John Stapleton, the millionaire banker, accompanied by Richard Duvall,
arrived in Paris early in the afternoon, and went at once to the
former's house in the Avenue Kleber.
Upon their arrival, Duvall waited for sometime, while the distressed
husband and wife were closeted together upstairs. At last they descended
to the library, and Duvall was presented to Mrs. Stapleton.
The joy which her husband's arrival had caused her sent a new glow of
hope to her careworn cheeks, and she greeted the detective most
cordially. Clearly she felt that now something would at last be done, to
find her missing child.
Duvall's first questions related to Mary Lanahan, the nurse. He was
relieved to find that she had quite recovered from her sudden illness.
"Will you kindly have her brought here, Mrs. Stapleton?" he asked. "I
would like to question her."
In a few moments the nurse appeared. She was an extremely good-looking
girl, smart and well dressed. Duvall recognized in her frank face, her
clear blue eyes, the same appearance of honesty which had impressed him
during his interview with Patrick Lanahan, her father.
"Mary," said Mrs. Stapleton, "this is Mr. Duvall. He is trying to find
Jack for us. Tell him your story."
The girl turned to Duvall, who had risen. "I can hardly expect you to
believe what I am going to say, Mr. Duvall, yet I assure you that it is
the solemn truth."
"Go ahead, Miss Lanahan," said the detective. "I am prepared to believe
whatever you may say."
The girl sat down, at Mrs. Stapleton's request. She still was somewhat
weak, from her recent illness.
"It was a week ago last Wednesday. I left the house with Master Jack at
half-past ten, and we drove to the Bois."
"Just a moment, please." Duvall stopped her with a quick gesture. "How
long had you been going to the Bois in this way?"
"Over six weeks."
"And you always left about the same time--half-past ten?"
"Always."
"Who accompanied you besides the child?"
"Francois--the chauffeur."
"Always?"
"Yes."
Duvall turned to Mrs. Stapleton. "How long has this man Francois been in
your employ?"
"A year--in June."
"You have found him honest, reliable?"
"Always. Otherwise I should not have kept him."
The detective turned to Mary Lanahan. "Go ahead, please," he said.
"We reached the Bois shortly before eleven--Francois had orders to go
slowly, when Master Jack was in the machine--and drove about for fifteen
minutes. Then we stopped at the place where we were in the habit of
playing."
"Was it always the same place?"
"Yes. There is a smooth field of grass there, and a clump of trees by
the road, where the machine always waited."
"Go on."
"We left the car, and walked out over the grass. Master Jack had a big
rubber ball, and he was kicking it along, and running after it.
Sometimes he would kick it to me, and I would throw it back to him. We
played about in that way for over half an hour. Mrs. Stapleton wished
the boy to have the exercise."
"I see. And you generally played about in the same place?"
"Yes."
"How far from the road?"
"About three hundred feet."
"And from the nearest bushes, or woods?"
"A little more than that, I should say."
"You could see Francois, in the machine, from where you were?"
"Yes, I could see the machine. I could not always see Francois; for
sometimes he would get out, and walk about, or sit under the trees and
smoke a cigarette."
"Do you remember noticing him, on this particular morning?"
"Yes. I saw him sitting in the machine."
"What was he doing?"
"Reading a newspaper."
"Had he ever done that before?"
The girl hesitated, as though a new idea had come to her. "No--I cannot
remember that he ever had."
"Very well. Go ahead with your story."
"Well--after we had played for about half an hour--I got tired and sat
down on the grass. Master Jack still kept playing about with the ball. I
sat idly, looking at the sky, the road--dreaming--"
"About what?" interrupted the detective, suddenly.
The girl colored. "About--about some people I know."
"Go ahead."
"I heard the boy playing, behind me. Then I looked around--and--he was
gone!" The nurse made this statement in a voice so full of awe that it
carried conviction to her hearers. Duvall felt that, whatever the real
facts of the disappearance of the child, this woman's story was true.
"What did you do then?"
"I stood up and looked about. I thought Master Jack was hiding from
me--playing a joke on me. Then I realized that there was no place that
he could hide. The nearest trees were too far off. He could not have
reached them. I called and called. I was very much frightened."
"Francois, who heard me, came running over the grass. I asked him if he
had seen Master Jack. He said, no, that he had not seen anyone. After
that we searched everywhere--in the woods, along the road--for nearly an
hour, but could find nothing. Then we came home, and told Mrs.
Stapleton." The girl looked at her employers in fright.
"What about the rubber ball?" Duvall asked, suddenly.
"It--it was gone."
"Then it is clear that the child must have been taken away peaceably,
without objection on his part. Had he struggled, cried, he would have
dropped the ball, would he not?"
