Nevers was stopping at the=20hotel," answered McBride. "That was what
the clerk was telling me when I happened to catch sight of you. He
says that, obedient to the orders from the maid, he told the visitor
that Madame was not at home."
"Who was this visitor, do you suppose?" asked Craig. "Did she leave
any card or message? Is there any clue to her?"
The detective looked at him earnestly for a time as if he hesitated
to retail what might be merely pure gossip.
"The clerk does not know this absolutely, but from his acquaintance
with society news and the illustrated papers he is sure that he
recognised her. He says that he feels positive that it was Miss
Catharine Lovelace."
"The Southern heiress," exclaimed Kennedy. "Why, the papers say
that she is engaged "
"Exactly," cut in McBride, "the heiress who is rumoured to be engaged
to the Duc de Chateaurouge.
Kennedy and I exchanged, glances. "Yes," I added, recollecting a
remark I had heard a few days before from our society reporter on
the Star, "I believe it has been said that Chateaurouge is in this
country, incognito."
"A pretty slender thread on which to hang an identification," McBride
hastened to remark. "Newspaper photographs are not the best means
of recognising anybody. Whatever there may be in it, the fact
remains that Madame de Nevers, supposing that to be her real name,
has been dead for at least a day or two. The first thing to be
determined is whether this is a death from natural causes, a suicide,
or a murder. After we have determined that we shall be in a position
to run down this Lovelace clue."
Kennedy said nothing and I could not gather whether he placed greater
or less value on the suspicion of the hotel clerk. He had been
making a casual examination of the body on the bed, and finding
nothing he looked intently about the room as if seeking some evidence
of how the crime had been committed.
To me the thing seemed incomprehensible, that without an outcry
being overheard by any of the guests a murder could have been done
in a crowded hotel in which the rooms on every side had been
occupied and people had been passing through the halls at all hours.
Had it indeed been a suicide, in spite of McBride's evident
conviction to the contrary?
A low exclamation from Kennedy attracted our attention. Caught in
the filmy lace folds of the woman's dress he had found a few small
and thin pieces of glass. He was regarding them with an interest
that was oblivious to everything else. As he turned them over and
over and tried to fit them together they seemed to form at least a
part of what had once been a hollow globe of very thin glass, perhaps
a quarter of an inch or so in diameter.
"How was the body discovered?" asked Craig at length, looking up at
McBride quickly.
"Day before yesterday Madame's maid went to the cashier," repeated
the detective slowly as if rehearsing the case as much for his own
information as ours, "and said that Madame had asked her to say to
him that she was going away for a few days and that under no
circumstances was her room to be disturbed in her absence. The maid
was commissioned to pay the bill, not only for the time they had
been here, but also for the remainder of the week, when Madame would
most likely return, if not earlier. The bill was made out and paid.
"Since then only the chambermaid has entered this suite. The key
to that closet over in the corner was gone, and it might have hidden
its secret until the end of the week or perhaps a day or two longer,
if the chambermaid hadn't been a bit curious. She hunted till she
found another key that fitted, and opened the closet door, apparently
to see what Madame had been so particular to lock up in her absence.
There lay the body of Madame, fully dressed, wedged into the narrow
space and huddled up in a corner. The chambermaid screamed and the
secret was out."
"And Madame de Nevers's maid? What has become of her?" asked
Kennedy eagerly.
"She has disappeared," replied McBride. "From the moment when the
bill was paid no one about the hotel has seen her."
"But you have a pretty good description of her, one that you could
send out in order to find her if necessary?"
"Yes, I think I could give a pretty good description."
Kennedy's eye encountered the curious gaze of McBride. "This may
prove to be a most unusual case," he remarked in answer to the
implied inquiry of the detective. "I suppose you have heard of
the 'endormeurs' of Paris?"
McBride shook his head in the negative.
"It is a French word signifying a person who puts another to sleep,
the sleep makers," explained Kennedy. "They are the latest scientific
school of criminals who use the most potent, quickest-acting
stupefying drugs. Some of their exploits surpass anything hitherto
even imagined by the European police. The American police have been
officially warned of the existence of the endormeurs and full
descriptions of their methods and photographs of their paraphernalia
have been sent over here.
