SHOWS THE BIRD'S TALONS
For some little time after my mysterious companion had left I sat
forward in the box, gazing down at the wild revelry below, and hoping
that one or other of the party would recognise me.
So great a crowd was there, and so many dresses exactly similar, that
to distinguish Ulrica or Gerald, or indeed any of the others, proved
absolutely impossible. They might, of course, be in one or other of
the supper-rooms, and I saw from the first that there was but little
chance of finding them.
Leaning my elbows on the edge of the box, I gazed down upon the scene
of reckless merriment, but my thoughts were full of the strange words
uttered by the mysterious masker. The packet he had given me I had
transferred to my pocket, though with pardonable curiosity I longed
to open it and see what it contained.
The warning he had given me was extremely disconcerting. It worried
me. No woman likes to think that she has unknown enemies ready to
take her life. Yet that was apparently my position.
That life could be taken swiftly and without detection, I had plainly
seen in the case of poor Reggie. When I recollected his terrible
fate I shuddered. Yet this man had plainly given me to understand
that the same fate awaited me if I did not adopt the line of conduct
which he had laid down.
Whoever he might be, he certainly was acquainted with all my
movements, and knew intimately my feelings. There was certainly no
likelihood of my marriage with old Benjamin Keppel. I scouted the
idea. Yet he knew quite well that the millionaire had become
attracted by me, and reposed in me a confidence which he did not
extend to others. The more I reflected, the more I became convinced
that the stranger's fear of being recognised arose from the fact that
he himself was either the murderer or an accessory to the murder of
poor Reggie.
What did the demand that I should return to London denote? It could
only mean one thing--namely, that my assistance was required.
Whoever were my enemies, they were, I argued, enemies likewise of old
Mr. Keppel. The present which the stranger had pressed upon me was
nothing less than a bribe to secure either my silence or my services.
However much I tried, it appeared out of the question for me to
discover the motive guiding the stranger's conduct. The only certain
fact was that this man, so cleverly disguised that I could not
distinguish his real height, much less his form or features, had come
there, watched for a favourable opportunity to speak with me, and had
warned me to sever my friendship with the millionaire.
Leaning there, gazing blankly down upon the crowd screaming with
laughter at the Parisian quadrilles and antics of clown and
columbine, I coolly analysed my own feeling towards the blunt,
plain-spoken old gentleman with the melancholy eyes. I found--as I
had believed all along--that I admired him for his honest
good-nature, his utter lack of anything approaching "side," his
strenuous efforts to assist in good works, and his regard for
appearances only for his son's sake. But I did not love him. No, I
had loved one man. I could never love another--never in all my life!
Perhaps Ernest Cameron was present, disguised by a mask and dress of
parti-coloured satin! Perhaps he was down there among the dancers,
escorting that woman who had usurped my place. The thought held me
in wonder.
Suddenly, however, I was brought back to a due sense of my
surroundings by the opening of the door of the box, and the entry of
one of the theatre attendants, who, addressing me in French, said:
"I beg mademoiselle's pardon, but the Director would esteem it a
favour if mademoiselle would step down to the bureau at once."
"What do they want with me?" I inquired quickly, with considerable
surprise.
"Of that I have no knowledge, mademoiselle; I was merely told to ask
you to go there without delay."
Therefore, in wonder, I rose and followed the man downstairs and
through the crowd of revellers to the private office of the Director,
close to the main entrance of the Casino.
In the room I found the Director, an elderly man, with short, stiff
grey hair, sitting at a table, while near him stood two men dressed
as pierrots with their masks removed.
When the door was closed, the Director, courteously offering me a
seat, apologised for disturbing me, but explained that he had done so
at the request of his two companions.
"I may as well at once explain," said the elder of the two in French,
"that we desire some information which you can furnish."
"Of what nature?" I inquired, in a tone of marked surprise.
"In the theatre, an hour ago, you were accosted by a masker, wearing
a dress representing an owl. You danced with him, but were
afterwards lost in the crowd. Search was made through all the rooms
for you, but you could not be found. Where have you been?"
"I have been sitting in the box in conversation with the stranger."
"All the time?"
"Yes. He took precautions against being seen."
"Who was he?"
"I have no idea," I responded, still puzzled by the man's demand.
"I had better, perhaps, explain at once to mademoiselle that we are
agents of police," he said, with a smile, "and that the movements of
the individual who met you and chatted with you so affably are of the
greatest interest to us."
"Then you know who he is?" I exclaimed quickly.
"Yes. We have discovered that."
"Who is he?"
"Unfortunately, it is not our habit to give details of any case on
which we are engaged until it is completed."
"The case in question is the murder of Mr. Thorne at the 'Grand
Hotel,' is it not?"
"Mademoiselle guesses correctly. She was a friend of the unfortunate
gentleman's, if I mistake not?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Well," he said, in a confidential tone, while his companion, a
slightly younger man, stood by regarding me and tugging at his
moustache, "we should esteem it a favour if you would kindly relate
all that has transpired this evening. When we saw him meet you we
were not certain of his identity. His disguise was puzzling.
Afterwards there could be no doubt, but he had then disappeared."
"I had thought that the police had relinquished their inquiries," I
said, gratified, nevertheless, to know that they were still on the
alert.
"It is when we relax our efforts slightly that we have the better
chance of success," the detective replied. "Did the man give you any
name?"
"No; he refused to tell me who he was."
"And what was his excuse for accosting you and demanding a
_tête-à-tête_?"
"He said he wished to warn me of an impending peril. In brief, he
told me that my life was in jeopardy."
"Ah!" the man ejaculated, as he exchanged a meaning glance with his
companion. "And his pretence was to give you warning of it. Did he
tell you by whom your life was threatened?"
