GODFREY WEAVES A ROMANCE
I had begun to fear that Godfrey was going to disappoint me, so late
it was before his welcome knock came at my door that night. I
hastened to let him in, and I could tell by the sigh of relief with
which he sank into a chair that he was thoroughly weary.
"It does me good to come in here occasionally and have a talk with
you, Lester," he said, accepting the cigar I offered him. "I find it
restful after a hard day," and he smiled across at me good-humouredly.
"How you keep it up I don't see," I said. "This one case has nearly
given me nervous prostration."
"Well, I don't often strike one as strenuous as this," and he settled
back comfortably. "As a matter of fact, I haven't had one for a long
time that even touches it. There is nothing really mysterious about
most crimes."
"This one is certainly mysterious enough," I remarked.
"What makes it mysterious," Godfrey explained, "is the apparent lack
of motive. As soon as one learns the motive for a crime, one learns
also who committed it. But where the motive can't be discovered, it
is mighty hard to make any progress."
"It isn't only lack of motive which makes it mysterious," I
commented; "it's everything about it. I can't understand either why
it was done or how it was done. When I get to thinking about it, I
feel as though I were wandering around and around in a maze, from
which I can never escape."
"Oh, yes, you'll escape, Lester," said Godfrey, quietly, "and that
before very long."
"If you have an explanation, Godfrey," I protested, "for heaven's
sake tell me! Don't keep me in the maze an instant longer than is
necessary. I've been thinking about it till my brain feels like a
snarl of tangled thread. Do you mean to say you know what it is all
about?"
"'Know' is perhaps a little strong. There isn't much in this world
that we really know. Suppose we say that I strongly suspect." He
paused a moment, his eyes on the ceiling. "You know you've accused me
of romancing sometimes, Lester--the other evening, for instance; yet
that romance has come true."
"I take it all back," I said, meekly.
"There's another thing these talks do," continued Godfrey, going off
rather at a tangent, "and that is to clarify my ideas. You don't know
how it helps me to state my case to you and to try to answer your
objections. Your being a lawyer makes you unusually quick to see
objections, and a lawyer is always harder to convince of a thing than
the ordinary man. You are accustomed to weighing evidence; and so I
never allow myself to be convinced of a theory until I have convinced
you. Not always, even then," he added, with a smile.
"Well, I'm glad I'm of some use," I said, "if it is only as a sort of
file for you to sharpen your wits on. So please go ahead and romance
some more. Tell me first how you and Simmonds came to be following
Armand."
"Simply because I had found out he wasn't Armand. Felix Armand is in
Paris at this moment. You were too credulous, Lester."
"Why, I never had any doubt of his being Armand," I stammered. "He
knew about my cablegram--he knew about the firm's answer...."
"Of course he did, because your cable was never received by the
Armands, but by a confederate in this fellow's employ; and it was
that confederate who answered it. Our friend, the unknown, foresaw,
of course, that a cable would be sent the Armands as soon as the
mistake was discovered, and he took his precautions accordingly."
"Then you still believe that the cabinet was sent to Vantine by
design and not by accident?"
"Absolutely. It was sent by the Armands in good faith, because they
believed that it had been purchased by Vantine--all of which had been
arranged very carefully by the Great Unknown."
"Tell me how you know all this, Godfrey," I said.
"Why, it was easy enough. When you told me yesterday of Armand, I
knew, or thought I knew, that it was a plant of some kind. But, in
order to be sure, I cabled our man at Paris to investigate. Our man
went at once to Armand, _père_, and he learned a number of very
interesting things. One was, that the son, Félix Armand, was in
Paris; another was that no member of the firm knew anything about
your cable or the answer to it; a third was, that, had the cable
been received, it would not have been understood, because the
Armands' books show that this cabinet was bought by Philip Vantine
for the sum of fifteen thousand francs."
"Not this one!" I protested.
"Yes; this one. And it was cheap at the price. Of course, the Armands
knew nothing about the Montespan story--they were simply selling at a
profit."
"But I don't understand!" I stammered. "Vantine told me himself that
he did not buy that cabinet."
"Nor did he. But somebody bought it in his name and directed that it
be sent forward to him."
"And paid fifteen thousand francs for it?"
"Certainly--and paid fifteen thousand francs to the Armands."
"Rather an expensive present," I said, feebly, for my brain was
beginning to whirl again.
"Oh, it wasn't intended as a present. The purchaser planned to
reclaim it--but Vantine's death threw him out. If it hadn't been for
that--for an accident which no one could foresee--everything would
have gone along smoothly and no one would ever have been the wiser."
"But what was his object? Was he trying to evade the duty?"
"Oh, nothing so small as that! Besides, he would have had to refund
the duty to Vantine. Did he refund it to you?"
