No words can convey Geoffrey’s agony of mind on receiving the
butler’s cool denial. In that moment every shred of delusion was swept
away, leaving him face to face with a stark reality nothing could
cloak or soften. Catherine was gone. Whether she had fallen victim to
the rapacity of an unknown assailant, or was at this moment hidden
away in some dark corner, silenced for ever by the mongrel confronting
him, he was powerless to fathom; both suppositions were possible, both
equally appalling.
As on a former occasion, a savage impulse seized him to drive his
fingers into Eduardo’s thick neck and throttle him. His desire must
have showed in his face, for with a watchful look the man retreated a
step. Noting the movement, Geoffrey took an iron grip on himself,
recalling the part he had to play.
“Evidently,” he remarked in even tones, “you did not take in what I
said to you this morning. The fact is, Miss West left Fontainebleau
last night, meaning to return here. Since that time she has not been
seen.”
What might have passed for a glimmer of interest showed in the small
wary eyes.
“That’s odd,” he replied insolently. “I am sure I don’t know what to
say about it. We’ve not seen her, I promise you that,” and he
scratched his ear defiantly.
“In any case,” continued Geoffrey, “I have thought best to report the
matter to the Commissariat, and they are sending a man here presently
to look into the matter. He will want to take a formal statement from
you and Jeanne, in order to make certain she did not come home. Also
the apartment has got to be searched.”
“Quite so,” replied the Portuguese imperturbably. “Jeanne has been put
to bed. She’s come over a bit queer after all this, but I daresay she
is well enough to answer questions.”
He turned to walk away, but Geoffrey stopped him.
“That is not all. You and Jeanne will naturally be required to give
evidence at the inquest. Until that is over I wish you both to remain
here, occupying the uninjured rooms. Your wages will be paid, and you
will assist with the inventory and removal of Mme. Bender’s effects.”
The butler gave this a brief consideration.
“I understand,” he agreed casually. “Anything more?”
“Not at the moment,” answered Geoffrey.
He stood watching the thick-set figure move stolidly away towards the
bend of the hall, satisfied that he had said nothing to rouse
suspicion. Then he pushed open the salon doors and stepped inside.
Not a soul of all the mixed assembly now remained, only the trampled
carpet and a litter of cigarette ashes, bearing evidence to the scene
of the morning. From the left wall the mediaeval figures in the
tapestry looked down upon him with placid indifference, while
opposite, above the mantel-mirror, gay ladies and gallants made
frivolous love in a sylvan paradise. A pall-like stillness pervaded
the place.
Mechanically he moved towards the window and, pushing aside the
curtains, stared into the street below. Then, with sudden interest he
fixed his eyes on a roughly-clad labourer, at that moment hoisting a
ladder against one of the chestnut trees. On the ground beside him lay
a canvas bag of implements. An odd time of the year to clip the trees,
reflected the watcher. Then it dawned on him that in all likelihood
this inconspicuous workman was one of the persons employed to surround
the house. If so, the inspector had been prompt.
A step sounded on the carpet behind him and, turning, he saw the
little police sergeant approaching with a confidential air.
“About that matter, monsieur,” whispered the Frenchman with a backward
jerk of the head. “I regret to say I was not successful. No sooner was
your back turned than the fellow put on his hat and--_pszt! Quel
trace!_” He swept an expressive gesture.
“Never mind, it was just what I expected. I have made a report to the
Commissariat, and they are going to take things in hand.”
The black eyes widened with interest.
“_Ah, mon Dieu!_ So you intend to make a charge?” he whispered.
Before Geoffrey could reply a loud knock shattered the silence,
causing both men to jump. They reached the hall to find Eduardo in the
act of admitting Inspector Bazin and two supernumeraries.
“Any news, monsieur?” inquired the officer expectantly.
“None. She has not come back.”
The blond countenance expressed surprise.
“I confess that astonishes me. Well, then--we will proceed.”
In a few words he despatched his men on their business of searching
the premises, having first demanded the keys to the _cave_, which the
butler promptly produced. His manner towards the Portuguese was
affable, creating the impression of enlisting assistance.
“One never knows what to expect in these cases,” he remarked to the
party at large. “One is obliged to allow for the most unlikely
possibilities. As a matter of fact,” and here he addressed Eduardo
directly, “although most of this search is a pure formality, I have an
idea that the young lady did come home without anyone’s knowing it and
went away again soon afterwards. I suppose that has not occurred to
you?”
