The startling and dramatic entrance of Richard Duvall into Mr.
Stapleton's library, ending with his announcement of the whereabouts of
the kidnapped child, and his subsequent collapse, threw the entire party
into confusion.
Mrs. Stapleton started up with a scream, her overwrought nerves no
longer able to resist the frightful strain under which she had for so
many days been laboring.
Her husband, who had completely forgotten the detective's presence in
the house, in his anxious vigil at the telephone, called out instantly
to one of the servants, ordering him to tell Francois to bring his
automobile to the door.
Monsieur Lefevre, accompanied by Vernet, sprang quickly to Duvall's
assistance. The Prefect felt that, if the latter's statement was
correct, he had won out in the long duel for the honor of recovering the
kidnapped child; but no consideration of this nature could make him any
less concerned for the detective's welfare, or any the less thankful
that, no matter by whose efforts, the missing child had at last been
located. He had hoped that to Grace Duvall would ultimately fall the
prize of success; but these things were, after all, of no serious
weight, compared with the great fact, that the success had at last come.
Assisted by Vernet, he placed Duvall upon a couch, and called for
brandy, and a basin of cold water.
In a few moments, under Vernet's skilful ministrations, the detective's
wound had been washed and temporarily bound up, and he had been restored
to consciousness. A little of the brandy soon served to dispel his
faintness. He declared himself ready to accompany the expedition to
Passy.
The Prefect endeavored to dissuade him; but to no purpose. The message
which he had received in the chauffeur's room, to the effect that the
person calling for help was Grace Duvall, his own wife, seemed so
mysterious, so utterly inexplicable to him, that he could conceive no
reasonable explanation for it. There was but one thing to do,--to go
himself and sift the matter to the bottom. He did not expect to find
Grace there, and yet--what else could the message mean?
Just as he staggered to his feet, with the announcement that he would
accompany the party to Passy, two of the servants rushed into the
library, and with scared faces announced that Francois lay, bound and
unconscious, on the floor of his room. Mr. Stapleton looked quickly at
Duvall.
"It's all right, Mr. Stapleton," exclaimed the detective. "The fellow is
one of the gang." He turned to Monsieur Lefevre. "You'd better have him
placed under arrest at once. And if your car is here, we'll use that,
instead of Mr. Stapleton's. There's not a moment to be lost."
"By all means. My automobile is at the door. Vernet," he turned to his
assistant, "have one of your men take charge of this fellow Francois at
once. We must set out immediately."
Mr. Stapleton took his wife in his arms, and embraced her tenderly.
"Don't worry, dear," he said. "I'll be back with the boy, inside of half
an hour. Come along!" he shouted to the others, as he made for the door.
"No time to waste now."
In a few moments the entire party, consisting of Mr. Stapleton, Duvall,
Monsieur Lefevre, Vernet, and the Prefect's chauffeur, were driving
toward Passy at a rate which set at naught all speed regulations and
sent the few pedestrians who happened to cross their path scampering to
the sidewalk for safety.
Duvall explained, as they went along, the mysterious messages which he
had received by flashlight. No one understood them but Monsieur Lefevre.
He gave a great sigh of relief. The continued and unexplained absence of
Grace had alarmed him greatly. Now he began to understand the reasons
for it. That part of Duvall's story which spoke of haste, the appeal for
prompt assistance, made him look grave. He leaned over to his chauffeur
and urged him to even greater speed.
The trees and houses along the Avenue Kleber, and later the Rue
Franklin, swept by the speeding machine in a whirl of dust. In what
seemed an incredibly short time the automobile dashed into the Rue
Nicolo, and thundered up to No. 42.
Vernet was the first to ascend the steps of the house, closely followed
by Duvall and the others of the party. As they reached the front door,
and rapped loudly, they all heard a sudden commotion within, followed by
cries and shouts and a fall. Instantly all four threw their combined
weight against the door, shattering the lock and bursting it in.
The semidarkness showed a terrifying spectacle. On the floor lay a
woman, unconscious, clutching in her arms a child, trapped in a long
gray coat. Down the dark hallway leading to the rear of the house dashed
the figures of two men. One of them turned, as the attacking party
entered, and hurled the lighted candle which he bore full into their
faces. The entire scene was instantly plunged into darkness.
The momentary light of the candle, however, had been sufficient to send
a thrill of joy through at least one of the entering party. Mr.
Stapleton recognized, in the white and tearful face of the child, his
kidnapped boy, and, stooping, raised him tenderly in his arms.
Duvall, not knowing whether the unconscious woman was the supposed agent
of the police, Mademoiselle Goncourt, or Grace, his wife, lifted her in
his arms and carried her out into the air.
Vernet, followed by the Prefect, and the chauffeur, who had at once
joined them, dashed fearlessly along the dark passage by which the two
men were attempting to escape.