"There is nothing in their repertoire so crude as chloral or
knock-out drops. All the derivatives of opium such as morphine,
codeine, heroine, dionine, narceine, and narcotine, to say nothing
of bromure d'etyle, bromoform, nitrite d'amyle, and amyline are
known to be utilised by the endormeurs to put their victims to
sleep, and the skill which they have acquired in the use of these
powerful drugs establishes them as one of the most dangerous groups
of criminals in existence. The men are all of superior intelligence
and daring; the chief requisite of the women is extreme beauty as
well as unscrupulousness.
"They will take a little thin glass ball of one of these liquids,
for instance, hold it in a pocket handkerchief, crush it, shove it
under the nose of their victim, and - whiff ! - the victim is
unconscious. But ordinarily the endormeur does not kill. He is
usually satisfied to stupefy, rob, and then leave his victim. There
is something more to this case than a mere suicide or murder,
McBride. Of course she may have committed suicide with the drugs of
the endormeurs; then again she may merely have been rendered
unconscious by those drugs and some other poison may have been
administered. Depend on it, there is something more back of this
affair than appears on the surface. Even as far as I have gone I
do not hesitate to say that we have run across the work of one or
perhaps a band of the most up-to-date and scientific criminals."
Kennedy had scarcely finished when McBride brought his right fist
down with a resounding smack into the palm of his left hand.
" Say," he cried in great excitement, "here's another thing which
may or may not have some connection with the case. The evening
after Madame arrived, I happened to be walking through the caf=82,
where I saw a face that looked familiar to me. It was that of a
dark-haired, olive-skinned man, a fascinating face, but a face to
be afraid of. I remembered him, I thought, from my police experience,
as a notorious crook who had not been seen in New York for years,
a man who in the old days used to gamble with death in South American
revolutions, a soldier of fortune.
"Well, I gave the waiter, Charley, the wink and he met me in the
rear of the caf=82, around a corner. You know we have a regular system
in the hotel by which I can turn all the help into amateur sleuths.
I told him to be very careful about the dark-faced man and the
younger man who was with him, to be particular to wait on them well,
and to pick up any scraps of conversation he could.
"Charley knows his business, and the barest perceptible sign from me
makes him an obsequious waiter. Of course the dark man didn't notice
it at the time, but if he had been more observant he would have seen
that three times during his chat with his companion Charley had wiped
off his table with lingering hand. Twice he had put fresh seltzer
in his drink. Like a good waiter always working for a big tip he had
hovered near, his face blank and his eyes unobservant. But that
waiter was an important link in my chain of protection of the hotel
against crooks. He was there to listen and to tip me off, which he
did between orders.
"There wasn't much that he overheard, but what there was of it was
so suspicious that I did not hesitate to conclude that the fellow
was an undesirable guest. It was something about the Panama Canal,
and a coaling station of a steamship and fruit concern on the shore
of one of the Latin American countries. It was, he said, in reality
to be the coaling station of a certain European power which he did
not name but which the younger man seemed to understand. They talked
of wharves and tracts of land, of sovereignty and blue prints, the
Monroe Doctrine, value in case of war, and a lot of other things.
Then they talked of money, and though Charley was most assiduous at
the time all he overheard was something about 'ten thousand francs'
and 'buying her off,' and finally a whispered confidence of which
he caught the words, 'just a blind to get her over here, away from
Paris.' Finally the dark man in an apparent burst of confidence
said something about 'the other plans being the real thing after
all,' and that the whole affair would bring him in fifty thousand
francs, with which he could afford to be liberal. Charley could
get no inkling about what that other thing was.
"But I felt sure that he had heard enough to warrant the belief
that some kind of confidence game was being discussed. To tell the
truth I didn't care much what it was, at the time. It might have
been an attempt of the dark-visaged fellow to sell the Canal to a
come-on. What I wanted was to have it known that the Vanderveer
was not to be a resort of such gentry as this. But I'm afraid it
was much more serious than I thought at the time.
