PIECES TOGETHER THE PUZZLE
I stepped back quickly, while he, with eyes fixed upon that
fair-haired woman, who seemed the centre of a miniature court, failed
to notice me. Upon his face was a dark, anxious look, an expression
such as I had never before seen upon his countenance. Perhaps he was
jealous of the attention shown by that dozen or so of men who were
chatting and laughing with her.
Her appearance was scarcely that of the keeper of an illicit
gaming-house. One would have expected to find some fine, dashing,
handsome woman, in a striking gown, and with a profuse display of
jewellery. On the contrary, she was quietly dressed in a pretty,
graceful gown of dove-grey cashmere, the bodice cut low and trimmed
with passementerie, a frock which certainly well became her rather
tame style of beauty. The only ornament was a small half-moon of
diamonds in her hair.
Ernest appeared to take in the situation at a glance, and with his
back turned to her stood watching the baccarat, just as I had feigned
to watch it. Through the great mirror before him, however, he could
note all her actions. She was laughing immoderately at some remark
made by one of her companions, and I noticed how Ernest's face went
pale with suppressed anger. How haggard, how thin, how blanched,
nervous, and ill he looked! Usually so smart in attire, his dress
clothes seemed to hang upon him, his cravat was carelessly tied, and
in place of the diamond solitaire I had bought at Tiffany's for him
in the early days of our acquaintance--which he had worn when we met
at Monte Carlo--there was only a plain pearl stud, worth perhaps ten
centimes. Alas! he had sadly changed. His was, indeed, the figure
of a man haunted by the ever-present shadow of his crime.
It was curious, I thought, that he did not approach her; but the
reason for this became plain ere long. I had returned to the
adjoining room, and was again watching the roulette, when suddenly
she brushed past me on her way out into the corridor, into which
several other rooms opened. Suddenly I heard his well-known voice
utter her name in a hoarse whisper.
"Julie!"
Julie! The person mentioned in the letter of warning which she had
torn up at Enghien!
She stopped, and recognising him for the first time, gasped:
"Ernest! You here?"
"Yes," he responded. "I told you that we should meet, and I have
found you, you see. I must speak to you alone."
"Impossible," she responded. "To-morrow."
"No, to-night--now. What I have to say admits of no delay," and he
strode resolutely at her side, while she, her face betraying
displeasure at the encounter, unwillingly went forth into the
corridor.
"Well," I heard her exclaim in impatience, "what is it you have to
say to me? I thought when we parted it was agreed we were not to
meet again."
"You hoped so, you mean," he answered hardly. "Come into one of
these rooms, where we may be alone. Someone may overhear if we
remain standing in this passage."
"Is what you want to say so strictly confidential, then?"
"Yes," he answered, "it is." Then, with every sign of reluctance and
impatience, she opened a door behind them, and they passed into what
appeared to be her own _petit salon_.
Again the fire of jealousy consumed me, and without thought of the
consequences of my act, I went straightway to the door, and entering,
faced them.
As I entered, Ernest turned quickly, then stood rigid and amazed.
"Carmela!" he gasped. "How came you here--to this place?"
"How I came here matters not," I answered, in a hard tone. "It is
sufficient for you to know that I have entered here to demand an
explanation from you and this woman--your accomplice."
"What do you mean?" cried his companion, in her broken English.
"What do you mean by accomplice?"
"I refer to the murder of Reginald Thorne," I said, as quietly as I
was able.
"The murder of Monsieur Thorne," repeated the woman. "And what have
I to do, pray, with the death of that gentleman, whoever he may be?"
Ernest glanced at me strangely, and then addressed her in a firm
voice.
"The person who murdered him was none other than yourself--Julie
Fournereau."
I stood dumbfounded. Was it possible that he intended to endeavour
to fix the guilt upon her, even though I knew the truth by the words
I had overheard, which were paramount to an admission?
"What!" she shrieked, in fierce anger, speaking in French. "You have
sought me here to charge me with murder--to bring against me a false
accusation? It is a lie! You know that I am innocent."
