HUNTERLEYS SCENTS MURDER
The concierge of the Hotel de Paris was a man of great stature and
imposing appearance. Nevertheless, when Hunterleys crossed the road and
climbed the steps to the hotel, he seemed for a moment like a man
reduced to pulp. He absolutely forgot his usual dignified but courteous
greeting. With mouth a little open and knees which seemed to have
collapsed, he stared at this unexpected apparition as he came into sight
and stared at him as he entered the hotel. Hunterleys glanced behind
with a slight frown. The incident, inexplicable though it was, would
have passed at once from his memory, but that directly he entered the
hotel he was conscious of the very similar behaviour and attitude
towards him of the chief reception clerk. He paused on his way, a little
bewildered, and called the man to him. The clerk, however, was already
rushing towards the office with his coat-tails flying behind him.
Hunterleys crossed the floor and rang the bell for the lift. Directly he
stepped in, the lift man vacated his place, and with his eyes nearly
starting out of his head, seemed about to make a rush for his life.
"Come back here," Hunterleys ordered sternly. "Take me up to my room at
once."
The man returned unsteadily and with marked reluctance. He closed the
gate, touched the handle and the lift commenced to ascend.
"What's the matter with you all here?" Hunterleys demanded, irritably.
"Is there anything wrong with my appearance? Has anything happened?"
The man made a gesture but said absolutely nothing. The lift had
stopped. He pushed open the door.
"Monsieur's floor," he faltered.
Hunterleys stepped out and made his way towards his room. Arrived there,
he was brought to a sudden standstill. A gendarme was stationed outside.
"What the mischief are you doing here?" Hunterleys demanded.
The man saluted.
"By orders of the Director of Police, monsieur."
"But that is my room," Hunterleys protested. "I wish to enter."
"No one is permitted to enter, monsieur," the man replied.
Hunterleys stared blankly at the gendarme.
"Can't you tell me at least what has happened?" he persisted. "I am Sir
Henry Hunterleys. That is my apartment. Why do I find it locked against
me?"
"By order of the Director of the Police, monsieur," was the parrot-like
reply.
Hunterleys turned away impatiently. At that moment the reception clerk
who downstairs had fled at his approach, returned, bringing with him the
manager of the hotel. Hunterleys welcomed the latter with an air of
relief.
"Monsieur Picard," he exclaimed, "what on earth is the meaning of this?
Why do I find my room closed and this gendarme outside?"
Monsieur Picard was a tall man, black-bearded, immaculate in appearance
and deportment, with manners and voice of velvet. Yet he, too, had lost
his wonderful imperturbability. He waved away the floor waiter, who had
drawn near. His manner was almost agitated.
"Monsieur Sir Henry," he explained, "an affair the most regrettable has
happened in your room. I have allotted to you another apartment upon the
same floor. Your things have been removed there. If you will come with
me I will show it to you. It is an apartment better by far than the one
you have been occupying, and the price is the same."
"But what on earth has happened in my room?" Hunterleys demanded.
"Monsieur," the hotel manager replied, "some poor demented creature who
has doubtless lost his all, in your absence found his way there and
committed suicide."
"Found his way into my room?" Hunterleys repeated. "But I locked the
door before I went out. I have the key in my pocket."
"He entered possibly through the bathroom," the manager went on,
soothingly. "I am deeply grieved that monsieur should be inconvenienced
in any way. This is the apartment I have reserved for monsieur," he
added, throwing open the door of a room at the end of the corridor. "It
is more spacious and in every way more desirable. Monsieur's clothes are
already being put away."
Hunterleys glanced around the apartment. It was certainly of a far
better type than the one he had been occupying, and two of the floor
valets were already busy with his clothes.
"Monsieur will be well satisfied here, I am sure," the hotel manager
continued. "May I be permitted to offer my felicitations and to assure
you of my immense relief. There was a rumour--the affair occurring in
monsieur's apartment--that the unfortunate man was yourself, Sir Henry."
Hunterleys was thoughtful for a moment. He began to understand the
sensation which his appearance had caused. Other ideas, too, were
crowding into his brain.
"Look here, Monsieur Picard," he said, "of course, I have no objection
to the change of rooms--that's all right--but I should like to know a
little more about the man who you say committed suicide in my apartment.
I should like to see him."
Monsieur Picard shook his head.
"It would be a very difficult matter, that, monsieur," he declared. "The
laws of Monaco are stringent in such affairs."
"That is all very well," Hunterleys protested, "but I cannot understand
what he was doing in my apartment. Can't I go in just for a moment?"
"Impossible, monsieur! Without the permission of the Commissioner of
Police no one can enter that room."
"Then I should like," Hunterleys persisted, "to see the Commissioner of
Police."
Monsieur Picard bowed.
"Monsieur the Commissioner is on the premises, without a doubt. I will
instruct him of Monsieur Sir Henry's desire."
"I shall be glad if you will do so at once," Hunterleys said firmly. "I
will wait for him here."
The manager made his escape and his relief was obvious. Hunterleys sat
on the edge of the bed.
"Do you know anything about this affair?" he asked the nearer of the two
valets.
The man shook his head.
"Nothing at all, monsieur," he answered, without pausing from his
labours.
"How did the fellow get into my room?"
"One knows nothing," the other man muttered.