"Well, the dark man finally excused himself and sauntered into the
lobby and up to the desk, with me after him around the opposite
way. He was looking over the day's arrivals on the register when
I concluded that it was about time to do something. I was standing
directly beside him lighting a cigar. I turned quickly on him and
deliberately trod on the man's patent leather shoe. He faced me
furiously at not getting any apology. 'Sacre,' he exclaimed, 'what
the - ' But before he could finish I moved still closer and pinched
his elbow. A dull red glow of suppressed anger spread over his face,
but he cut his words short. He knew and I knew he knew. That is
the sign in the continental hotels when they find a crook and
quietly ask him to move on. The man turned on his heel and stalked
out of the hotel. By and by the young man in the caf=82, considerably
annoyed at the sudden inattention of the waiter who acted as if he
wasn't satisfied with his tip, strolled through the lobby and not
seeing his dark-skinned friend, also disappeared. I wish to heaven
I had had them shadowed. The young fellow wasn't a come-on at all.
There was something afoot between these two, mark my words."
"But why do you connect that incident with this case of Madame de
Nevers?" asked Kennedy, a little puzzled.
"Because the next day, and the day that Madame's maid disappeared,
I happened to see a man bidding good-bye to a woman at the rear
carriage entrance of the hotel. The woman was Madame's maid and
the man was the dark man who had been seated in the caf=82."
"You said a moment ago that you had a good description of the maid
or could write one. Do you think you could locate her?"
The hotel detective thought a minute or two. "If she has gone to
any of the other hotels in this city, I could," he answered slowly.
"You know we have recently formed a sort of clearing house, we hotel
detectives, and we are working together now very well, though
secretly. It is barely possible that she has gone to another hotel.
The very brazenness of that would be its safeguard, she might think."
"Then I can leave that part of it to you, McBride?" asked Kennedy
thoughtfully as if laying out a programme of action in his mind.
"You will set the hotel detectives on the trail as well as the
police of the city, and of other cities, will make the inquiries
at the steamships and railroads, and all that sort of thing? Try
to find some trace of the two men whom you saw in the caf=82 at the
same time. But for the present I should say spare no effort to
locate that girl."
"Trust it to me," agreed McBride confidently. A heavy tap sounded
at the door and McBride opened it. It was the coroner.
I shall not go into the lengthy investigation which the coroner
conducted, questioning one servant and employee after another
without eliciting any more real information than we had already
obtained so concisely from the house man. The coroner was, of
course, angry at the removal of the body from the closet to the
bed because he wanted to view it in the position in which it had
been found, but as that had been done by the servants before
McBride could stop them, there was nothing to do about it but
accept the facts.
"A very peculiar case," remarked the coroner at the conclusion of
his examination, with the air of a man who could shed much light
on it from his wide experience if he chose. "There is just one
point that we shall have to clear up, however. What was the cause
of the death of the deceased? There is no gas in the room. It
couldn't have been illuminating gas, then. No, it must have been
a poison of some kind. Then as to the motive," he added, trying to
look confident but really shooting a tentative remark at Craig and
the house detective, who said nothing. "It looks a good deal like
that other suicide - at least a suicide which some one has
endeavoured to conceal," he added, hastily recollecting the manner
in which the body had been found and his criticisms of the removal
from the closet.
"Didn't I tell you?" rejoined McBride dolefully after we had left
the coroner downstairs a few minutes later. "I knew he would think
the hotel was hiding something from him."
"We can't help what he thinks - yet," remarked Craig. "All we can
do is to run down the clues which we have. I will leave the maid
to be found by your organisation, McBride. Let me see, the theatres
and roof gardens must be letting out by this time. I will see if
I can get any information from Miss Lovelace. Find her address,
Walter, and call a cab."
The Southern heiress, who had attracted more attention by her
beauty than by her fortune which was only moderate as American
fortunes go nowadays, lived in an apartment facing the park, with
her mother, a woman whose social ambitions it was commonly known
had no bounds and were often sadly imposed upon.