"That point, madame, must be decided by a judge," he answered, with
marvellous coolness.
"What do you mean? I don't understand!" she exclaimed, with a slight
quiver in her voice which betrayed a sudden fear.
"I mean that during the months which have elapsed since the murder of
my friend Thorne, at Nice, I have been engaged in tracing the
assassin--or, to put it plainly, in tracing you."
I stood there, utterly astounded. If his words were true, why had he
been concealed on board the _Vispera_ in order to avoid arrest?
She laughed, instantly assuming an attitude of defiance.
"Bah!" she said. "You bring me here into this room to make this
absurd and unfounded charge! You dare not say it before my friends.
They would thrash you as if you were a mongrel of the streets!"
His cheeks were pale, but there was a fierce and resolute expression
upon his countenance. The woman whom I had believed he loved was, it
seemed, his bitterest enemy.
"I have not the slightest wish to bring upon you any greater exposure
or disgrace than that which must inevitably come," he said coolly.
"For months I have been waiting for this opportunity, and by means of
the cipher fortunately discovered your return. I was then enabled to
give the police some highly interesting information."
"The police!" she gasped, her face instantly blanched to the lips.
"You have told them?"
"Yes," he responded, gazing steadily upon her, "I have told them."
"Then let me pass," she said hoarsely, making towards the door.
But in a moment he had barred her passage, then raised a small
whistle quickly to his lips, and blew it shrilly.
"So this is your revenge! I was warned of this from Brussels!" she
cried, turning upon him with a murderous light in her eyes. But
almost before the words had left her mouth there were sounds of
scuffling and shouting, a smashing of glass, and loud imprecations.
The whistle had raised the alarm, and the police had entered the
place, and were preventing the egress of the players.
Outside, in the corridor, there were several fierce scrimmages, but
next instant the door opened, and there entered three detectives--of
whom one was the wizen-faced little man who had betrayed such an
interest in myself when at the Grand Café--accompanied by old Mr.
Keppel, and the woman who had been my travelling companion in the
_wagon-lit_. Certainly the arrangements perfected by the police in
order that their raid upon the private gaming establishment might be
successful in all respects had been elaborately prepared, for at the
signal given by Ernest the _coup_ was instantaneously effected, and
the players, nearly all of whom were persons known as criminals, fell
back entrapped and dismayed.
The old millionaire and his companion were just as astounded to find
me present as Ernest had been. But there was no time at that
exciting moment for explanations. The plan had apparently been
arranged for the arrest of the white-faced woman, who now stood
trembling before us.
"I tell you it's a lie!" she cried hoarsely. "I did not kill him."
But Ernest, turning to the shabby little man, said:
"I demand the arrest of that woman, Julie Fournereau, for the murder
of Reginald Thorne at the 'Grand Hotel,' in Nice."
"You know her?" inquired the detective. "Have you evidence to
justify the arrest?
"I have evidence that she committed the murder--that the sixty
thousand francs stolen from the dead man's pockets were in her
possession on the following morning; and, further, that on the night
on which the murder was committed she was staying under another name
at the very hotel in which Mr. Thorne was found dead."
"And the witnesses?"
"They are already in Paris, waiting to be called to give evidence."
A dead silence fell for a few moments. We each looked at one another.
The wretched woman, who had suddenly been denounced by the man with
whom she had been so friendly at Monte Carlo, was standing in the
centre of the room, swaying forward, supporting herself by clutching
the edge of the small table. Her white lips trembled, but no word
escaped from them. She seemed rendered speechless by the suddenness
of the overwhelming charge.
The detective's voice broke the silence.
"Julie Fournereau," he said in French, advancing a few steps towards
her, "in the name of the law I arrest you for the murder of Reginald
Thorne at Nice."
"I am innocent!" she cried hoarsely, her haggard eyes glaring at us
with a hunted look in them. "I tell you I am quite innocent!"
