ENTER M. ARMAND
I got back to the office to find that M. Félix Armand, of Armand et
Fils, had called, and, finding me out, had left his card with the
pencilled memorandum that he would call again Monday morning. There
was another caller, who had awaited my return--a tall, angular man,
with a long moustache, who introduced himself as Simon W. Morgan, of
Osage City, Iowa.
"Poor Philip Vantine's nearest living relative, sir," he added. "I
came as soon as possible."
"It was very good of you," I said. "The funeral will be at ten
o'clock to-morrow morning, from the house."
"You had a telegram from me?"
"Yes," I answered.
He hitched about in his chair uneasily for a moment. I knew what he
wanted to say, but saw no reason to help him.
"He left a will, I suppose?" he asked, at last.
"Oh, yes; we have arranged to probate it Monday. You can examine it
then, if you wish."
"Have you examined it?"
"I am familiar with its provisions. It was drawn here in the office."
He was pulling furiously at his moustache.
"Cousin Philip was a very wealthy man, I understand," he managed to
say.
"Comparatively wealthy. He had securities worth about a million and a
quarter, besides a number of pieces of real property--and, of course,
the house he lived in. He owned a very valuable collection of art
objects--pictures, furniture, tapestries, and such things; but what
they are worth will probably never be known."
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because he left them all to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Outside
of a few legacies to old servants, he left his whole fortune to the
same institution."
I put it rather brutally, no doubt, but I was anxious to end the
interview.
Mr. Morgan's face grew very red.
"He did!" he ejaculated. "Ha--well, I have heard he was rather
crazy."
"He was as sane as any man I ever knew," I retorted drily. And then I
remembered the doubts which had assailed me that last day, when
Vantine was fingering the Boule cabinet. But I kept those doubts to
myself.
"Ha--we'll have to see about that!" said my visitor, threateningly.
"By all means, Mr. Morgan," I assented heartily. "If you have any
doubt about it, you should certainly look into it. And now, if you
will pardon me, I have many things to do, and we close early to-day."
He got to his feet and went slowly out; and that was the last I ever
saw of him. I suppose he consulted an attorney, learned the hopeless
nature of his case, and took the first train back to Osage City. He
did not even wait for the funeral.
Few people, indeed, put themselves out for it. There was a sprinkling
of old family friends, representatives of the museum and of various
charities in which Vantine had been interested, a few friends of his
own, and that was all. He had dropped out of the world with scarcely
a ripple; of all who had known him, I dare say Parks felt his
departure most. For Vantine had been, in a sense, a solitary man; not
many men nodded oftener during a walk up the Avenue, and yet not many
dined oftener alone; for there was about him a certain self-detachment
which discouraged intimacy. He was a man, like many another, with
acquaintances in every country on the globe, and friends in none.
All this I thought over a little sadly, as I sat at home that night;
and not without some self-questioning as to my own place in the
world. Most of us, I think, are a little saddened when we realise our
unimportance; most of us, no doubt, would be a little shocked could
we return a day or two after our death and see how merrily the world
wags on! I would be missed, I knew, scarcely more than Vantine. It
was not a pleasant thought, for it seemed to argue some deficiency in
myself.
Then, too, the mystery of Vantine's death had a depressing effect
upon me. So long as there seemed some theory to build on, so long as
there was a ray of light ahead, I had hoped that the tragedy would be
explained and expiated; but now my theory had crumbled to pieces; I
was left in utter darkness, from which there seemed no way out. Never
before, in the face of any mystery, had I felt so blind and helpless,
and the feeling took such a grip upon me that it kept me awake for a
long time after I got to bed. It seemed, in some mysterious way, that
I was contending with a power greater than myself, a power
threatening and awful, which could crush me with a turn of the wrist.
Vantine's will was probated next morning. He had directed that his
collection of art objects be removed to the museum, and that the
house and such portion of its contents as the museum did not care for
be sold for the museum's benefit. I had already notified Sir Caspar
Purdon Clarke of the terms of the will, and the museum's attorney was
present when it was read. He stated that he had been requested to ask
me to remain in charge of things for a week or two, until
arrangements for the removal could be made. It would also be
necessary to make an inventory of Vantine's collection, and the
assistant director of the museum was to get this under way at once.
I acquiesced in all these arrangements, but I was feeling decidedly
blue when I started back to the office. Vantine's collection had
always seemed to me somehow a part of himself; more especially a part
of the house in which it had been assembled. It would lose much of
its beauty and significance ticketed and arranged stiffly along the
walls of the museum, and the thought came to me that it would be a
splendid thing for New York if this old house and its contents could
be kept intact as an object lesson to the nervous and hurrying
younger generation of the easier and more finished manner of life of
the older one; something after the fashion that the beautiful old
Plantin-Moretus mansion at Antwerp is a rebuke to those present-day
publishers who reckon literature a commodity, along with soap and
cheese.