Fortunately we arrived at the apartment not very many minutes after
the mother and daughter, and although it was late, Kennedy sent up
his card with an urgent message to see them. They received us in a
large drawing-room and were plainly annoyed by our visit, though
that of course was susceptible of a natural interpretation.
"What is it that you wished to see me about?" began Mrs. Lovelace
in a tone which was intended to close the interview almost before
it was begun. Kennedy had not wished to see her about anything, but
of course he did not even hint as much in his reply which was made
to her but directed at Miss Lovelace.
"Could you tell me anything about a Madame de Nevers who was
staying at the Vanderveer?" asked Craig, turning quickly to the
daughter so as to catch the full effect of his question, and then
waiting as if expecting the answer from her.
The young lady's face blanched slightly and she seemed to catch her
breath for an instant, but she kept her composure admirably in spite
of the evident shock of Craig's purposely abrupt question.
"I have heard of her," Miss Lovelace replied with forced calmness
as he continued to look to her for an answer. "Why do you ask?"
"Because a woman who is supposed to be Madame de Nevers has committed
suicide at the Vanderveer and it was thought that perhaps you could
identify her."
By this time she had become perfect mistress of herself again, from
which I argued that whatever knowledge she had of Madame was limited
to the time before the tragedy.
"I, identify her? Why, I never saw her. I simply know that such
a creature exists.
She said it defiantly and with an iciness which showed more plainly
than in mere words that she scorned even an acquaintance with a
demi-mondaine.
"Do you suppose the Duc de Chateaurouge would be able to identify
her?" asked Kennedy mercilessly. "One moment, please," he added,
anticipating the blank look of amazement on her face. "I have
reason to believe that the duke is in this country incognito - is
he not?"
Instead of speaking she merely raised her shoulders a fraction of
an inch.
"Either in New York or in Washington," pursued Kennedy.
"Why do you ask me?" she said at length. "Isn't it enough that
some of the newspapers have said so? If you see it in the newspapers,
it's so - perhaps - isn't it?"
We were getting nowhere in this interview, at least so I thought.
Kennedy cut it short, especially as he noted the evident restlessness
of Mrs. Lovelace. However, he had gained his point. Whether or not
the duke was in New York or Washington or Spitzbergen, he now felt
sure that Miss Lovelace knew of, and perhaps something about, Madame
de Nevers. In some way the dead woman had communicated with her and
Miss Lovelace had been the woman whom the hotel clerk had seen at the
Vanderveer. We withdrew as gracefully as our awkward position
permitted.
As there was nothing else to be done at that late hour, Craig
decided to sleep soundly over the case, his infallible method of
taking a fresh start after he had run up a cul-de-sac.
Imagine our surprise in the morning at being waited on by the coroner
himself, who in a few words explained that he was far from satisfied
with the progress his own office was making with the case.
"You understand," he concluded after a lengthy statement of
confession and avoidance, "we have no very good laboratory facilities
of our own to carry out the necessary chemical, pathological, and
bacteriological investigations in cases of homicide and suicide. We
are often forced to resort to private laboratories, as you know in
the past when I have had to appeal to you. Now, Professor Kennedy,
if we might turn over that research part of the case to you, sir, I
will engage to see that a reasonable bill for your professional
services goes through the office of my friend the city comptroller
promptly."
Craig snapped at the opportunity, though he did not allow the coroner
to gain that impression.
"Very well," agreed that official, " I shall see that all the
necessary organs for a thorough test as to the cause of the death
of this woman are sent up to the Chemistry Building right away."
The coroner was as good as his word, and we had scarcely breakfasted
and arrived at Craig's scientific workshop before that official
appeared, accompanied by a man who carried in uncanny jars the
necessary materials for an investigation following an autopsy.
Kennedy was now in his element. The case had taken an unexpected
turn which made him a leading factor in its solution. Whatever
suspicions he may have entertained unofficially the night before
he could now openly and quickly verify.
