IVOR GOES INTO THE DARK
Never had I been caught in a situation which I liked less than finding
myself, long after midnight, locked by Maxine de Renzie into her
boudoir, while within hearing she did her best to convince her lover
that no stranger had come on her account to the house.
I had never before visited her in Paris, though she had described her
little place there to me when we knew each other in London; and in
groping about trying to find another door or a window in the dark room,
I ran constant risks of making my presence known by stumbling against
the furniture or knocking down some ornament.
I dared not strike a match because of the sharp, rasping noise it would
make, and I had to be as cautious as if I were treading with bare feet
on glass, although I knew that Maxine was praying for me to be out of
the house, and I was as far from wishing to linger as she was to have me
stay. Only by a miracle did I save myself once or twice from upsetting a
chair or a tall vase of flowers, on my way to a second door which was
locked on the other side. At last, however, I discovered a window, and
congratulated myself that my trouble and Maxine's danger was nearly
over. The room being on the ground floor, though rather high above the
level of the garden, I thought that I could easily let myself down. But
when I had slipped behind the heavy curtains (they were drawn, and felt
smooth, like satin) it was only to come upon a new difficulty.
The window, which opened in the middle like most French windows, was
tightly closed, with the catch securely fastened; and as I began slowly
and with infinite caution to turn the handle, I felt that the window was
going to stick. Perhaps the wood had been freshly painted: perhaps it
had swelled; in any case I knew that when the two sashes consented to
part they would make a loud protest.
After the first warning squeak I stopped. In the next room Maxine raised
her voice--to cover the sound, I was sure. Then it had been worse even
than I fancied! I dared not begin again. I would grope about once more,
and see if I could hit upon some other way out, which possibly I had
missed.
No, there was nothing. No other window, except a small one which
apparently communicated with a pantry, and even if that had not seemed
too small for me to climb through, it was fastened on the pantry side.
What to do I did not know. It would be a calamity for Maxine if du
Laurier should hear a sound, and insist on having the door opened, after
she had given him the impression (if she had not said it in so many
words) that there was no stranger in the house.
Probably she hoped that by this time I was gone; but how could I go? I
felt like a rat in a trap: and if I had been a nervous woman I should
have imagined myself stifling in the small, hot room with its closed
doors and windows. As it was, I was uncomfortable enough. My forehead
grew damp, as in the first moments of a Turkish bath, and absent
mindedly I felt in pocket after pocket for my handkerchief. It was not
to be found. I must have lost it at the hotel, or the detective's, or in
the automobile I had hired. In an outside pocket of my coat, however, I
chanced upon something for the existence of which I couldn't account. It
was a very small something: only a bit of paper, but a very neatly
folded bit of paper, and I remembered how it had fallen from my pocket
onto the floor, and a gendarme had picked it up.
At ordinary times I should most likely not have given it a second
thought; but to-night nothing unexpected could be dismissed as
insignificant until it had been thoroughly examined. I put the paper
back, and as I did so I heard Maxine give an exclamation, apparently of
distress. I could not distinguish all she said, but I thought that I
caught the word "diamonds." For a moment or two she and du Laurier
talked together so excitedly that I might have made another attack on
the window without great risk; and I was meditating the attempt when
suddenly the voices ceased. A door opened and shut. There was dead
silence, except for a footfall overhead, which sounded heavier than
Maxine's. Perhaps it was her maid's.
For a few seconds more I stood still, awaiting developments, but there
was no sound in the next room, and I decided to take my chance before it
should be too late.
I jerked at the window, which yielded with a loud squeak that would
certainly have given away the secret of my presence if there had been
ears to hear. But all was still in the drawing-room adjoining, and I
dropped down on to a flower bed some few feet below. Then I skirted
round to the front of the house, walking stealthily on the soft grass,
and would have made a noiseless dash for the gate had I not seen a
stream of light flowing out through the open front door across the lawn.
I checked myself just in time to draw back without being seen by a woman
and a tall man moving slowly down the path. They were Maxine and, no
doubt, du Laurier. They spoke not a word, but walked with their heads
bent, as if deeply absorbed in searching for something on the ground.
Down to the gate they went, opened it and passed out, only half closing
it behind them, so that I knew they meant presently to come back again.
I should have been thankful to escape, but the chance of meeting them
was too imminent. Accordingly I waited, and it was well I did, for as
they reappeared in three or four minutes they could not have gone far
enough to be out of sight from the gate.
"There's witchcraft in it," Maxine said, as she and her lover passed
within a few yards of me, where I hid behind a little arbour.
Du Laurier's answer was lost to me, but his voice sounded despondent.
Evidently they had mislaid something of importance and had small hope of
finding it again. I could not help being curious, as well as sorry for
Maxine that a further misfortune should have befallen her at such a
time. But the one and only way in which I could help her at the moment
was to get away as soon as possible.