Thus appealed to, the butler was forced to give some sort of reply,
which he did in an unresponsive fashion.
“No,” he said shortly. “But I have not thought about it.”
“I see,” assented the inspector, unmoved, and got out his note-book
and pencil. “However, as the stairs from the _rez de chaussée_ emerge
close to her room, and your room is on the other side of the
apartment, would it not be possible for her to come in without your
hearing her? Did you, in fact, hear her on the evenings when, for
example, she was out late?”
“Not as a rule.”
“Ah!--and now what was your first intimation of last night’s trouble?”
For a second the butler’s glance flickered in the Englishman’s
direction. Was there something furtive about it, or had Geoffrey’s
imagination become over-acute?
“I waked up with the maid shaking me. She was screaming out that
madame’s room was on fire, that she had tried to put it out, but----”
“Never mind the maid’s part. The time is what I want to know.”
“Can’t say exactly. Something after one.”
“And on your way to your mistress’s room did you hear any sort of
noise?”
Eduardo hesitated, thought a moment, then to Geoffrey’s surprise said,
“A moment later I did.”
In spite of himself the young man leaned forward eagerly, his eyes on
the heavy face. The inspector went on calmly:
“Indeed! What did the noise seem to be?”
“There was no seem about it. Someone was beating on this door here,
nearly breaking it in. I’ve told all that to M. l’agent here,” he
added, motioning towards the little officer. “It was a gentleman from
the third floor who was crossing the court, saw the flames through the
window, and came up to wake us. While the maid and I tried to get
madame out he ran down the avenue and gave the alarm.”
“Ah--so it was he who gave the alarm? I did not know that.”
“Yes--first he had a go at the telephone, but the line was dead.”
“Were the engines quick in getting here?”
“Quick enough, but the fire had made a fair headway. You see, the maid
did not wake up till her own room was filled with smoke. She was up
with Madame most of the previous night, and slept heavily in
consequence.”
“Precisely. Well, that is about all I wanted to know.” The Inspector
ran an alert eye over his notes, then added suddenly, “By the way, can
you account for a light being seen in the young lady’s room at a
quarter-past one this morning? About the time you were attempting the
rescue, I should say.”
If this news came as a shock, not a muscle of the swarthy face
betrayed the fact. Only the small eyes grew watchful, and it was
almost half a minute before their owner answered indifferently.
“It’s the first I’ve heard of it. Maybe one of the women went in the
room early in the evening and left the light on.”
“Ah, that seems possible. Still, if mademoiselle took it into her head
to go quietly out just then, I take it there was a good chance of her
doing so unobserved?”
“I daresay,” returned the man, who was now looking a little puzzled.
“A good deal might have happened about then without our knowing.”
“Naturally. That will do, I think. And now if you will conduct us to
the maid we will see if she has anything more to suggest.”
For the first time a trace of hesitation appeared in the confident
manner.
“I’ll ask the doctor if you can see her,” he muttered, making off to
the left. “He is with her now.”
Feeling sure that the fellow was anxious to have a private word with
his associate, Geoffrey shot a questioning look at Bazin, but the
latter did not heed him. Already he was striding after the Portuguese
with long easy steps.
“That is all right, my man: I will speak to the doctor myself. Is this
the room?”
They had reached the door at the corner, giving on the largest
bedroom, indeed, the one formerly occupied by Mme. Bender. The
butler’s thick hand was already on the knob, but with a firmness not
at all discourteous, the inspector pushed it aside.
“Allow me,” he said, and the following instant he and Geoffrey stood
within, while by the simplest manœuvre Eduardo had been left alone in
the passage. Geoffrey fancied he caught a contraction of annoyance in
the murky brown eyes as they watched the door close.
The two men paused for a moment, their eyes accustoming themselves to
the semi-twilight, for the curtains of apple-green damask were drawn
across the windows, excluding every ray of sunlight. The wide,
irregular chamber, furnished with a delicate magnificence, had a
general look of abandonment and neglect. The panelled walls showed
here and there a faded rectangular patch, where at some time a picture
had hung; the dressing-table, formed of a beautiful Venetian console,
was bare of ornaments, as was the painted eighteenth-century
escritoire opposite. The thick neutral-toned carpet showed streaks of
dust.
In an alcove stood a wide decorated Italian bed, with a table beside
it on which was a telephone instrument and an open medical case. A
black-clad, pompous figure straightened up to take a survey of the
intruders through thick glasses.
