IN THE NIGHT.
Not until several hours afterwards did Jean regain consciousness.
When slowly she opened her eyes and gazed wonderingly about the silent
room, she found herself lying in a heap upon the floor, a terrible
throbbing across her brow and a lump in her throat.
Gradually she recollected the horror of that half-hour before she had
fainted, and slowly she raised herself and tottered to a chair.
Upon the table stood the empty bottle from which Ralph and Adolphe had
drunk glass after glass of red wine, before going forth to commit the
crime. There were the three empty plates, too; while on the top of the
cupboard the cheap, evil-smelling lamp which Jean had lit on Ralph's
arrival, was burning low, shedding a small zone of dim, yellow light.
"Gone!" she gasped aloud. "Oh, I can't believe it! Ralph--my own
Ralph--a common thief! Impossible! impossible!" Then she sobbed, burying
her pale face in both her hands in blank despair.
The horrible, bitter truth had been forced upon her, and she saw it in
all its hideousness.
"He raised his hand to strike me down!" she murmured to herself. "He
would have struck me, had it not been for Adolphe. Ah! yes," she sighed.
"Adolphe knows--he knows the truth--of all I have suffered. Ralph is a
thief, and--and the police will one day arrest him. He will be tried and
punished, and I shall be left alone--alone!"
For a long time the despairing girl sat in her lonely room, bent and
utterly crushed. Her thoughts were of the man she loved, and who, in
return, had now revealed his contempt, even hatred. He had told her that
she was but an encumbrance. He had not minced matters, but spoken openly
and frankly, like the brute he was.
She was unaware that "The American" was well known in the Montmartre as
a keen, unscrupulous man, against whom were so many charges. Next to
Bonnemain himself, he had been the most daring and expert of all that
dangerous gang.
How cleverly he had deceived her, however, she now knew. Her senses
seemed benumbed, for the blow had rendered her, for the time,
insensible.
A full hour went by.
The room was silent, save that from the courtyard below rose the drunken
voice of a workman who lived in the ground-floor flat--the husband of
the slatternly _concierge_--who had just returned.
The broken clock still pointed to the hour of four, therefore she had no
idea of the time, but sat staring in front of her, like one in a dream.
Once or twice her breast slowly heaved and fell beneath her neat, black
gown. Then at last she rose and, crossing to the cupboard with firm
resolve, took out a small, ten-centime bottle of ink and an envelope.
Seating herself at the table, she took the pen in her trembling fingers,
and with tears falling upon the paper, traced uneven words in French, as
follows:
"In spite of my love for you, Ralph, I cannot suffer longer.
Certain hidden things in your life frighten me. Farewell.
Forget me.--JEAN."
Slowly she folded it, took off her wedding-ring, and placed it in the
envelope, together with the letter. Afterwards she addressed it to her
husband, and left it upon the table. Then slowly she rose with a hard,
fixed look, and passed into the adjoining room, which was a bedroom.
She took a sad farewell of the few little treasures which she had
brought from her own room in Oxford Street--knick-knacks, photographs,
and the like--and, putting on her hat, passed back across the
living-room, and then crept down the stairs and out--undiscovered and
unheard by the ever-watchful old woman in the black, knitted shawl.
Without a glance back, she gained the broad, well-lit thoroughfare, and,
turning to the left, went blindly and broken-hearted along in the
direction of the Bois, out into the world, sad, despairing, and alone,
heedless of where her steps led her, out into the unknown.
Meanwhile "The American" and "The Eel" were busy with their adventure.
To the left of the broad, main avenue, which, running through
Neuilly-on-Seine, crosses the river to Courbevoie, lived the wealthy
Baron de Rycker.
The house stood alone in a secluded spot, surrounded by its own spacious
grounds, and hidden from the road by a high wall. In this was a big gate
of ornamental iron, the top of which was gilded--a gate which the
_concierge_, who lived in the lodge beside it, always kept locked.
But, through the gate, the house itself could not be seen, because
plates of iron had been fixed half-way up, shutting out the view of
house and well-kept grounds from the public view.
As Ralph was aware, the _concierge_ was more than a mere lodge-keeper.
He knew who were the Baron's friends, and admitted them without
question, in whatever garb they might chance to be. But any inquisitive
person, or stranger, never got within that gate, or if they attempted,
they met with a warm reception from the fierce dog which constantly
prowled about the grounds.
The two men arrived in Neuilly soon after eleven o'clock and, entering a
_cafe_ near the river, remained there smoking and drinking coffee, till
midnight, when they went forth, treading lightly, for at "The Eel's"
lodgings in the Rue Lapage, off the Boulevard de Clichy, they had both
put on boots with india-rubber soles.
Passing the wall of the Baron's garden, they found all quiet and in
darkness.
Then "The American" went back as far as the gate and threw a stone
against the ironwork, with the result that the dog, which prowled there
at night, barked furiously.
That was what Ralph Ansell desired.
Taking from his pocket a stone, to which was tied by cotton a piece of
poisoned liver, he threw it over the gate and listened to it drop upon
the gravel.
In a moment the dog, with natural curiosity, pounced upon it, and
finding it to be a toothsome delicacy, could not resist it.