"I suppose so."
"How long was your head turned from him--while you were--dreaming?"
"About a minute."
"Not more?"
"No."
"How do you estimate the time so closely?"
"I'm sure it could not have been longer. A minute is quite a long
time."
"What time was it when you got back to the house?"
"About--about one o'clock, I think." The girl turned to Mrs. Stapleton
for confirmation of her answer.
"It was a quarter-past one," said Mrs. Stapleton, promptly. "I noted the
time particularly, because it was later than usual. Mary had orders to
bring Jack back for luncheon not later than one."
Duvall began to make some figures on a piece of paper. "You fix the time
of the boy's disappearance at 11.30. You say you hunted for him an hour.
That would be 12.30." He looked at the girl searchingly. "You arrived
home at 1.15. That would mean that it took 45 minutes to get here." He
turned to Stapleton. "Please send for your chauffeur, Francois."
Mr. Stapleton rang a bell, and ordered the servant who responded to send
in the chauffeur. Meanwhile Mary Lanahan was regarding Duvall with
nervous apprehension.
"We must have hunted for him longer than I thought," she said, at
length.
Duvall made no reply, but waited until the arrival of the chauffeur. He
proved to be a short, heavily built man, with long powerful arms, and a
swarthy face--evidently from the south of France. His countenance was
stolid and emotionless. He appeared the well trained servant.
Duvall addressed him at once. "How long would it take you, my man,
driving fast, to reach this house from the spot in the Bois where Master
Jack was lost?"
The man responded at once. "Ten minutes," he said, "easily."
"What time was it when this woman," the detective indicated the nurse,
"called to you, on discovering that the child was gone?"
"I do not know."
"Have you no idea?"
"It must have been about twelve o'clock. We hunted for the boy till
about one--then came home."
"The nurse says it was half-past eleven."
The man shrugged his shoulders. "It may have been. I did not observe the
time."
"What were you doing?"
"I was asleep."
Mr. Stapleton started. "Asleep?" he demanded, angrily.
The man nodded. "The day was warm. I had nothing to do. For a time I
read the paper. I must have dozed in my seat; for, the next thing I
knew, the nurse was calling to me, and the boy was gone."
Duvall frowned. "Then you could not say whether anyone else was near the
nurse and the boy, at the time he was kidnapped?"
"No, monsieur. I could not."
"That will do." The detective turned to Mr. Stapleton. "Have your man
drive us to the place where all this occurred."
The banker gave the man the order, and he left the room. Then Duvall
turned again to Mary Lanahan.
"You were taken suddenly ill one day last week. Tell us about it."
The woman looked up. "It was very mysterious, sir. I went out for a
walk. At a cafe in the Rue St. Honore I had a cup of chocolate."
"Alone?" asked the detective, sharply.
The woman colored. "No," she faltered. "I--I was with a friend."
"Who?"
"A--a gentleman I know." She glanced fearfully at Mr. Stapleton. "I--I
would rather not give his name."
"Was it Alphonse Valentin?" asked Duvall, quickly.
The woman colored still more deeply. "Yes," she replied, in scarcely
audible tones.
The banker regarded her in surprise. "Alphonse Valentin!" he cried. "The
fellow I discharged last year, for dishonesty? Mr. Duvall--he's your
man!"
"No--no!" exclaimed the nurse, excitedly. "He knows nothing of the
matter--nothing!"
"That remains to be seen," remarked Duvall, slowly. "Where did you meet
this fellow, Valentin?"
"At the cafe in the Rue St. Honore."
"You had met him there frequently before?"
"Yes."
"After you left the cafe, what did you do?"
"We walked to the Champs Elysees and sat on a bench, talking. Suddenly I
felt very ill. Mr. Valentin called a cab and sent me home."
"Give me the address of this cafe, please."
The woman did so. As Duvall was entering it in his notebook, a servant
announced that the automobile was at the door.
In fifteen minutes the party, consisting of Mr. Stapleton, Duvall, and
Mary Lanahan, were leaving the car at the spot in the Bois de Boulogne
which had been the scene of the kidnapping. Francois was ordered to
drive his machine to the exact spot, as nearly as he could tell, that it
had occupied on the previous occasion. Mary Lanahan led the others to
the place on the grass where she had sat.
It was evident at once that the distances she had named in telling her
story were less, if anything, than the actual facts. It was quite
impossible to see how, in any way, the child could have been taken from
the spot she indicated, to the woods, without consuming a considerable
period of time--five minutes, at least. To believe that the nurse could
have turned away her head for a moment, and then looked around to find
the boy gone seemed the sheerest fabric of the imagination; yet the
woman, in repeating her story, stuck to it with a grim pertinacity
which, it seemed, could come only from the knowledge that she was
telling the truth.