They had left the gate unlocked, and I drew in a long breath of relief
when I was on the other side. I hurried out of the street, lest du
Laurier should, by any chance, follow on quickly: and my first thought
was to go immediately back to my hotel, where Girard might by now have
arrived with news. I was just ready to hail a cab crawling by at a
distance, when I remembered the bit of paper I'd found and put back into
my pocket. It occurred to me to have a look at it, by the light of a
street lamp near by; and the instant I had straightened out the small,
crumpled wad I guessed that here was a link in the mystery.
The paper was a leaf torn from a note-book and closely covered on both
sides with small, uneven writing done with a sharp black pencil. The
handwriting was that of an uneducated person, and was strange to me. I
could not make out the words by the light of the tall lamp, so I lit a
wax match from my match-box, and protecting the flame in the hollow of
my hand, began studying the strange message.
The three first words sent my heart up with a bound. "On board the
'Queen.'" I had crossed the Channel in the "Queen," and this beginning
alone was enough to make me hope that the bit of paper might do more
than any detective to unravel the mystery.
"I'm taking big risks because I've got to," I read on. "It's my
only chance. And if you find this, I bet I can trust you. You're
a gentleman, and you saved my life and a lot more besides by
getting into that railway-carriage when the other chaps did. The
minute I seen them I thot I was done for, but you stopped there
game. I'm a jewler's assistant, carrying property worth
thousands, for my employers. From the first I knew 'twas bound
to be a ticklish job. On this bote I'm safe, for the villions
who would have murdered and robbed me in the train if it hadn't
been for you being there, won't have a chance, but when I get to
Paris it will be the worst, and no hope for the jewls, followed
as I am, if I hadn't already thot of a plan to save them through
you, an honest gentleman far above temptashun. I know who you
are, for I've seen your photo in the papers. So, what I did was
this: to try a ventriloquist trick which has offen bin of use in
my carere, just as folks were on the boat's gangway. Thro'
making that disturbance, and a little skill I have got by doing
amatoor conjuring to amuse my wife and famly, I was able to slip
the case of my employer's jewls into your breast pocket without
your knowing. And I had to take away what you had in, not that I
wanted to rob one who had done good by me, but because if I'd
left it the double thickness would have surprised you and you
would probably have pulled out my case to see what it was. Then
my fat would have bin in the fire, with certin persons looking
on, and you in danger as well as me which wouldn't be fare. I've
got your case in my pocket as I write, but I won't open it
because it may have your sweetart's letters in. You can get your
property again by bringing me my master's, which is fare
exchange. I can't call on you, for I don't know where your going
and daren't hang round to see on account of the danger I run,
and needing to meet a pal of mine who will help me. I must get
to him at once, if I am spared to do so, for which reason I
wrote out this explanashun. The best I can do is to slip it in
your pocket which I shall try when in the railway stashun at
Paris. You see how I trust you as a gentleman to bring me the
jewls. Come as soon as you can, and get your own case instead,
calling at 218 Rue Fille Sauvage, Avenue Morot, back room, top
floor, left of passage. Expressing my gratitood in advance,
"I am,
"Yours trustfully,
"J.M. Jeweler's Messenger.
"P.S.--For heaven's sake don't fale, and ask the concerge for
name of Gestre."
If it had not been for my rage at not having read this illuminating
little document earlier, I should have felt like shouting with joy. As
it was, my delight was tempered with enough of regret to make it easier
to restrain myself.
But for the fear that du Laurier might be still with Maxine, I should
have rushed back to her house for a moment, just long enough to give her
the good news. But in the circumstances I dared not do it, lest she
should curse instead of bless me: and besides, as there was still a
chance of disappointment, it might be better in any case not to raise
her hopes until there was no danger of dashing them again. The best
thing was to get the treaty back, without a second of delay. As for the
detective, who was perhaps waiting for me at the hotel, he would have to
wait longer, or even go away disgusted--nothing made much difference
now. Maybe, when once I had the treaty in my hands, I might send a
messenger with a few cautious words to Maxine. No matter how late the
hour, she was certain not to be asleep.
The cab I had seen crawling through the street had disappeared long ago,
and no other was in sight, so I walked quickly on, hoping to find one
presently. It was now so late, however, that in this quiet part of Paris
no carriages of any sort were plying for hire. Finally I made up my mind
that I should have to go all the way on foot; but I knew the direction
of the Avenue Morot, though I'd never heard of Rue de la Fille Sauvage,
and as it was not more than two miles to walk, I could reach the house I
wanted to find in half an hour.
A few minutes more or less ought not to matter much, since "J. M." was
sure to be awaiting me with impatience; therefore the thing which
bothered me most was the effect likely to be produced on the man when I
could not hand him over the diamonds in exchange for the treaty.