"Listen," said Ernest, in a firm tone, although there was a slight
catch in his voice, which showed how greatly excited he was. "The
reasons which have led me to this step are briefly these. Last
December, while living here in Paris, I went south to spend the
winter at Monte Carlo. I stayed at the 'Metropole,' and amid the
cosmopolitan crowd there met the woman before you. One day there
arrived at the same hotel, from Paris, my friend Reginald Thorne,
whom I knew well in London, but who had lived in Paris for the past
year. We were about together during the day, and in the Rooms that
evening he encountered me walking beside this woman Fournereau. That
same night he came to my room, and in confidence related to me a
story which at the moment I regarded as somewhat exaggerated, namely,
that he had been induced to frequent a certain gaming-house in Paris,
where he had lost almost everything he possessed, and how he had
ultimately discovered that an elaborate system of sharping had been
practised upon him by the woman and her male accomplices. That
woman, he told me, had left Paris suddenly just at the moment when he
discovered the truth, and he had encountered her in the Rooms with
me. Her name was Julie Fournereau."
I glanced at the wretched woman before us. Her wild eyes were fixed
upon the carpet; her fingers were twitching with intense agitation;
her breath came and went in short quick gasps. Ernest, in his
exposure, was merciless.
"Had she seen him in the Rooms?" I inquired.
"Yes," he answered. "We had come face to face. He told me that, as
he had been robbed of nearly all he possessed, he was determined to
give information against her. She was, he told me, an associate of
bad characters in Paris, and urged me to cut her acquaintance. His
story was strange and rather romantic, for he gave me to understand
that this woman had made a pretence of loving him, and had induced
him to play in her house, with the result that he lost large sums to
a certain man who was her accomplice. Personally, I was not very
much charmed with her," Ernest went on, glancing at me. "She was
evidently, as Thorne had declared, acquainted with many of the worst
characters who frequent Monte Carlo, and I began to think seriously
that my own reputation would be besmirched by being seen constantly
in her company. Still, I tried to dissuade my friend from
endeavouring to wreak justice upon such a person, arguing that, as he
had lost the money in a private gaming establishment, he had no
remedy in law. But he was young and headstrong--possibly suffering
from a fit of jealousy. After several days, however, fearing that he
might create a scene with this notorious woman, I at last induced him
to go over to Nice and stay at the 'Grand.' While there, curiously
enough, he met the lady who is here present, Miss Rosselli, and at
once fell deeply in love with her."
"No," I protested, in quick indignation, "there was no love whatever
between us. That I strongly deny."
"Carmela," he said, bestowing on me a calm and serious look. "In
this affair I must speak plainly and openly. I myself have a
confession to make."
"Of what?"
"Listen, and I'll explain everything." Then turning to the others,
he went on: "Reginald fell violently in love with Miss Rosselli, not
knowing that she had been engaged to become my wife. When, the day
after meeting her at the hotel, he told me of his infatuation, and
heard from me the whole truth, he seemed considerably upset. 'She
loves you still,' he said. 'I feel certain that she does, for she
has given me no encouragement.' I affected to take no notice of his
words, but to me the matter was a very painful one. I had broken off
the engagement, it was true, but my heart was now filled by bitter
remorse. I had seen Carmela again; all the old love had come back to
me, and I now despised myself for my mean and unwarrantable action.
We had met several times, but as strangers; and knowing her proud
spirit, I feared to approach her, feeling certain that she would
never forgive."
"Forgive!" I cried. "I would have gladly forgiven!"
"Carmela," he said, turning again to me with a very serious
expression on his face, "I regret being compelled to lay bare my
secret thus before you, but I must tell them everything."
"Yes," I said. "Now that this woman is to bear the punishment of her
crime, let us know all." Then I added bitterly: "Speak without any
regard for my feelings, or even for my presence."