"No. He refused any details, but made certain suggestions as to the
course I should pursue."
"That sounds interesting. What did he suggest?"
I hesitated for a few moments. Then reflecting that the stranger was
evidently under the observation of the police, and that the latter
were trying to bring poor Reggie's assassin to justice, I resolved to
reveal all that had passed between us.
Therefore I gave a brief outline of our conversation just as I have
written it in the foregoing pages. Both detectives, at hearing my
story, seemed very much puzzled.
"You will pardon my intrusion," exclaimed the agent of police who had
first spoken to me, "but as you will see, this is a clue which must
be thoroughly investigated. Will mademoiselle forgive me for asking
whether there is any truth in this man's surmise that she is about to
become engaged to marry this Monsieur Keppel?"
"None whatever," I answered frankly. "I can only suppose that some
unfounded gossip has arisen, as it so often does, and that it has
reached his ears."
"Yet he threatens--or at least warns you of peril if you should
become the wife of this wealthy monsieur! Ah! there seems to be some
very deep motive; what it really is, we must seek to discover. When
we have found it we shall have, I feel confident, a clue to the
murderer of Monsieur Thorne."
"But there is still another rather curious fact," I went on, now
determined to conceal nothing. "He declared that it was necessary
for my well-being that I should return to London, and there meet some
person who would visit me on the 2nd of June next."
"Ah! And you intend keeping that appointment, I presume?"
"I intend to do nothing of the kind, monsieur," I replied, with a
laugh. "The affair is a very ugly one, and I have no desire whatever
that my name should be linked further with it."
"Of course. I quite understand the annoyance caused to mademoiselle.
It is sufficient to have one's friend murdered in that mysterious
manner, without being pestered by mysterious individuals who mask
themselves and prophesy all sorts of unpleasant things if their
orders are not obeyed. Did you promise to return to London?"
"I said I would consider the advisability of doing so."
"You are diplomatic--eh?" he said, with a laugh. "It is unfortunate
that this fellow has slipped through our fingers so cleverly--very
unfortunate!"
"But if he is known to you, there will surely not be much difficulty
in rediscovering him."
"Ah! that's just the question, you see. We are not absolutely
certain as to his identity." Then after a slight pause, he glanced
at me and asked suddenly: "Mademoiselle has a friend--or had a
friend--named Cameron--a Monsieur Ernest Cameron? Is that so?"
I think I must have blushed beneath the piece of black velvet which
hid my cheeks.
"That is correct," I stammered. "Why?"
"The reason is unimportant," he answered carelessly. "The fact is
written in the papers concerning the case, and we like always to
verify facts in such a case as this--that's all."
"But he has no connection with this tragic business!" I hastened to
declare. "I haven't spoken to him for nearly two years--we have been
apart for quite that time."
"Of course," said the man reassuringly; "the fact has nothing to do
with the matter. I merely referred to it in order to obtain
confirmation of our reports. You mentioned something of a proposed
yachting cruise. What did this mysterious individual say regarding
that?"
"He warned me not to go on board the _Vispera_----"
"The _Vispera_?" he interrupted. "The owner of the yacht is monsieur
the millionaire, is he not?"
I responded in the affirmative.
"And this Monsieur Keppel has invited you to go with others on a
cruise to Naples?
"Yes. But how did you know that it was to Naples?" I inquired.
"All yachts sailing from Nice eastward go to Naples," he answered,
laughing. "I suppose the programme includes a run to the Greek
islands. Constantinople, Smyrna, and Tunis, eh?"
"I think so; but I have not yet heard definitely."
"You have accepted the invitation, I take it?"
I nodded.
"And that, of course, lends colour to the belief that monsieur the
millionaire is in love with you, for it is well known that although
he has that magnificent yacht he never goes on a pleasure cruise."
"I can't help what may be thought by gossips," I said hastily. "Mr.
Keppel is a friend of mine--nothing further."
"But this friendship has apparently caused certain apprehensions to
arise in the minds of the persons of whom your mysterious companion
was the mouthpiece--the people who threaten you with death should you
disobey them."
"Who are those people, do you imagine?" I inquired, deeply in
earnest, for the matter seemed to grow increasingly serious.
"Ah!" he answered, with a shrug of his shoulders. "If we knew that
we should have no difficulty in arresting the assassin of Monsieur
Thorne."
"Well, what do you consider my best course?" I asked, utterly
bewildered by the mysterious events of the evening.
"I should advise you to keep your own counsel, and leave the
inquiries to us," was the detective's rejoinder. "If this man again
approaches you, make an appointment with him later and acquaint us
with the time and place at once."
"But I don't anticipate that I shall see him again."
Then, determined to render these police agents every assistance, even
though they had been stupidly blind to allow the stranger to escape,
I drew from my pocket the small packet which he had given me.
"This," I said, "he handed to me at the last instant, accompanied by
a hope that I would not fail to keep the appointment in London."
"What is it?"
"I don't know."
"Will you permit us to open it?" he inquired, much interested.
"Certainly," I responded. "I am anxious to see what it contains."
The detective took it, and cut the string with his pocket-knife;
then, while his subordinate and the Director of the Casino craned
their necks to investigate, he unwrapped paper after paper until he
came to a square jewel-case covered in dark crimson leather.
"An ornament, I suppose!" exclaimed the detective.
Then he opened the box, and from its velvet-lined depths something
fell to the ground which caused us to utter a loud cry of surprise in
chorus.
The detective stooped to pick it up.
I stood dumbfounded and aghast. In his hand was a bundle of folded
French bank-notes--each for one thousand francs. They were the notes
stolen from Reginald Thorne by his assassin.