Of course I didn't believe that "J.M." was a jeweller's messenger,
though possibly I might have been less incredulous if Maxine had not
told me the true history of the diamonds, and what had happened in
Holland. As it was, I had very little doubt that the rat of a man I had
chanced to protect in the railway carriage was no other than the
extraordinarily expert thief who had relieved du Laurier of the
Duchess's necklace.
Following out a theory which I worked up as I walked, I thought it
probable that the fellow had been helped by confederates whom he had
contrived to dodge, evading them and sneaking off to London in the hope
of cheating them out of their share of the spoil. Followed by them,
dreading their vengeance, I fancied him flitting from one hiding-place
to another, not daring to separate himself from the jewels; at last
determining to escape, disguised, from England, where the scent had
become too hot; reserving a first-class carriage in the train to Dover,
and travelling with a golfer's kit; struck with panic at the last moment
on seeing the very men he fled to avoid, close on his heels, and opening
the door of his reserved carriage with a railway key.
All this was merely deduction, for so far as I had seen, "J.M.'s"
travelling companions hadn't even accosted him. Still, the theory
accounted for much that had been puzzling, and made it plausible that a
man should be desperate enough to trust his treasure to a stranger
(known only through "photos in the newspapers") rather than risk losing
it to those he had betrayed.
I resolved to use all my powers of diplomacy to extract from "J.M." the
case containing the treaty before he learned that he was not to receive
the diamonds in its place; and I had no more than vaguely mapped out a
plan of proceeding before I arrived in the Avenue Morot. Thence I soon
found my way into the Rue de la Fille Sauvage, a mean street, to which
the queer name seemed not inappropriate. The house I had to visit was an
ugly big box of a building, with rooms advertised to let, as I could see
by the light of a street lamp across the way, which gleamed bleakly on
the lines of shut windows behind narrow iron balconies.
The large double doors, from which the paint had peeled in patches, were
closed, but I rang the bell for the concierge; and after a delay of
several minutes I heard a slight click which meant that the doors had
opened for me. I passed into a dim lobby, to be challenged by a sleepy
voice behind a half open window. The owner of the voice kept himself
invisible and was no doubt in the bunk which he called his bed. Only a
stern sense of duty as concierge woke him up enough to demand,
mechanically, who it was that the strange monsieur desired to visit at
this late hour?
I replied according to instructions. I wished to see Monsieur Gestre.
"Monsieur Gestre is away," murmured the voice behind the little window.
I thought quickly. Gestre was probably the "pal" whom "J.M." had been in
such a hurry to find. "Very well," said I, "I'll see his friend, the
Englishman who arrived this evening. I have an appointment with him."
"Ah, I understand. I remember. Is it not that Monsieur has been here
already? He now returns, as he mentioned that he might do?"
Again my thoughts made haste to arrange themselves. The "monsieur" who
had called had probably also arrived late, after the concierge had gone
to bed in his dim box, and become too drowsy to notice such details as
the difference between voices, especially if they were those of
foreigners. Perhaps if I explained that I was not the person who had
said he would come again, but another, the man behind the window would
consider me a complication, and refuse to let me pass at such an hour
without a fuss. And of all things, a fuss was what I least wanted--for
Maxine's sake, and because of the treaty. I decided to seize upon the
advantage that was offered me.
"Quite right," I said shortly. "I know the way." And so began to mount
the stairs. Flight after flight I went up, meeting no one; and on the
fifth floor I found that I had reached the top of the house. There were
no more stairs to go up.
On each of the floors below there had been a dim light--a jet of gas
turned low. But the fifth floor was in darkness. Someone had put out the
light, either in carelessness or for some special reason.
There were several doors on each side of the passage, but I could not be
sure that I had reached the right one until I'd lighted a match. When I
was sure, I knocked, but no answer came.
"He can't be out," I said to myself, cheerfully. "He's got tired of
waiting and dropped asleep, that's all."
I knocked again. Silence. And then for a third time, loudly, keeping on
until I was sure that, if there were anyone in the room, no matter how
sound asleep, I must have waked him.
After all, he had gone out, but perhaps only for a short time. Surely,
he would soon come back, lest he should miss the keeper of the diamonds.
I had very little hope that, even on the chance of my arriving while he
was away, he would have left the door open. Nevertheless I tried the
handle, and to my surprise it yielded.
"That must be because the lock's broken and only a bolt remains," I
thought. "So he had to take the risk. All the better. This looks as if
he'd be back any minute. He wouldn't like giving the enemy a chance to
find his lair and step into it before him." It was dark in the room, and
I struck another wax match just inside the threshold. But I had hardly
time to get an impression of bareness and meanness of furnishing before
a draught of air from an open window blew out the struggling flame and
at the same instant banged the door shut behind me.