"A few days prior to his tragic end, poor Reggie had, as I have
explained, moved over to the 'Grand' at Nice, but strangely enough,
the same idea had occurred to this woman Fournereau. She preferred
to live in Nice during Carnival, she told me, for she liked all the
fun and gaiety. Whether it was for that reason, I know not, but at
all events it seems clear, from inquiries recently completed in Nice,
that one afternoon he met this woman at Rumpelmayer's, the
fashionable lounge for afternoon tea, and in a sudden fit of anger
declared that he would denounce her as an adventuress and swindler.
Now it appears that his clients, the gamblers who frequent this
place, number among them some of the most notorious and desperate
members of the criminal fraternity, and the natural conclusion is
that, fearing his exposure, she killed him."
"I deny it!" cried the wretched woman. "It is a false accusation,
which you cannot prove."
"The extreme care and marvellous ingenuity by which the poor fellow's
death was encompassed is shown by every detail of the case. Not a
single point was apparently overlooked. Even the means by which he
was assassinated have remained, until now, a mystery. But passing to
the night of the tragedy, it will be remembered that he had won sixty
thousand francs at roulette, and having left Miss Rosselli and her
friends, he re-entered the Rooms and changed his winnings into large
notes. Half an hour before, this woman, whom I had met earlier in
the evening, and who had dined with me at Giro's, had wished me
good-night. She had previously watched his success at the tables,
and had followed him into the Casino when he re-entered to change the
notes. The interval of about an hour between his leaving Monte Carlo
and his arrival at the 'Grand Hotel' at Nice is still unaccounted
for. Nevertheless, we know that this woman, whom he had threatened,
travelled by the same train from Monte Carlo to Nice, that she
entered the hotel a few minutes later and went to her room, and that
next morning she had in her possession sixty notes, each for a
thousand francs. It seems, however, that she quickly became alarmed
lest suspicion might rest upon her, for the police had commenced
active inquiries, and therefore she resolved to get rid of the stolen
notes. This she did with the aid of an accomplice, a man named
Vauquelin--a man very well known at Monte Carlo. This rascal, one of
the _habitués_ of this place, went to the Carnival ball at the Nice
Casino, and there gave Miss Rosselli the stolen money, intending that
its possession should throw suspicion upon her. Some other members
of that interesting gang of sharpers, who make this place their
headquarters, going south in winter in search of pigeons to pluck,
knowing Vauquelin's intention, posed as detectives, to whom Miss
Rosselli innocently handed over the notes she had received."
He paused for a moment; then he continued: "Now, however, comes one
of the most ingenious features of the affair. This woman, finding
next day that her plot to throw suspicion upon Miss Rosselli had
failed, turned her attention to myself. She was aware that a slight
quarrel had occurred between Reggie and myself regarding his
injudicious and futile action in seeking to denounce her, and, with
others, had overheard some high words between us when we had met on
the terrace at the Café de Paris on the afternoon previous to his
death. She gave information to the police, and then left the Riviera
suddenly. Next day I found myself under the observation of the
police, and in order to escape arrest, induced Mr. Keppel--who has
taken a great interest in the affair from the first, being one of the
trustees under the will of Mr. Thorne, senior--to conceal me on board
his yacht until such time as our inquiries in Paris could be
completed. It was ascertained that this woman Fournereau, who had
gone to Russia, intended to return to her apartment here upon a date
she had arranged with one of her accomplices, a Corsican named
Laumont. This is the reason why it seemed good to me to remain in
hiding from the police until to-day. This is her first reception,
notice of which was circulated among her friends by means of the
cipher upon certain tables in the cafés on the _grands boulevards_."
"Then you, too, were actually concealed on board the _Vispera_ during
the whole cruise?" I exclaimed, in great surprise.
"No, I went ashore at Malta, and the vessel returned for me three
weeks later," he replied.
"But this lady?" I inquired, indicating the handsome woman who had
been my travelling companion in the _wagon-_.
"I am the mother of Reginald Thorne," she herself explained.
"You! Reggie's mother!" I cried, scarcely able to believe her words.