"No," I said, "I didn't think there was any to refund. Vantine really
paid the duty only on the cabinet he purchased, since that was the
one shown on his manifest. The other fellow must have paid the duty
on the cabinet he brought in; so I didn't see that there was anything
coming to Vantine's estate. There is probably something due the
government, for the cabinet Vantine brought in was, of course, much
more valuable than his manifest showed."
"No doubt of that; and the other cabinet is the one which Vantine
really purchased. It was, of course, sent forward to this other
fellow's address, here in New York. His plan is evident enough--to
call upon Vantine, as the representative of the Armands, or perhaps
as the owner of the Montespan cabinet, and make the exchange.
Vantine's death spoiled that, and he had to make the exchange through
you. Even then, he would have been able to pull it off but for the
fact that Vantine's death and that of Drouet had called our attention
to the cabinet; we followed him, and the incidents of this afternoon
ensued."
"And he accomplished all this by means of a confederate in the employ
of the Armands?"
"No doubt of it. The clerk who made the supposed sale to Vantine and
got a commission on it, resigned suddenly two days ago--just as soon
as he had intercepted your cable and answered it. The Paris police
are looking for him, but I doubt if they'll find him."
I paused to think this over; and then a sudden impatience seized me.
"That's all clear enough," I said. "The cabinets might have been
exchanged just as you say they were--no doubt you are right--but all
that doesn't lead us anywhere. Why were they exchanged? What is there
about that Boule cabinet which makes this unknown willing to do
murder for it? Does he think those letters are still in it?"
"He knows they are not in it now--you told him. Before that, he knew
nothing about the letters. If he had known of them, he would have had
them out before the cabinet was shipped."
"What is it, then?" I demanded. "And, above all, Godfrey, why should
this fellow hide himself in Vantine's house and kill two men? Did
they surprise him while he was working over the cabinet?"
"I see no reason to believe that he was ever inside the Vantine
house," said Godfrey quietly; "that is, until you took him there
yourself this afternoon."
"But, look here, Godfrey," I protested, "that's nonsense. He must
have been in the house, or he couldn't have killed Vantine and
Drouet."
"Who said he killed them?"
"If he didn't kill them, who did?"
Godfrey took two or three contemplative puffs, while I sat there
staring at him.
"Well," Godfrey answered, at last, "now I'm going to romance a
little. We will return to your fascinating friend, Armand, as we may
as well call him for the present. He is an extraordinary man."
"No doubt of it," I agreed.
"I can only repeat what I have said before--in my opinion, he is the
greatest criminal of modern times."
"If he is a criminal at all, he is undoubtedly a great one," I
conceded. "But it is hard for me to believe that he is a criminal.
He's the most cultured man I ever met."
"Of course he is. That's why he's so dangerous. An ignorant criminal
is never dangerous--it's the ignorant criminals who fill the prisons.
But look out for the educated, accomplished ones. It takes brains to
be a great criminal, Lester, and brains of a high order."
"But why should a man with brains be a criminal?" I queried. "If he
can earn an honest living, why should he be dishonest?"
"In the first place, most criminals are criminals from choice, not
from necessity; and with a cultured man the incentive is usually the
excitement of it. Have you ever thought what an exciting game it is,
Lester, to defy society, to break the law, to know that the odds
against you are a thousand to one, and yet to come out triumphant?
And then, I suppose, every great criminal is a little insane."
"No doubt of it," I agreed.
"Just as every absolutely honest man is a little insane," went on
Godfrey quickly. "Just as every great reformer and enthusiast is a
little insane. The sane men are the average ones, who are fairly
honest and yet tell white lies on occasion, who succumb to temptation
now and then; who temporise and compromise, and try to lead a
comfortable and quiet life. I repeat, Lester, that this fellow is a
great criminal, and that he finds life infinitely more engrossing
than either you or I. I hope I shall meet him some time--not in a
little skirmish like this, but in an out-and-out battle. Of course
I'd be routed, horse, foot and dragoons--but it certainly would be
interesting!" and he looked at me, his eyes glowing.
"It certainly would!" I agreed. "Go ahead with your romance."
"Here it is. This M. Armand is a great criminal, and has, of course,
various followers, upon whom he must rely for the performance of
certain details, since he can be in but one place at a time. Abject
and absolute obedience is necessary to his success, and he compels
obedience in the only way in which it can be compelled among
criminals--by fear. For disobedience, there is but one punishment
--death. And the manner of the death is so certain and so mysterious
as to be almost supernatural. For deserters and traitors are found to
have died, inevitably and invariably, from the effects of an
insignificant wound on the right hand, just above the knuckles."
I was listening intently now, as you may well believe, for I began to
see whither the romance was tending.
"It is by this secret," Godfrey continued, "that Armand preserves his
absolute supremacy. But occasionally the temptation is too great, and
one of his men deserts. Armand sends this cabinet to America. He
knows that in this case the temptation is very great indeed; he fears
treachery, and he arranges in the cabinet a mechanism which will
inflict death upon the traitor in precisely the same way in which he
himself inflicts it--by means of a poisoned stab in the right hand.