Ten days had elapsed since the boy had been kidnapped. It seemed almost
useless to search the spot for any evidences of the crime. Yet Duvall
began to go over the ground where the nurse testified that she had sat,
with the most minute care. Inch by inch, he examined the turf,
subjecting almost every blade of grass to a separate examination. The
operation required over half an hour, and both Mr. Stapleton and the
nurse grew tired of watching him, and strolled about aimlessly.
Hence they did not see him pick up a tiny object from the grass. It was
a half-smoked cigarette, dirty and almost falling to pieces from the
action of the weather, yet held together by a slender tip of gold.
He placed it carefully within his pocketbook, and rose. "Nothing more to
be done here," he called to Mr. Stapleton, and in a moment the three
were proceeding toward the waiting automobile.
Upon the return to the house, Mr. Stapleton drew the detective into his
library. "Have you discovered anything, Mr. Duvall?" he inquired, making
an effort to conceal his almost frantic anxiety.
"I do not know--yet. I may have a clue; but I am not sure."
"What do you think of the woman's story?"
"It seems impossible to believe it."
"You think, then, that she had a hand in the matter--she and this fellow
Valentin?"
"It begins to look like it."
"On what do you base your conclusions, Mr. Duvall? I cannot bring myself
to believe that Mary Lanahan is lying, ready as I am to suspect this
fellow Valentin."
"First, Mr. Stapleton, on the facts themselves. The boy could not have
been taken away without her knowledge. Secondly, upon some minor
matters--her error of half an hour, in telling her story, for instance."
"I am sorry, Mr. Duvall, but I cannot believe that you are right. I'd
suspect Valentin, at once; but if Mary Lanahan is not telling the truth,
then my experience of twenty years in judging human nature has been
wasted."
"Yet you yourself heard her admit that she was with Valentin only last
Friday, the day she was taken ill."
"Yes. That is true." Mr. Stapleton passed his hand uncertainly across
his forehead. "It's too much for me."
"Let me have a word with the nurse, alone, before I go," asked Duvall.
"Certainly," replied the banker. "I'll send her in to you."
When Mary Lanahan entered the room, the detective went up to her and
eyed her sternly. "Was Alphonse Valentin with you at any time, in the
Bois, that day?"
"No," replied the girl, steadily.
"Does he smoke gold-tipped cigarettes?" asked Duvall, suddenly.
The effect of this question upon the nurse was startling. She recoiled
as though the detective had struck her. "He--he does not smoke at all,"
she gasped, her face gray with fear.
"Don't lie to me!"
"He does not smoke at all," repeated the girl, almost mechanically, and
stood confronting him with a defiant air.
"Very well. That is all." The detective turned from the room and left
the house.
He did not, however, go very far. It was rapidly becoming dark. He
passed down the street until he judged he was out of sight of the house,
then slowly retraced his steps upon the other side, until he had reached
a point nearly opposite the small iron gateway which served as the
servants' entrance to Mr. Stapleton's house. Here, hidden behind a
tree, he watched for perhaps half an hour.
At the expiration of this period, he was rewarded by seeing a young man,
evidently an under servant, emerge from the gateway. Duvall watched him
as he proceeded down the street, then began to follow him.
The young man seemed in no great hurry, and at the junction of the
avenue with the Champs Elysees, Duvall accosted him, speaking in French.
"Do you want to earn twenty francs, my friend?" he asked pleasantly.
The boy regarded him with a quizzical smile. "Who does not, Monsieur?"
he replied.
"Let me see the note you have in your hand."
The boy drew back suddenly, and made as though to thrust the letter into
his pocket. "It is impossible, Monsieur," he began.
Duvall took out a gold twenty-franc piece. "I intend to have the letter,
my man. If you will give it to me peaceably, here are the twenty francs;
if not, I shall be obliged to take it from you by force."
The boy regarded the detective for a moment, as though contemplating
flight. Duvall seized him by the collar. "Give me the note," he cried,
"or I'll call a gendarme and have you placed under arrest!"
The boy allowed the letter to drop to the pavement, seized the
twenty-franc piece, and took to his heels.
Duvall picked it up. As he had expected, it was addressed to Alphonse
Valentin, ---- Boulevard St. Michel. He had waited, on the chance that
Mary Lanahan would lose no time in warning her probable confederate.
The letter gave him the man's address. That was so much accomplished, at
least. Then he tore it open, and read the contents. They proved more
mystifying than anything that he had yet encountered in this mysterious
affair.
"Destroy the cigarettes!" These three words comprised the entire
contents of the note.