"Yes," she answered. "I was spending the winter in Cairo. Hearing
of my poor son's death, I crossed from Alexandria, and arrived in
Nice, only to find that the _Vispera_ had sailed. A letter was
awaiting me with full explanations, asking me to travel to Malta, and
there join the yacht. This I did; but in order that my presence
should not be known to those on board, I was placed secretly in the
deck-cabin, and never left it. The blow that had fallen upon me on
hearing of poor Reggie's death, combined with the constant
imprisonment in that cabin, I believe upset the balance of my mind,
for one night--the night before we put into Leghorn--I became
unconscious. I was subject to strange hallucinations, and that night
experienced a sensation as though someone was attempting to take my
life by strangulation."
"I must explain," said old Mr. Keppel, addressing her. "It is only
right that you should now know the truth. On the night in question
you were unusually restless, and becoming seized by a fit of
hysteria, commenced to shout and shriek all sorts of wild words
regarding your poor son's murder. Now I had concealed you there, and
fearing lest some of the guests should hear you, and that a scandal
might be created, I tried to silence you. You fought me tooth and
nail, for I verily believe that the close confinement had driven you
insane. In the struggle I had my hands over your mouth, and
afterwards pressed your throat in order to prevent your hysterical
shrieks, when suddenly I saw blood upon your lips, and the awful
truth dawned upon me that I had killed you by strangulation. Tewson,
the chief steward--who, with the exception of Cameron, was the only
person on board who knew of your presence--chancing to enter at that
moment, made the diabolical suggestion that in order to get rid of
the evidence of my crime I should allow him to blow up the ship.
This I refused, and fortunately, half an hour later, I succeeded in
restoring you to consciousness. Then we landed at Leghorn on the
following evening, not, however, before I discovered that the real
motive of Tewson's suggestion was that he had stolen nearly three
thousand pounds in cash, notes, and securities from a box in Lord
Stoneborough's cabin, and wished to destroy the ship so that his
crime might thus be concealed. The man, I have discovered, has a
very bad record, and has now disappeared. But time was pressing, so
we all three left Leghorn for Paris, and I gave orders to Davis to
take the yacht into the Adriatic, where I intended to rejoin it."
Then, briefly, I explained what I had seen and overheard on that
wild, boisterous night in the Mediterranean; how I had followed the
millionaire and the woman who was bent upon avenging the murder of
her son; how I had sent the yacht on to Genoa, and how carefully I
had watched the movements of all three during those days in Paris.
All seemed amazed by my story--Ernest most of all.
"During that night in the _wagon-lit_," I said, addressing Mrs.
Thorne, "I noticed two curious marks upon your neck. Upon your poor
son's neck were similar marks."
"Yes," she replied; "they were birth-marks--known as the marks of
thumb and finger. Poor Reggie bore them exactly as I do."
"And the woman who murdered him, and who so ingeniously attempted
first to fasten the guilt upon Miss Rosselli, and then afterwards
upon myself, is there!" cried Ernest, pointing at the trembling,
pallid woman before us. "She killed him, because she feared the
revelations he could make to the police regarding the place in which
we are standing."
The woman Fournereau raised her head at Ernest's denunciation, and
laughed a strange, harsh laugh of defiance.
"_Bien!_" she cried shrilly, with affected carelessness. "Arrest me,
if you will! But I tell you that you are mistaken. You have been
clever--very clever, all of you; but the assassin was not myself."
The police-officer now spoke to her:
"Then if you yourself are not guilty, you are aware of the identity
of the murderer. Therefore I shall arrest you as being an
accomplice. It is the same."
"No; I was not even an accomplice," she protested quickly. "I may be
owner of this place; I may be a--a person known to you; but I swear I
have never been a murderess."
The officer smiled dubiously.
"The decision upon that point must be left to the judges," he
answered. "There is evidence against you. For the present that is
sufficient."
"Monsieur Cameron has told you that I was threatened with exposure by
the young Englishman," she said. "That is perfectly true. Indeed,
all that has been said is the truth--save one thing. Neither did I
commit the murder, nor had I any knowledge of it until afterwards."
"But the stolen notes were actually in your possession on the
following morning," the detective observed in a tone of doubt.