Imagine the effect upon his gang. He is nowhere near when the act of
treachery is performed, and yet the traitor dies instantly and
surely! Why, it was a tremendous idea! And it was carried out with
absolute genius."
"But," I questioned, "what act of treachery was it that Armand
feared?"
"The opening of the secret drawer."
"Then you still believe in the poisoned mechanism?"
"I certainly do. The tragedy of this afternoon proves the truth of
the theory."
"I don't see it," I said, helplessly.
"Why, Lester," protested Godfrey, "it's as plain as day. Who was that
bearded giant who was killed? The traitor, of course. We will find
that he was a member of Armand's gang. He followed Armand to America,
lay in wait for him, caught him in the net and bound him hand and
foot. Do you suppose for an instant that Armand was ignorant of his
presence in that house? Do you suppose he would have been able to
take Armand prisoner if Armand had not been willing that he should?"
"I don't see how Armand could help himself after that fellow got his
hands on him."
"You don't? And yet you saw yourself that he was not really bound
--that he had cut himself loose!"
"That is true," I said, thoughtfully.
"Let us reconstruct the story," Godfrey went on rapidly. "The traitor
discovers the secret of the cabinet; he follows Armand to New York,
shadows him to the house on Seventh Avenue, waits for him there, and
seizes and binds him. He is half mad with triumph--he chants a crazy
sing-song about revenge, revenge, revenge! And, in order that the
triumph may be complete, he does not kill his prisoner at once. He
rolls him into a corner and proceeds to rip away the burlap. His
triumph will be to open the secret drawer before Armand's eyes. And
Armand lies there in the corner, his eyes gleaming, because it is
really the moment of _his_ triumph which is at hand!"
"The moment of his triumph?" I repeated. "What do you mean by that,
Godfrey?"
"I mean that, the instant the traitor opened the drawer, he would be
stabbed by the poisoned mechanism! It was for that that Armand
waited!"
I lay back in my chair with a gasp of amazement and admiration. I had
been blind not to see it! Armand had merely to lie still and permit
the traitor to walk into the trap prepared for him. No wonder his
eyes had glowed as he lay there watching that frenzied figure at the
cabinet!
"It was not until the last moment," Godfrey went on, "when the
traitor was bending above the cabinet feeling for the spring, that I
realised what was about to happen. There was no time for hesitation
--I sprang into the room. Armand vanished in an instant, and the
giant also tried to escape; but I caught him at the door. I had no
idea of his danger; I had no thought that Armand would dare linger.
And yet he did. Now that it is too late, I understand. He _had_ to
kill that man; there were no two ways about it. Whatever the risk, he
had to kill him."
"But why?" I asked. "Why?"
"To seal his lips. If we had captured him, do you suppose Armand's
secret would have been safe for an instant? So he had to kill him--he
had to kill him with the poisoned barb--and he _did_ kill him, and
got away into the bargain! Never in my life have I felt so like a
fool as when that door was slammed in my face!"
"Perhaps he had that prepared, too," I suggested timidly, ready to
believe anything of this extraordinary man. "Perhaps he knew that we
were there, all the time."
"Of course he did," assented Godfrey grimly. "Why else would there be
a snap-lock on the outside of the door? And to think I didn't see it!
To think that I was fool enough to suppose that I could follow him
about the streets of New York without his knowing it! He knew from
the first that he might be followed, and prepared for it!"
"But it's incredible!" I protested feebly. "It's incredible!"
"Nothing is incredible in connection with that man!"
"But the risk--think of the risk he ran!"
"What does he care for risks? He despises them--and rightly. He got
away, didn't he?"
"Yes," I said, "he got away; there's no question of that, I guess."
"Well, that is the story of this afternoon's tragedy, as I understand
it," proceeded Godfrey, more calmly. "And now I'm going to leave you.
I want you to think it over. If it doesn't hold together, show me
where it doesn't. But it _will_ hold together--it _has_ to--because
it's true!"
"But how about Armand?" I protested. "Aren't you going to try to
capture him? Are you going to let him get away?"
"He won't get away!" and Godfrey's eyes were gleaming again. "We
don't have to search for him; for we've got our trap, Lester, and
it's baited with a bait he can't resist--the Boule cabinet!"
"But he knows it's a trap."
"Of course he knows it!"
"And you really think he will walk into it?" I asked incredulously.
"I know he will! One of these days, he will try to get that cabinet
out of the steel cell at the Twenty-third Street station, in which we
have it locked!"
I shook my head.
"He's no such fool," I said. "No man is such a fool as that. He'll
give it up and go quietly back to Paris."
"Not if he's the man I think he is," said Godfrey, his hand on the
door. "He will never give up! Just wait, Lester; we shall know in a
day or two which of us is a true prophet. The only thing I am afraid
of," he added, his face clouding, "is that he'll get away with the
cabinet, in spite of us!"
And he went away down the hall, leaving me staring after him.