For another five minutes Ralph waited without making a sound.
Then he threw another stone against the iron sheeting of the gate.
The noise was loud. But there was no answering bark.
Then he crept back to where Adolphe lurked in the shadow.
A quarter of an hour later, both men were crouching before a long window
which led out upon a well-kept lawn. They had scaled the wall, and crept
across the grass without a sound.
The weather favoured them, for there was a slight west wind which, while
catching the foliage of the trees, caused it to rustle and so conceal
any slight noise they might make.
Ralph pressed the button of his electric lamp, and a small spot of light
shone upon the glass. Then, with expert hand, he quickly smeared it with
treacle, and afterwards, with a glazier's diamond, cut out a piece
sufficient to allow him to insert his hand and turn the latch within.
A moment later, both men were inside the large, well-furnished
_salle-a-manger_, treading noiselessly upon the thick Turkey carpet,
though "The Eel," in entering, unfortunately stumbled, and in grabbing
the door to prevent himself falling, cut his hand badly, even through
the india-rubber gloves they both wore.
The pair lost no time in clearing the fine, carved sideboard of the
quantity of valuable plate it contained. Then, led by Ralph, to whom the
interior of the big house was well known, "The Eel" entered the cosy,
luxuriously-furnished library, which was the private den of the chief
secret agent of the German Empire.
It was not a large room. Its size was revealed to Adolphe by the
flashing of his companion's lamp. Lined with books, and with a big,
business-like writing-table placed in the window, it was a cosy place--a
place with which many a spy of Germany was familiar and in which many a
man had received a bundle of hundred-franc notes in return for
information, or plans of France's armaments or defences.
From it a door led straight into the grounds, so that a visitor was not
compelled to pass through the house in order to have a confidential chat
with its owner, while in a farther corner of the garden was a door in
the wall by which a side road might be gained.
Neither man spoke as they made a noiseless tour of the room. "The Eel"
carried a capacious sack of black material, and into it thrust what
knick-knacks seemed to be of value--several miniatures, a couple of gold
snuff-boxes, a small box of Limoges enamel, and the like, while "The
American" was busy with his skeleton keys at the drawers of the big
writing-table.
Suddenly he beckoned to Adolphe, and the latter, as he approached, saw
that he had succeeded in opening one of the small drawers. Within was a
secret cavity known to the thief, for he had twice watched the German
spy take money from it.
There was a spring at the back of the drawer, and as "The Eel" directed
the rays of light inside, his companion fingered it, with the result
that of a sudden a portion of the wood fell back and from within the
other drew out a large bundle of French thousand-franc notes secured by
an elastic band.
With a low whistle Ansell, with gloating eyes, slipped them into his
breast pocket.
Then, diving his hand in again, he drew out several handsome bracelets
set with diamonds and emeralds, two strings of matched pearls, a diamond
and platinum pendant, a muff-chain set with diamonds, and a child's
coral necklace--the jewellery belonging to the Baron's dead wife and his
little daughter--which he kept concealed there--a relic of a long-past
domestic happiness.
With scarce a glance at the valuables, the thief thrust them into his
pocket.
Eagerly they cleared the secret space behind the back of the drawer.
There were three other bank-notes lying loose, about twenty golden
louis, two ruby rings, and lastly a safe-key, which Ralph held up in
triumph, whispering:
"What about the Baron's secret correspondence--eh?"
"Where's the safe?" asked his companion.
"Upstairs--in his room, I expect. It is not here."
Then, leaving the drawer open, Ralph Ansell crossed the room and,
opening his big clasp-knife, the blade of which was as sharp as a razor,
he commenced to slash vigorously at the pale green silk upholstery of
the couch and easy chairs. He was angry and vicious in his attacks upon
the furniture, cutting and slashing everywhere in his triumph over the
man who had refused to further assist him.
"The Eel" watched without uttering a remark. He had seen such explosions
of anger before on the part of his companion when they were doing other
"jobs." It is, indeed, well known to criminologists and to all police
officials that the average burglar is never satisfied with mere theft,
however great may be his _coup_, but that some force impels him to spend
time in committing wanton damage to the furniture.
It was so with Ralph Ansell. He hated the Baron, therefore he slashed
his furniture. In many other homes he had acted in a similar way, just
as, indeed, Bonnemain always acted, carrying a keen knife for the
purpose.
"Shall we risk going to his room?" whispered Adolphe, who approached
him.
"Of course, my friend. A few of those papers will be worth thousands of
francs to us," he replied in a low breath. "This is the job of our
lives, _mon vieux_. I daresay there are papers there which the German
Government would buy back at any price we chose to put on them."
"All right, then," was "The Eel's" reply. "If there's no great risk,
then let us have a try."
"You've got your revolver--eh?"
"No. I never carry one now," was Adolphe's response.
"Never mind, I've got one; and I shall shoot--if necessary," Ralph
replied. "I mean to have those papers at all costs. So don't lose your
head."
"I never do."
"_Bien!_ Then to work."
And the pair crept from the room without a sound, and along the dark,
thickly-carpeted corridor.