There was a crash, as the rear door was burst out, followed by a volley
of shots as Vernet opened upon the fleeing men with his automatic
revolver.
In a moment the affair was over. The foremost of the two men crumpled up
before he had taken half a dozen strides through the garden, and his
companion raised his hands and surrendered, begging for mercy. Within a
few moments he was handcuffed, and Vernet, bending over his wounded
companion, was directing the chauffeur to summon an ambulance at once.
Monsieur Lefevre returned hastily to the street. His sole concern now
was for Grace. He prayed fervently that no serious harm had befallen
her, and realized that Duvall was likely to resent bitterly the
deception which has been practised upon him.
The latter, however, was in no mood for recriminations. No sooner had he
carried his unconscious burden to the street, when Grace opened her
eyes, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him.
"Richard--Richard!" she cried, happily. "I'm so glad--so glad!" then
rested content in his arms.
The detective's brain was in a whirl. In no possible way could he
account for the presence here, in Paris, under such tragic and
inexplicable circumstances, of the wife whom he had left, so short a
time before, peacefully sitting on the rosecovered porch of their home
in Maryland. The thing seemed incredible, unbelievable; yet here was
Grace, with her soft arms about his neck, her kisses on his lips, to
prove its reality.
He looked at Monsieur Lefevre dully as the latter joined them upon the
sidewalk, but could say nothing.
"It seems," remarked the Prefect, with a grave smile, "that not only has
Mr. Stapleton found his boy, but you have found your wife."
Duvall frowned. "What is she doing here?" he asked.
"We will speak of that later, my friend," observed Lefevre, quietly.
"Just at present I propose that we return to Mr. Stapleton's without a
moment's delay. Her heart is breaking with anxiety." He took Grace's arm
and assisted her to enter the automobile, where Mr. Stapleton had
already preceded them with his son. "It is to you, my dear child," he
said to Grace, as she sunk weakly back upon the cushioned seat, "that
Mrs. Stapleton will owe all her happiness."
It was a cheerful party that broke in upon the banker's wife a short
time later. Duvall, under the stimulus of Grace's presence, had
completely forgotten his wound; while Grace, who had been but
momentarily stunned by the blow which the kidnapper had given her, was
radiant with joy at once more feeling her husband's arms about her.
Monsieur Lefevre carried them both off to his house, as soon as the boy
had been restored to his mother. The happiness of the banker's reunited
family was too great to permit them to be even mildly interested in the
affairs of Richard Duvall and his wife, and they, too, wished to be
alone. It seemed to them both as though ages had passed since they had
seen each other; they could scarcely realize that it had been but a
little over two weeks. Richard especially seemed unable to grasp the
truth of the situation. He plied Grace with numberless questions, and
could scarcely believe that he had actually been within arm's length of
her on at least four different occasions during the past week without
knowing it.
Monsieur Lefevre advised him to leave the whole matter until the next
day. "You should be proud of your wife, Monsieur," he said, gravely.
"But for her, I doubt if Monsieur Stapleton would ever have seen his boy
again. And that reminds me," he smiled mischievously, "that I have won
that little bet. It was Mademoiselle Goncourt, of my office, that
recovered the lost child."
"I think the honors are pretty evenly divided, Monsieur," laughed Grace,
happily, as she pressed her husband's hand. "Don't forget that if
Richard hadn't gotten my message, all my work would have gone for
nothing."
"Suppose we call it a draw, then," said the Prefect. "All in the family,
as you Americans say. And to show that I am not prejudiced, one way or
the other, I suggest that you both, with Mr. and Mrs. Stapleton, dine
with me tomorrow evening. There are many points connected with this case
which are by no means cleared up, and we should talk them over. Although
we have secured the missing child, and three of the kidnappers, we do
not yet know how the child was stolen, or whether the nurse, Mary
Lanahan, is innocent or guilty of any part in his mysterious
disappearance in the Bois de Boulogne. I confess that I have all along
considered her guilty, and am inclined to order her arrest at once."
"It will be useless, Monsieur," remarked Duvall, quietly. "She is
entirely innocent."
"You mean that she knows nothing of how the boy was spirited away?"
"Nothing!"
"Mon Dieu! Then the thing may forever remain a mystery."
"Not at all. It is simple enough."
Monsieur Lefevre turned to him with a look of inquiry. "You mean, then,
that you have solved it?"
"I do."
"Then may I ask that you will be good enough to explain it at once?"
Duvall laughed. "Monsieur Lefevre," he said, "I have a splitting
headache, a bad wound in my cheek, and a burning desire to spend the
next two hours talking to my wife." He drew Grace toward him, and put
his arm through hers. "I am very much afraid that the explanation of
the disappearance of Mr. Stapleton's boy will have to be put off until
tomorrow."
Monsieur Lefevre watched the two as they went, arm in arm, up the
stairs.
"Mon Dieu!" he said softly to himself. "They are just as much in love
with each other as ever."