“Ah, monsieur,” murmured the doctor, coming forward as he recognized
Geoffrey. “What a truly shocking affair! Who could have foreseen such
an event? That poor woman there”--he motioned to the bed--“is
completely prostrated! Would not give up, however, until I threatened
her with hospital. She has spirit.”
“Badly injured?” asked the Inspector.
“Not physically. Some painful burns about the hands and arms. It is
her nervous system which is suffering most, and no wonder. I have
given her a small injection of morphia, and presently she will get
some sleep. You wish to speak to her?”
“Only to ask her a few questions. I shall not be long.”
The good man nodded. Watching him closely, Geoffrey was confirmed in
his former impression, that here was a well-meaning, somewhat
old-fashioned muddler--just the sort of physician Jeanne would be
likely to choose for her purpose, accurately sizing him up as a
complaisant, unsuspecting tool.
“This will prove a severe blow to the poor Mademoiselle West,” went on
the doctor, preparing to depart. “I thank God that she was away when
it happened.”
Geoffrey did not attempt to undeceive him. He allowed the other to
press his hand with kindly solemnity, then shutting the door upon him,
turned towards the alcove with a taut feeling of expectancy, letting
his eyes rest upon the still figure lying upon the bed.
There was little light in the shadowed recess, and for a moment he
could not tell whether the woman’s eyes were open or closed. All he
could make out was the outline of her body beneath the satin coverlet,
the dark streaks of disordered hair above the sallow forehead, and her
two stiff, white-swathed arms. Intense loathing seized him. The
apparent fact that she was suffering from nervous collapse stirred in
him no compassion, since her very state argued an abominable scheme to
extort sympathy and divert suspicion from herself. She had taken
everyone else in, but she had no power over him. He told himself that
whether or not she had had any hand in spiriting Catherine away, she
had at any rate one crime upon her soul, and that a peculiarly
cold-blooded, diabolical one.
The inspector had switched on a reading-lamp beside the bed, and its
shaded rays fell now upon the drawn and pinched countenance, revealing
the expression of dull apathy Geoffrey had noticed earlier in the day.
It was impossible to guess the thoughts that lay behind that
indifferent stare, or to tell whether or not its owner could be
trapped into any damaging admission.
In a few words the inspector explained his business. The prostrate
woman let her opaque eyes rest upon his face for a full minute, then
slowly turned them upon Geoffrey, her ragged brows contracted with
puzzled incredulity.
“But surely monsieur was not serious in what he said this morning?”
she murmured. “Even now I cannot understand. You say that mademoiselle
came here last night?”
“That is what we have got to find out,” replied Bazin soothingly. “We
cannot tell yet what has happened. You were asleep up till the time
your room became filled with smoke?”
“Yes, monsieur, I woke up half-suffocated.”
“And before that--was everything as usual?”
She drew a long breath.
“Not quite, monsieur. Madame had a caller, a lady, who remained with
her till seven o’clock. This lady had always an exciting effect on
madame, and when she had gone last night I had great difficulty in
quieting the patient.”
Geoffrey’s thoughts flew to Miss Cushing.
“What did you do?” inquired the inspector.
“I massaged her for a quarter of an hour, and at nine o’clock
administered the usual dose of veronal prescribed by the doctor. At
half-past ten I looked in and found her just dropping off to sleep.
Then I went to bed.”
“Have you any idea as to how the fire started?”
There was a long pause. Geoffrey listened with strained attention for
the reply.
“I have, monsieur,” replied the maid slowly. “Indeed, after what I saw
when I first opened the door there can be no doubt as to the cause.
The curtains of the bed caught in the flame of the candles on the
wall.”
“Candles!”
“Yes, monsieur. Madame must have waked up, got out of bed, and lighted
the candles before the _prie-dieu_. I saw plainly the streams of
melted wax.…”
“But surely it was dangerous to have candles so close to the
draperies?”
“Most dangerous. Indeed, when I discovered recently that madame had
been burning her candles during the night I took them away, fearing
she might do herself an injury.”
“You took them away! Then how----?”
Watching closely, Geoffrey saw the still face darken with a look of
accusation.
“That is what I am asking myself, monsieur. It is evident that unknown
to me madame had obtained others, as well as matches. Someone must
have given them to her secretly. That person, whoever it was, is
responsible for madame’s death.…”
The cold deliberation of this statement caused both listeners to
stiffen. Here was something totally unexpected.
“But is it possible that anyone knowing madame’s condition could have
done so foolish a thing?”
There was the faintest perceptible shrug of the supine shoulders.