"They were given to me for safe keeping."
"By whom?"
"I refuse to say."
The detective shrugged his shoulders, and smiles passed across the
faces of his two companions.
"You prefer arrest, then?" he said.
"I prefer to keep my own counsel," she answered. "These persons,"
she continued, indicating us, "have believed themselves extremely
ingenious, apparently taking upon themselves the duties of the
police, and have arrived at quite a wrong conclusion. You may arrest
me if you wish. I have nothing whatever to fear."
And she glanced around at us in open defiance. Indeed, so
indifferent was she, that I felt convinced Ernest's theory of the
committal of the crime had fallen to the ground.
The detective seemed, however, well aware of the woman's character,
and proceeded to deal with her accordingly.
"You are charged with the murder," he said. "It is for you to prove
your innocence."
"Who, pray, is the witness against me?" she demanded indignantly.
"Your accomplice!" cried Ernest quickly. "The man Laumont."
"Laumont!" she cried. "He--he has told you that I committed the
crime; he has denounced me as the murderess?"
"He has," answered Ernest. "On that fatal night when poor Thorne
entered the Rooms to change the notes I met him, and although we had
had a few high words in the Café de Paris on the previous day, he
approached me, asking my pardon, which I readily gave. He then
inquired whether it was really true that Miss Rosselli had been
engaged to me. I replied in the affirmative, and he then said that
he did not intend to meet her again, but should leave for Paris in
the morning. I tried to dissuade him, but his only reply was: 'She
loves you still, my dear fellow. She can never forget you; of that
I'm certain.' Then he left, and travelled to Nice without saying a
single word to her. Arrived at the hotel, he went straight to her
sitting-room and sat down to write her a letter of farewell. He
commenced one, but destroyed it. This was afterwards found in the
room. Then, just as he was about to commence a second letter,
you--you, Julie Fournereau, entered, killed him, and stole the notes
which you knew he carried in his pockets!"
"How did I kill him?" she demanded, her eyes flashing with anger.
"You yourself know that best."
"Ah! And Jean Laumont told you this elaborate piece of fiction, did
he? It is amusing--very amusing!"
At a word from the chief detective, one of the officers left the
room. We heard Laumont's name shouted loudly in the corridor, and a
few minutes later he was ushered in by two officers.
I stood rooted to the spot at sight of him. The man was none other
than Branca, the queer old fellow who had represented to me in
Leghorn that our interests were identical. I saw how ingenious had
been his actions, and how deeply-laid his plot. He had intended that
I should sail to the Adriatic after he had obtained from me all the
information I had collected.
On seeing us, he drew back in quick surprise, but in an instant the
woman flew at him in fury.
"You have told them!" she shrieked. "You have led them to believe
that I murdered the Englishman at Nice; you have declared that it was
I who gave you the notes; I who killed him! You white-livered cur!"
His ugly countenance fell. Indignation had, in an instant, given
place to fear. His sinister face was full of evil.
"And did you not give me the notes?" inquired the dwarfed man, now
well dressed, and presenting a very different appearance from that he
had shown at Leghorn. He had evidently been playing baccarat. "Why,
there are at least two men in yonder room who were present when you
handed them to me."
"I do not deny that," she answered. "I deny that I killed him."
"Then who did?"
"Who did?" she shrieked. "Who did? _Why, you yourself!_"
"You lie!" he cried fiercely, his cheeks in an instant ashen pale.
"I would have told them nothing," she went on quickly. "I would have
allowed them to arrest me and afterwards discover their mistake, were
it not that you had endeavoured to give me into their hands in order
to save yourself. No, my dear friend, Julie Fournereau is loyal only
to those who are loyal to her, as many have before found out to their
cost. I would have saved you had you not led the police here to raid
my house, to arrest my friends, and to hurry me away to prison for a
crime that I did not commit. But listen! You deny the murder of the
young Englishman. Well, shall I relate to them all that occurred?"
"Tell them what untruths you like," he growled fiercely. "You cannot
harm me."