Hunterleys watched them for a few minutes at their labours.
"A nice, intelligent couple of fellows you are," he remarked pleasantly.
"Come, here's a louis each. Now can't you tell me something about the
affair?"
They came forward. Both looked longingly at the coins.
"Monsieur," the one he had first addressed regretted, "there is indeed
nothing to be known. At this hotel the wages are good. It is the finest
situation a man may gain in Monte Carlo or elsewhere, but if anything
like this happens, there is to be silence. One dares not break the
rule."
Hunterleys shrugged his shoulders.
"All right," he said. "I shall find out what I want to know, in time."
The men returned unwillingly to their tasks. In a moment or two there
was a knock at the door. The Commissioner of Police entered, accompanied
by the hotel manager, who at once introduced him.
"The Commissioner of Police is here, Sir Henry," he announced. "He will
speak with you immediately."
The official saluted.
"Monsieur desires some information?"
"I do," Hunterleys admitted. "I am told that a man has committed suicide
in my room, and I have heard no plausible explanation as to how he got
there. I want to see him. It is possible that I may recognise him."
"The fellow is already identified," the Director of Police declared. "I
can satisfy monsieur's curiosity. He was connected with a firm of
English tailors here, who sought business from the gentlemen in the
hotel. He had accordingly sometimes the entrée to their apartments. The
fellow is reported to have saved a little money and to have visited the
tables. He lost everything. He came this morning about his business as
usual, but, overcome by despair, stabbed himself, most regrettably in
the apartments of monsieur."
"Since you know all about him, perhaps you can tell me his name?"
Hunterleys asked.
"James Allen. Monsieur may recall him to his memory. He was tall and of
pale complexion, respectable-looking, but a man of discontented
appearance. The intention had probably been in his mind for some time."
"Is there any objection to my seeing the body?" Hunterleys enquired.
The official shrugged his shoulders.
"But, monsieur, all is finished with the poor fellow. The doctor has
given his certificate. He is to be removed at once. He will be buried at
nightfall."
"A very admirable arrangement, without a doubt," Hunterleys observed,
"and yet, I should like, as I remarked before, to see the body. You know
who I am--Sir Henry Hunterleys. I had a message from your department a
day or two ago which I thought a little unfair."
The Commissioner sighed. He ignored altogether the conclusion of
Hunterleys' sentence.
"It is against the rules, monsieur," he regretted.
"Then to whom shall I apply?" Hunterleys asked, "because I may as well
tell you at once that I am going to insist upon my request being
granted. I will tell you frankly my reason. It is not a matter of
curiosity at all. I should like to feel assured of the fact that this
man Allen really committed suicide."
"But he is dead, monsieur," the Commissioner protested.
"Doubtless," Hunterleys agreed, "but there is also the chance that he
was murdered, isn't there?"
"Murdered!"
Monsieur Picard held up his hands in horror. The Commissioner of Police
smiled in derision.
"But, monsieur," the latter pointed out, "who would take the trouble to
murder a poverty-stricken tailor's assistant!"
"And in my hotel, too!" Monsieur Picard intervened.
"The thing is impossible," the Commissioner declared.
"Beyond which it is ridiculous!" Monsieur Picard added.
Hunterleys sat quite silent for a moment.
"Monsieur the Commissioner," he said presently, "and Monsieur Picard, I
recognise your point of view. Believe me that I appreciate it and that I
am willing, to a certain extent, to acquiesce in it. At the same time,
there are considerations in this matter which I cannot ignore. I do not
wish to create any disturbance or to make any statements likely to
militate against the popularity of your wonderful hotel, Monsieur
Picard. Nevertheless, for personal reasons only, notwithstanding the
verdict of your doctor, I should like for one moment to examine the
body."
The Commissioner of Police was thoughtful for a moment.
"It shall be as monsieur desires," he consented gravely, "bearing in
mind what monsieur has said," he added with emphasis.
The three men left the room and passed down the corridor. The gendarme
in front of the closed door stood on one side. The Commissioner produced
a key. They all three entered the room and Monsieur Picard closed the
door behind them. Underneath a sheet upon the bed was stretched the
figure of a man. Hunterleys stepped up to it, turned down the sheet and
examined the prostrate figure. Then he replaced the covering reverently.
"Yes," he said, "that is the man who has called upon me for orders from
the English tailors. His name, I believe, was, as you say, Allen. But
can you tell me, Monsieur the Commissioner, how it was possible for a
man to stab himself from the shoulder downwards through the heart?"
The Official extended his hands.
"Monsieur," he declared, "it is not for us. The doctor has given his
certificate."
Hunterleys smiled a little grimly.
"I have always understood," he observed, "that things were managed like
this. You may have confidence in me, Monsieur the Commissioner, and you,
Monsieur Picard. I shall not tell the world what I suspect. But for your
private information I will tell you that this man was probably murdered
by an assassin who sought my life. You observe that there is a certain
resemblance."
The hotel proprietor turned pale.
"Murdered!" he exclaimed. "Impossible! A murder here--unheard of!"
The Commissioner dismissed the whole thing airily with a wave of his
hand.
"The doctor has signed the certificate," he repeated.
"And I," Hunterleys added, as he led the way out of the room, "am more
than satisfied--I am grateful. So there is nothing more to be said."