."
"I can understand how you'd hate to move into a new house," I said.
Vantine made a grimace.
"I couldn't endure a new house. I'm used to this one--I can find my
way about in it; I know where things are. I've grown up here, you
know; and, as a man gets older, he values such associations more and
more. Besides, a new house would mean new fittings, new furniture--"
He paused and glanced about the room. Every piece of furniture in it
was the work of a master.
"I suppose you found some new things while you were away?" I said.
"You always do. Your luck's proverbial."
"Yes--and it's that I wanted to talk to you about, I brought back six
or eight pieces; I'll show them to you presently. They are all pretty
good, and one is a thing of beauty. It's more than that--it's an
absolutely unique work of art. Only, unfortunately, it isn't mine."
"It isn't yours?"
"No; and I don't know whose it is. If I did, I'd go buy it. That's
what I want you to do for me. It's a Boule cabinet--the most
exquisite I ever saw."
"Where did it come from?" I questioned, more and more surprised.
"It came from Paris, and it was addressed to me. The only explanation
I can think of is that my shippers at Paris made a mistake, sent me a
cabinet belonging to some one else, and sent mine to the other
person."
"You had bought one, then?"
"Yes; and it hasn't turned up. But beside this one, it's a mere daub.
My man Parks got it through the customs yesterday. As there was a
Boule cabinet on my manifest, the mistake wasn't discovered until the
whole lot was brought up here and uncrated this morning."
"Weren't they uncrated in the customs?"
"No; I've been bringing things in for a good many years, and the
customs people know I'm not a thief."
"That's quite a compliment," I pointed out. "They've been tearing
things wide open lately."
"They've had a tip of some sort, I suppose. Come in," he added,
answering a tap at the door.
The door opened and Vantine's man came in.
"A gentleman to see you, sir," he said, and handed Vantine a card.
Vantine looked at it a little blankly.
"I don't know him," he said. "What does he want?"
"He wants to see you, sir; very bad, I should say."
"What about?"
"Well, I couldn't just make out, sir; but it seems to be important."
"Couldn't make out? What do you mean, Parks?"
"I think he's a Frenchman, sir; anyway, he don't know much English.
He ain't much of a looker, sir--I've seen hundreds like him sitting
out in front of the cafés along the boulevards, taking all afternoon
to drink a bock."
Vantine seemed struck by a sudden idea, and he looked at the card
again. Then he tapped it meditatively on the table.
"Shall I show him out, sir?" asked Parks, at last.
"No," said Vantine, after an instant's hesitation. "Tell him to
wait," and he dropped the card on the table beside his plate.
"I tell you, Lester," he went on, as Parks withdrew, "when I went
downstairs this morning and saw that cabinet, I could hardly believe
my eyes. I thought I knew furniture, but I hadn't any idea such a
cabinet existed. The most beautiful I had ever seen is at the Louvre.
It stands in the Salle Louis Fourteenth, to the left as you enter. It
belonged to Louis himself. Of course I can't be certain without a
careful examination, but I believe that cabinet, beautiful as it is,
is merely the counterpart of this one."
He paused and looked at me, his eyes bright with the enthusiasm of
the connoisseur.
"I'm not sure I understand your jargon," I said. "What do you mean by
'counterpart?'"
"Boule furniture," he explained, "is usually of ebony inlaid with
tortoise-shell, and incrusted with arabesques in metals of various
kinds. The incrustation had to be very exact, and to get it so, the
artist clamped together two plates of equal size and thickness, one
of metal, the other of tortoise-shell, traced his design on the top
one, and then cut them both out together. The result was two
combinations, the original, with a tortoise-shell ground and metal
applications; and the counterpart, appliqué metal with tortoise-shell
arabesques. The original was really the one which the artist designed
and whose effects he studied; the counterpart was merely a resultant
accident with which he was not especially concerned. Understand?"
"Yes, I think so," I said. "It's a good deal as though Michael
Angelo, when he made one of his sketches, white on black, put a sheet
of carbon under his paper and made a copy at the same time, black on
white."
"Precisely. And it's the original which has the real artistic value.
Of course, the counterpart is often beautiful, too, but in a much
lower degree."
"I can understand that," I said.
"And now, Lester," Vantine went on, his eyes shining more and more,
"if my supposition is correct--if the Grand Louis was content with
the counterpart of this cabinet for the long gallery at Versailles,
who do you suppose owned the original?"
I saw what he was driving at.
"You mean one of his mistresses?"
"Yes, and I think I know which one--it belonged to Madame de
Montespan."
I stared at him in astonishment, as he sat back in his chair, smiling
across at me.
"But," I objected, "you can't be sure--"
"Of course I'm not sure," he agreed quickly. "That is to say, I
couldn't prove it. But there is some--ah--contributory evidence, I
think you lawyers call it Boule and the Montespan were in their glory
at the same time, and I can imagine that flamboyant creature
commissioning the flamboyant artist to build her just such a
cabinet."
"Really, Vantine," I exclaimed, "I didn't know you were so romantic.
You quite take my breath away."
He flushed a little at the words, and I saw how deeply in earnest he
was.
"The craze of the collector takes him a long way sometimes," he said.
"But I believe I know what I'm talking about. I am going to make a
careful examination of the cabinet as soon as I can. Perhaps I'll
find something--there ought to be a monogram on it somewhere. What I
want you to do is to cable my shippers, Armand et Fils, Rue du
Temple, find out who owns this cabinet, and buy it for me."
"Perhaps the owner won't sell," I suggested.
"Oh yes, he will. Anything can be bought--for a price."
"You mean you're going to have this cabinet, whatever the cost?"
"I mean just that."
"But, surely, there's a limit."
"No, there isn't."
"At least you'll tell me where to begin," I said. "I don't know
anything of the value of such things."
"Well," said Vantine, "suppose you begin at ten thousand francs. We
mustn't seem too eager. It's because I'm so eager, I want you to
carry it through for me. I can't trust myself."
"And the other end?"
"There isn't any other end. Of course, strictly speaking, there is,
because my money isn't unlimited; but I don't believe you will have
to go over five hundred thousand francs."
I gasped.
"You mean you're willing to give a hundred thousand dollars for this
cabinet?"
Vantine nodded.
"Maybe a little more. If the owner won't accept that, you must let me
know before you break off negotiations. I'm a little mad about it, I
fancy--all collectors are a little mad. But I want that cabinet, and
I'm going to have it."
I did not reply. I only looked at him. And he laughed as he caught my
glance.
"I can see you share that opinion, Lester," he said. "You fear for
me. I don't blame you--but come and see it."
He led the way out of the room and down the stairs; but when we
reached the lower hall, he paused.
"Perhaps I'd better see my visitor first," he said. "You'll find a
new picture or two over there in the music-room--I'll be with you in
a minute."
I started on, and he turned through a doorway at the left.
An instant later, I heard a sharp exclamation; then his voice calling
me.
"Lester! Come here!" he cried.
I ran back along the hall, into the room which he had entered. He was
standing just inside the door.
"Look there," he said, with a queer catch in his voice, and pointed
with a trembling hand to a dark object on the floor.
I moved aside to see it better. Then my heart gave a sickening throb;
for the object on the floor was the body of a man.