Only the two Frenchmen remained for examination. They had been left to
the last by pure accident. The exigencies of the inquiry had led to the
preference of others, but these two well-broken and submissive
gentlemen made no visible protest. However much they may have chafed
inwardly at the delay, they knew better than to object; any outburst of
discontent would, they knew, recoil on themselves. Not only were they
perfectly patient now when summoned before the officers of justice,
they were most eager to give every assistance to the law, to go beyond
the mere letter, and, if needs be, volunteer information.
The first called in was the elder, M. Anatole Lafolay, a true Parisian
_bourgeois_, fat and comfortable, unctuous in speech, and exceedingly
deferential.
The story he told was in its main outlines that which we already know,
but he was further questioned, by the light of the latest facts and
ideas as now elicited.
The line adroitly taken by the Judge was to get some evidence of
collusion and combination among the passengers, especially with
reference to two of them, the two women of the party. On this important
point M. Lafolay had something to say.
Asked if he had seen or noticed the lady’s maid on the journey, he
answered “yes” very decisively and with a smack of the lips, as though
the sight of this pretty and attractive person had given him
considerable satisfaction.
“Did you speak to her?”
“Oh, no. I had no opportunity. Besides, she had her own friends—great
friends, I fancy. I caught her more than once whispering in the corner
of the car with one of them.”
“And that was—?”
“I think the Italian gentleman; I am almost sure I recognized his
clothes. I did not see his face, it was turned from me—towards hers,
and very close, I may be permitted to say.”
“And they were friendly?”
“More than friendly, I should say. Very intimate indeed. I should not
have been surprised if—when I turned away as a matter of fact—if he did
not touch, just touch, her red lips. It would have been
excusable—forgive me, messieurs.”
“Aha! They were so intimate as that? Indeed! And did she reserve her
favours exclusively for him? Did no one else address her, pay her court
on the quiet—you understand?”
“I saw her with the porter, I believe, at Laroche, but only then. No,
the Italian was her chief companion.”
“Did any one else notice the flirtation, do you think?”
“Possibly. There was no secrecy. It was very marked. We could all see.”
“And her mistress too?”
“That I will not say. The lady I saw but little during the journey.”
A few more questions, mainly personal, as to his address, business,
probable presence in Paris for the next few weeks, and M. Lafolay was
permitted to depart.
The examination of the younger Frenchman, a smart, alert young man, of
pleasant, insinuating address, with a quick, inquisitive eye, followed
the same lines, and was distinctly corroborative on all the points to
which M. Lafolay spoke. But M. Jules Devaux had something startling to
impart concerning the Countess.
When asked if he had seen her or spoken to her, he shook his head.
“No; she kept very much to herself,” he said. “I saw her but little,
hardly at all, except at Modane. She kept her own berth.”
“Where she received her own friends?”
“Oh, beyond doubt. The Englishmen both visited her there, but not the
Italian.”
“The Italian? Are we to infer that she knew the Italian?”
“That is what I wish to convey. Not on the journey, though. Between
Rome and Paris she did not seem to know him. It was afterwards; this
morning, in fact, that I came to the conclusion that there was some
secret understanding between them.”
“Why do you say that, M. Devaux?” cried the detective, excitedly. “Let
me urge you and implore you to speak out, and fully. This is of the
utmost, of the very first, importance.”
“Well, gentlemen, I will tell you. As you are well aware, on arrival at
this station we were all ordered to leave the car, and marched to the
waiting-room, out there. As a matter of course, the lady entered first,
and she was seated when I went in. There was a strong light on her
face.”
“Was her veil down?”
“Not then. I saw her lower it later, and, as I think, for reasons I
will presently put before you. Madame has a beautiful face, and I gazed
at it with sympathy, grieving for her, in fact, in such a trying
situation; when suddenly I saw a great and remarkable change come over
it.”
“Of what character?”
“It was a look of horror, disgust, surprise,—a little perhaps of all
three; I could not quite say which, it faded so quickly and was
followed by a cold, deathlike pallor. Then almost immediately she
lowered her veil.”