“Ah, monsieur, you do not know what I have had to fight against with
those who refused to recognize madame’s mental state, and set
themselves to humour her whims.…”
“You mean to suggest that the caller yesterday brought candles with
her and helped madame to hide them?”
Another pause, while Geoffrey hung breathless upon the next words,
which came hesitatingly:
“Ah, no, monsieur, I cannot believe it was the friend I mentioned. She
is a lady of a certain age, who though sometimes unfortunate in her
speech would, I believe, know better than to commit such an
indiscretion. No, monsieur, in my opinion it was someone else--someone
younger and less responsible.…”
“You mean?”
“The young lady you tell me is missing… Mademoiselle West.…”
Geoffrey made an angry movement forward, the cool infamy of the
suggestion acting on him like the prick of a spur. Catherine
responsible for the victim’s death! Even as his lips parted to voice a
furious protest he caught a warning glance from the Frenchman’s eye,
and subsided, breathing hard.
“That statement implies a serious accusation,” Bazin replied somewhat
sternly. “You are aware of what you are saying?”
The lined face remained inscrutable.
“I do not think that mademoiselle realized the gravity of her action,
consequently I accuse her of nothing but thoughtlessness. But if I am
questioned in court as to the cause of my mistress’s death…” She
allowed her sentence to end in ominous silence, and with an air of
exhaustion closed her eyes.
Geoffrey’s fingers twitched, but the inspector proceeded, unperturbed.
“Listen to me,” he said, referring to his notes. “If the young lady
did reach the apartment last night, she must have done so shortly
after midnight. Well, then--at a quarter-past one there was a light in
her room.”
The eyes opened abruptly. Geoffrey saw that their dullness had
vanished, giving place to a sharp attention. For a tense moment they
searched the speaker’s face.
“_En effet!_” The words were muttered under her breath with a mixture
of wonderment and cogitation. “Is it true what you are telling me?”
“It is an established fact. This gentleman here was outside in his
car, saw the window lit up and a shadow across the blind. Then the
light was put out.”
With a jerk Jeanne turned her head and stared at the Englishman in
silence. She seemed to be thinking deeply.
“_En effet!_” she repeated slowly, as though some new light began to
break over her. “Now I see why you are asking me all these questions.
So she was here!… One might almost suppose, monsieur, that she was
hiding in her room waiting for a chance to steal away unobserved.…”
“Why unobserved? Have you anything in your mind?”
She did not answer at once, her dark eyes still narrowed with their
look of concentrated thought. When she spoke it was with halting
deliberation.
“It is difficult to say, monsieur.… But the idea has this moment
occurred to me that perhaps--who knows?--mademoiselle discovered the
fire before I was aware of it, realized that it was the consequence of
her own folly and--you follow me, monsieur?--took herself off in order
to avoid the result of an inquiry. Mind, I know nothing, I. But if the
unfortunate young lady saw at a glance that it was impossible to save
madame…”
Geoffrey never knew how the interview terminated, nor by what exercise
of diplomacy Bazin managed to get him out of the bedroom without
making a scene. All he recalled was that somehow or other he was
outside in the passage, struggling to throw off a firm grasp which
detained him by the shoulder. Through a red haze of anger he heard a
voice saying:
“Gently, monsieur! There is nothing to be gained by violence. Do not
speak now--follow me to the back of the apartment.”
With an effort at control the young man allowed himself to be led
along to the left and into an unused room, the door of which the
inspector closed. Then his indignation burst its bonds.
“You heard what that devil said?” he cried in stifled accents. “You
heard? She has had the audacity to assert that mademoiselle----”
He broke off, dimly aware of a change in his companion’s manner. The
blue eyes level with his held a shade of uncertainty, one rough hand
upraised itself to twist the ends of the blond moustache.
“Monsieur,” came the reply, hesitatingly and with a slight hint of
embarrassment, “either that woman in there is exceedingly resourceful,
or else----” he paused.
“Else what?”
“Or else she has hit upon what very possibly may be the true
explanation of mademoiselle’s absence.”
Geoffrey’s eyes blazed at him.
“My God! You don’t mean to tell me you believe her story!”
“Monsieur, I do not believe anything till we have absolute proof that
the young lady returned last night. Remember our first two theories.
But if we find that she was here, then what we have just heard
suggests the happiest way out of the difficulty.”
“_Happiest?_”
“Naturally--for in that event she is at this moment perfectly safe,
only dreading to come forward.…”
Thunderstruck, Geoffrey stared at him, temporarily deprived of speech.