He took a little piece of lung tissue and with sharp sterilised
knife cut it up. Then he made it slightly alkaline with a little
sodium carbonate, talking half to us and half to himself as he
worked. The next step was to place the matter in a glass flask
in a water bath where it was heated. From the flask a Bohemian
glass tube led into a cool jar and on a part of the tube a flame
was playing which heated it to redness for two or three inches.
Several minutes we waited in silence. Finally when the process
had gone far enough, Kennedy took a piece of paper which had been
treated with iodised starch, as he later explained. He plunged
the paper into the cool jar. Slowly it turned a strong blue tint.
Craig said nothing, but it was evident that he was more than
gratified by what had happened. He quickly reached for a bottle
on the shelves before him, and I could see from the label on the
brown glass that it was nitrate of silver. As he plunged a little
in a test-tube into the jar a strong precipitate was gradually
formed.
"It is the decided reaction for chloroform," he exclaimed simply
in reply to our unspoken questions.
"Chloroform," repeated the coroner, rather doubtfully, and it was
evident that he had expected a poison and had not anticipated any
result whatever from an examination of the lungs instead of the
stomach to which he had confined his own work so far. "Could
chloroform be discovered in the lungs or viscera after so many
days? There was one famous chloroform case for which a man is now
serving a life term in Sing Sing which I have understood there was
grave doubt in the minds of the experts. Mind, I am not trying to
question the results of your work except as they might naturally be
questioned in court. It seems to me that the volatility of
chloroform might very possibly preclude its discovery after a short
time. Then again, might not other substances be generated in a dead
body which would give a reaction very much like chloroform? We must
consider all these questions before we abandon the poison theory,
sir. Remember, this is the summer time too, and chloroform would
evaporate very much more rapidly now than in winter.
Kennedy smiled, but his confidence remained unshaken.
"I am in a position to meet all of your objections," he explained
simply. "I think I could lay it down as a rule that by proper
methods chloroform may be discovered in the viscera much longer
after death than is commonly supposed - in summer from six days to
three weeks, with a practical working range of say twelve days,
while in winter it may be found even after several months - by the
right method. Certainly this case comes within the average length
of time. More than that, no substance is generated by the process
of decomposition which will vitiate the test for chloroform which
I have just made. Chloroform has an affinity for water and is also
a preservative, and hence from all these facts I think it safe to
conclude that sometimes traces of it may be found for two weeks
after its administration, certainly for a few days."
"And Madame de Nevers? "queried the coroner, as if the turn of
events was necessitating a complete reconstruction of his theory of
the case.
"Was murdered," completed Kennedy in a tone that left nothing more
to be said on the subject.
"But," persisted the coroner, "if she was murdered by the use of
chloroform, how do you account for the fact that it was done without
a struggle? There were no marks of violence and I, for one, do not
believe that under ordinary circumstances any one will passively
submit to such an administration without a hard fight."
>From his pocket Kennedy drew a small pasteboard box filled with tiny
globes, some bonbons and lozenges, a small hypodermic syringe, and
a few cigars and cigarettes. He held it out in the palm of his hand
so that we could see it.
"This," he remarked, "is the standard equipment of the endormeur.
Whoever obtained admittance to Madame's rooms, either as a matter of
course or secretly, must have engaged her in conversation, disarmed
suspicion, and then suddenly she must have found a pocket
handkerchief under her nose. The criminal crushed a globe of liquid
in the handkerchief, the victim lost consciousness, the chloroform
was administered without a struggle, all marks of identification were
obliterated, the body was placed in the closet, and the maid - either
as principal or accessory - took the most likely means of postponing
discovery by paying the bill in advance at the office, and then
disappeared."
Kennedy slipped the box back into his pocket. The coroner had, I
think, been expecting Craig's verdict, although he was loath to
abandon his own suicide theory and had held it to the last possible
moment. At any rate, so far he had said little, apparently
preferring to keep his own counsel as to his course of action and
to set his own machinery in motion.
He drew a note from his pocket, however. "I suppose," he began
tentatively, shaking the note as he glanced doubtfully from it to
us, "that you have heard that among the callers on this unfortunate
woman was a lady of high social position in this city?"