“Could you form any explanation for what you saw in her face? What
caused it?”
“Something unexpected, I believe, some shock, or the sight of something
shocking. That was how it struck me, and so forcibly that I turned to
look over my shoulder, expecting to find the reason there. And it was.”
“That reason—?”
“Was the entrance of the Italian, who came just behind me. I am certain
of this; he almost told me so himself, not in words, but the mistakable
leer he gave her in reply. It was wicked, sardonic, devilish, and
proved beyond doubt that there was some secret, some guilty secret
perhaps, between them.”
“And was that all?” cried both the Judge and M. Floçon in a breath,
leaning forward in their eagerness to hear more.
“For the moment, yes. But I was made so interested, so suspicious by
this, that I watched the Italian closely, awaiting, expecting further
developments. They were long in coming; indeed, I am only at the end
now.”
“Explain, pray, as quickly as possible, and in your own words.”
“It was like this, monsieur. When we were all seated, I looked round,
and did not at first see our Italian. At last I discovered he had taken
a back seat, through modesty perhaps, or to be out of observation—how
was I to know? He sat in the shadow by a door, that, in fact, which
leads into this room. He was thus in the background, rather out of the
way, but I could see his eyes glittering in that far-off corner, and
they were turned in our direction, always fixed upon the lady, you
understand. She was next me, the whole time.
“Then, as you will remember, monsieur, you called us in one by one, and
I, with M. Lafolay, was the first to appear before you. When I returned
to the outer room, the Italian was still staring, but not so fixedly or
continuously, at the lady. From time to time his eyes wandered towards
a table near which he sat, and which was just in the gangway or passage
by which people must pass into your presence.
“There was some reason for this, I felt sure, although I did not
understand it immediately.
“Presently I got at the hidden meaning There was a small piece of
paper, rolled up or crumpled up into a ball, lying upon this table, and
the Italian wished, nay, was desperately anxious, to call the lady’s
attention to it. If I had had any doubt of this, it was quite removed
after the man had gone into the inner room. As he left us, he turned
his head over his shoulder significantly and nodded very slightly, but
still perceptibly, at the ball of paper.
“Well, gentlemen, I was now satisfied in my own mind that this was some
artful attempt of his to communicate with the lady, and had she fallen
in with it, I should have immediately informed you, the proper
authorities. But whether from stupidity, dread, disinclination, a
direct, definite refusal to have any dealings with this man, the lady
would not—at any rate did not—pick up the ball, as she might have done
easily when she in her turn passed the table on her way to your
presence.
“I have no doubt it was thrown there for her, and probably you will
agree with me. But it takes two to make a game of this sort, and the
lady would not join. Neither on leaving the room nor on returning would
she take up the missive.”
“And what became of it, then?” asked the detective in breathless
excitement. “I have it here.” M. Devaux opened the palm of his hand and
displayed the scrap of paper in the hollow rolled up into a small tight
ball.
“When and how did you become possessed of it?”
“I got it only just now, when I was called in here. Before that I could
not move. I was tied to my chair, practically, and ordered strictly not
to move.”
“Perfectly. Monsieur’s conduct has been admirable. And now tell us—what
does it contain? Have you looked at it?”
“By no means. It is just as I picked it up. Will you gentlemen take it,
and if you think fit, tell me what is there? Some writing—a message of
some sort, or I am greatly mistaken.”
“Yes, here are words written in pencil,” said the detective, unrolling
the paper, which he handed on to the Judge, who read the contents
aloud—
“Be careful. Say nothing. If you betray me, you will be lost too.”
A long silence followed, broken first by the Judge, who said at last
solemnly to Devaux:
“Monsieur, in the name of justice I beg to thank you most warmly. You
have acted with admirable tact and judgment, and have rendered us
invaluable assistance. Have you anything further to tell us?”
“No, gentlemen. That is all. And you—you have no more questions to ask?
Then I presume I may withdraw?”
Beyond doubt it had been reserved for the last witness to produce facts
that constituted the very essence of the inquiry.