That, of course, it would be impossible to do; the last barrier to
the commercial invasion of the Avenue would be removed; that heroic
rear-guard of the old order of things would be destroyed; in a year
or two, a monster of steel and stone would rise on the spot where
three generations of Vantines had lived their lives; and the
collection, so unified and coherent, to which the last Vantine had
devoted his life, would be merged and lost in the vast collections of
the museum. It was a sad ending.
"Gentleman to see you, sir," said the office-boy, as I sat down at my
desk, and a moment later, M. Félix Armand was shown in to me.
I have only to close my eyes to call again before me that striking
personality, for Felix Armand was one of the most extraordinary men I
ever had the pleasure of meeting. Ruddy-faced, bright-eyed, with dark
full beard and waving hair almost jet black--hair that crinkled about
his ears in a way that I can describe by no other word than
fascinating--he gave the impression of tremendous strength and
virility. There was about him, too, an air of culture not to be
mistaken; the air of a man who had travelled much, seen much, and
mixed with many people, high and low; the air of a man at home
anywhere, in any society. It is impossible for me, by mere words, to
convey any adequate idea of his vivid personality; but I confess
that, from the first moment, I was both impressed and charmed by him.
And I am still impressed; more, perhaps, than at first, now that I
know the whole story--but you shall hear.
"I speak English very badly, sir," he said, as he sat down. "If you
speak French...."
"Not half so well as you speak English," I laughed. "I can tell that
from your first sentence."
"In that event, I will do the best that I can," he said, smiling,
"and you must pardon my blunders. First, Mr. Lester, on behalf of
Armand et Fils, I must ask your pardon for this mistake, so
inexcusable."
"It _was_ a mistake, then?" I asked.
"One most embarrassing to us. We can not find for it an explanation.
Believe me, Mr. Lester, it is not our habit to make mistakes; we have
a reputation of which we are very proud; but the cabinet which was
purchased by Mr. Vantine remained in our warehouse, and this other
one was boxed and shipped to him. We are investigating most rigidly."
"Then Mr. Vantine's cabinet is still in Paris?"
"No, Mr. Lester; the error was discovered some days ago and the
cabinet belonging to Mr. Vantine was shipped to me here. It should
arrive next Wednesday on _La Provence_. I shall myself receive it,
and deliver it to Mr. Vantine."
"Mr. Vantine is dead," I said. "You did not know?"
He sat staring at me for a moment, as though unable to comprehend.
"Did I understand that you said Mr. Vantine is dead?" he stammered.
I told him briefly as much as I knew of the tragedy, while he sat
regarding me with an air of stupefaction.
"It is curious you saw nothing of it in the papers," I added. "They
were full of it."
"I have been visiting friends at Quebec," he explained, "It was there
that the message from our house found me, commanding me to hasten
here. I started at once, and reached this city Saturday. I drove here
directly from the station, but was so unfortunate as to miss you."
"I am sorry to have caused you so much trouble," I said.
"But, my dear Mr. Lester," he protested, "it is for us to take
trouble. A blunder of this sort we feel as a disgrace. My father, who
is of the old school, is most upset concerning it. But this death of
Mr. Vantine--it is a great blow to me. I have met him many times. He
was a real connoisseur--we have lost one of our most valued patrons.
You say that he was found dead in a room at his house?"
"Yes, and death resulted from a small wound on the hand, into which
some very powerful poison had been injected."
"That is most curious. In what manner was such a wound made?"
"That we don't know. I had a theory...."
"Yes?" he questioned, his eyes gleaming with interest.
"A few hours previously, another man had been found in the same room,
killed in the same way."
"Another man?"
"A stranger who had called to see Mr. Vantine. My theory was that
both this stranger and Mr. Vantine had been killed while trying to
open a secret drawer in the Boule cabinet. Do you know anything of
the history of that cabinet, Monsieur Armand?"
"We believe it to have been made for Madame de Montespan by Monsieur
Boule himself," he answered. "It is the original of one now in the
Louvre which is known to have belonged to the Grand Louis."
"That was Mr. Vantine's belief," I said. "Why he should have arrived
at that conclusion, I don't know--"
"Mr. Vantine was a connoisseur," said M. Armand, quietly. "There are
certain indications which no connoisseur could mistake."
"It was his guess at the history of the cabinet," I explained, "which
gave me the basis for my theory. A cabinet belonging to Madame de
Montespan would, of course, have a secret drawer; and, since it was
made in the days of de Brinvilliers and La Voisin, what more natural
than that it should be guarded by a poisoned mechanism?"