"Yes, madame," urged old Mr. Keppel, "tell us all that you know. We
are determined now to get to the bottom of this affair."
"This man," she explained, "was the man who fleeced the unfortunate
gentleman here in my house. I am not wishing to shield myself for a
single moment--I desire only to tell the truth. Monsieur Thorne,
when they last met here, accused him of cheating at baccarat; high
words ensued, and the young man drew a revolver and fired, the bullet
striking Laumont in the shoulder, whereupon he swore to be avenged.
I knew well that a vow of vengeance taken by such a desperate
character as Laumont was something more than mere idle words; and
when he went to the Riviera, as he did each year, in search of
inexperienced youths whom he could fleece, I shortly afterwards
followed. He stayed first at the 'Hôtel de Paris' at Monte Carlo,
but meeting young Thorne accidentally one afternoon, he discovered
that the latter was living at the 'Grand' at Nice, and that same
night transferred his quarters there. Now, Thorne had an intimate
friend at Nice--Mr. Gerald Keppel--and it seemed as though Laumont
desired to make the latter's acquaintance, with the ulterior motive
of practising his sharper's tricks upon him. Be that as it may, I,
in order to watch the progress of events, moved to the same hotel at
Nice. I knew that Laumont was bent on vengeance, and felt certain
that some terrible _dénouement_ was imminent."
She paused, and glanced around at us. Then lowering her eyes, she
went on:
"I am an adventuress, it is true; but I have still a woman's heart.
I was determined, if possible, to prevent Laumont from wreaking
vengeance upon the poor boy. It was for that reason I followed him
to Nice and took up my abode there. On the day of the tragedy I was
in the Rooms at Monte Carlo in the afternoon, and there saw him
playing and winning; while just as he was leaving with Miss Rosselli,
young Mr. Keppel and another lady, his pockets bulging with his
gains, I saw Jean Laumont watching him. By the evil look he cast in
his direction, I knew that the spirit of murder was in his heart.
That evening I dined at Giro's with Monsieur Cameron, and afterwards
left him in order to watch the movements of Jean and the young
Englishman. The latter, after a short conversation with Monsieur
Cameron in the hall of the Casino, descended by the lift to the
station, and took train to Nice. I travelled by the same train, but
in the crowd at Nice station I lost sight of him. He must have taken
a fiacre immediately to the hotel, and furthermore, the Corsican must
also have followed him, without knowing of my presence. I met some
friends at the station, but on arrival at the hotel, twenty minutes
later, I went straight up to my room. On the way I had to pass the
door of Miss Rosselli's sitting-room, and just as I was approaching,
my feet falling softly on the thick carpet of the corridor, the door
opened noiselessly, and a man, after looking forth stealthily, came
out and stole along to the room he occupied. That man was Jean
Laumont."
"You saw him?" cried Ernest. "You actually saw him coming from the
room?"
"Yes. Instantly, I suspected something wrong, and wondered for what
purpose he had been in the ladies' sitting-room. Therefore, without
hesitation, I pushed open the door and looked inside. Imagine my
surprise when I found the unfortunate man writhing in agony upon the
ground. I knelt by him, but recognising me as the woman at whose
house he had been cheated, he shrank from me. 'That man!' he gasped
with difficulty. 'That man has killed me!' and a few moments later
his limbs straightened themselves out in a final paroxysm of agony,
and he passed away."
Mrs. Thorne burst into a flood of tears.
The tow-haired woman was silent for a moment, her eyes fixed upon the
face of the man against whom she had uttered that terrible
denunciation.
"I stood there terrified--unable to move," she went on. "Laumont
had, as I anticipated, killed him."
"Killed him? How can you prove it?" demanded the cunning
card-sharper, Vauquelin, who had tricked me so cleverly, and who, in
order to throw the police off the scent, pursued the harmless calling
of hairdresser in that back street off the Boulevard St. Michel.
Apparently he was the Corsican's champion. "How can you prove that
Jean Laumont killed him?"