"What more natural, indeed!" breathed my companion, and I fancied
that he looked at me with a new interest in his eyes. "It is good
reasoning, Mr. Lester."
"It seemed to explain a situation for which no other explanation has
been found," I said. "And it had also the merit of picturesqueness."
"It is unique," he agreed eagerly, his eyes burning like two coals of
fire, so intense was his interest. "I have been from boyhood," he
added, noticing my glance, "a lover of tales of mystery. They have
for me a fascination I cannot explain; there is in my blood something
that responds to them. I feel sometimes that I would have made a
great detective--or a great criminal. Instead of which, I am merely a
dealer in curios. You can understand how I am fascinated by a story
so outré as this."
"Perhaps you can assist us," I suggested, "for that theory of mine
has been completely disproved."
"Disproved? In what way?" he demanded.
"The secret drawer has been found...."
"_Comment?_" he cried, his voice sharp with surprise. "Found? The
secret drawer has been found?"
"Yes, and there was no poisoned mechanism guarding it."
He breathed deeply for an instant; then he pulled himself together
with a little laugh.
"Really," he said, "I must not indulge myself in this way. It is a
kind of intoxication. But you say that the drawer was found and that
there was no poison? Was the drawer empty?"
"No, there was a packet of letters in it."
"Delicious! Love letters, of a certainty! _Billets-doux_ from the
great Louis to the Montespan, perhaps?"
"No, unfortunately they were of a much more recent date. They have
been restored to their owner. I hope that you agree with me that that
was the right thing to do?"
He sat for a moment regarding me narrowly, and I had an uneasy
feeling that, since he undoubtedly knew of whom the cabinet had been
purchased, he was reconstructing the story more completely than I
would have wished him to do.
"Since the letters have been returned," he said, at last, a little
drily, "it is useless to discuss the matter. But no doubt I should
approve if all the circumstances were known to me. Especially if it
was to assist a lady."
"It was," I said, and I saw from his face that he understood.
"Then you did well," he said. "Has no other explanation been found
for the death of Mr. Vantine and of this stranger?"
"I think not. The coroner will hold his inquest to-morrow. He has
deferred it in the hope that some new evidence would be discovered."
"And none has been discovered?"
"I have heard of none."
"You do not even know who this stranger was?"
"Oh, yes, we have discovered that. He was a worthless fellow named
Drouet."
"A Frenchman?"
"Yes, living in an attic in the Rue de la Huchette, at Paris."
M. Armand had been gazing at me intently, but now his look relaxed,
and I fancied that he drew a deep breath as a man might do when
relieved of a burden. At the back of my brain a vague and shadowy
suspicion began to form--a suspicion that perhaps M. Armand knew more
of this affair than he had as yet acknowledged.
"You did not, by any chance, know him?" I asked carelessly.
"No, I think not. But there is one thing I do not understand, Mr.
Lester, and you will pardon me if I am indiscreet. But I do not
understand what this Drouet, as you call him, was doing in the house
of Mr. Vantine."
"He was trying to get possession of the letters," I said.
"Oh, so it was that!" and my companion nodded. "And in trying to get
those letters, he was killed?"
"Yes, but what none of us understands, M. Armand, is how he was
killed. Who or what killed him? How was that poison administered? Can
you suggest an explanation?"
He sat for a moment staring thoughtfully out of the window.
"It is a nice problem," he said, "a most interesting one. I will
think it over, Mr. Lester. Perhaps I may be able to make a
suggestion. I do not know. But, in any event, I shall see you again
Wednesday. If it is agreeable to you, we can meet at the house of Mr.
Vantine and exchange the cabinets."
"At what time?"
"I do not know with exactness. There may be some delay in getting the
cabinet from the ship. Perhaps it would be better if I called for
you?"
"Very well," I assented.
"Permit me to express again my apologies that such a mistake should
have been made by us. Really, we are most careful; but even we
sometimes suffer from careless servants. It desolates me to think
that I cannot offer these apologies to Mr. Vantine in person. Till
Wednesday, then, Mr. Lester."
"Till Wednesday," I echoed, and watched his erect and perfectly-garbed
figure until it vanished through the doorway. A fascinating
man, I told myself as I turned back to my desk, and one whom I
should like to know more intimately; a man with a hobby for the
mysteries of crime, with which I could fully sympathise; and I smiled
as I thought of the burning interest with which he had listened to
the story of the double tragedy. How naïvely he had confessed his
thought that he would have made a great detective--or a great
criminal; and here he was only a dealer in curios. Well, I had had
the same thought, more than once--and here was I, merely a
not-too-successful lawyer. Decidedly, M. Armand and myself had much
in common!