A JOURNEY TO PARIS
The sight of Talbot's letter seemed to fire Brett's imagination. He
radiated electric energy. Both Lord Fairholme and Miss Talbot felt that
in his presence all doubts vanished. They realized, without knowing why,
that this man of power, this human dynamo, would quickly dispel the
clouds which now rendered the outlook so forbidding. For the moment,
heedless of their presence, he began to pace the room in the strenuous
concentration of his thoughts. Once he halted in front of the small bust
of Edgar Allan Poe, whose pedestal still imprisoned the two cuttings of
a newspaper which formed the barrister's first links with the tragedy.
His ideas suddenly reverted to the paragraph describing the efforts of
the Porte to obtain from the French Government the extradition of a
fugitive relative of the Sultan. At that instant, too, a tiny clock on
the mantelpiece chimed forth the hour of eight.
"That settles it," said Brett aloud. "Smith," he vociferated.
And Smith appeared.
"Pack up sufficient belongings for a short trip to the Continent. Don't
forget a rug and a greatcoat. Have the portmanteau on a cab at the door
within three minutes."
"I am sorry, Miss Talbot," he continued, with his charming smile and a
manner as free from perplexity as if he was announcing a formal visit to
his grandmother. "I have just decided to go to Paris at once. The train
leaves Victoria at 8.15. Lord Fairholme will take you home, and you will
both, I am sure, be able to convince Sir Hubert that to yield too
greatly to anxiety just now is to suffer needless pain."
"You are going to Paris, Mr. Brett!" cried Edith. "Why?"
"In obedience to an impulse. I always yield to impulses. They impress me
as constituting Nature's telegraphs. I have a favourite theory that we
all contain a neatly devised adaptation of Marconi's wireless system,
and the time may come when the secret will be scientifically laid bare.
Then, don't you see, it will be possible for a man in London to ring up
a sympathetic soul in San Francisco. At present the code is not
understood. It is not even properly named, so people are apt to distrust
impulses."
He rattled on so pleasantly that Edith, absorbed by the agony of her
brother's disappearance and possible disgrace, could not conceal an
expression of blank amazement at his levity.
Brett instantly became apologetic.
"Pray forgive my apparent flippancy, Miss Talbot," he said. "I am really
in earnest. I believe that a flying visit to Paris just now must
unquestionably advance us an important stage in this inquiry. Let me
explain exactly what I mean. Here is a letter from your brother, in
handwriting which you and others best qualified to judge declare to be
undeniably his. It also bears postmarks which would demonstrate to a
court of law that it was posted in Paris last night and received here
to-day. But it does not follow that it was written in Paris; it might
have been written anywhere. Now, according to the police, there is an
entry in the visitors' book at the Grand Hotel which appears to prove
that your brother wrote his name therein on Tuesday night. If the
handwriting in the Grand Hotel register corresponds beyond all doubt
with that in this letter and envelope, then your brother must be in
Paris. If it does not, he is not there. I am convinced that the latter
hypothesis is correct, but to make doubly sure I will go and see with my
own eyes. There now--I owed you an explanation, and I have barely time
to catch my train. Good-bye. I will wire you in the morning."
He placed the mysterious letter in his note-book, gave them a parting
smile, and was gone.
He managed to catch the 8.15, which started punctually, the sole remnant
of railway virtue possessed by the Chatham and South Eastern line. A
restful porter, quickened into active life by a half-crown tip, found
him a vacant seat in a first-class smoking carriage, and Brett's hasty
glance round the compartment revealed that his travelling companions, as
far as Dover, at any rate, were severely respectable Britons bound for
the Riviera.
The harbour station at Dover wore its usual aspect of dejected misery.
The hurrying passengers pushed and jostled each other in their frenzied
efforts to board the steamer, for the average British tourist has a
rooted belief that such pushing and jostling and banging of apoplectic
portmanteaus against the legs of others are absolutely necessary if he
would not be left behind.
With an experience born of many voyages, Brett quickly noted the
direction of the wind and the vessel's bearings. A stiff breeze had
brought up a moderate sea, and the barrister dumped down his bag and
flung himself into a chair on what a novice would regard as the weather
side of the charthouse. He bore the discomfort for a few minutes, and
was rewarded for his foresight by possessing the most sequestered nook
on deck when the vessel turned her head seawards and began one of the
shortest, but perhaps the most disagreeable, voyages in the world.
Having retained his seat long enough to establish a proprietary right
therein, Brett rose and made a short tour of the ship. To distinguish
any one on deck was almost out of the question. The passengers were
huddled up in indefinable shapes, and there was hardly light sufficient
to effect a stumbling progress over the multitude of hand-baggage. So
the barrister dived down the companion-way and cannoned against a burly
individual who had propped himself against a bulkhead on the main deck
saloon.
Something hard in the man's pockets gave Brett a sharp rap, and when
they separated with mutual apologies, he laughed silently.
"Handcuffs!" he murmured. "Scotland Yard is always prepared for
emergencies. I will wager a considerable sum that as soon as Winter
reached headquarters his story about the letter caused a telegram to be
despatched to Dover. Here's a detective bound for Paris and prepared to
manacle Talbot the moment he sees him. What a fearful and wonderful
thing is the English police system. A crime, obviously clever in its
conception and treatment, can be handled by a sharp policeman wearing
regulation boots and armed with handcuffs. Really, I must have a drink."
Clinging to the hand-rails and executing some crude but effective
balancing feats, he reached the dining saloon, which was woefully
denuded of occupants, for the English Channel that night had sternly set
its face against the indiscriminate use of cold ham and pickles.
Near the bar, however, solemnly digesting a liqueur, stood a man to whom
the choppy sea evidently gave no concern. He had the square shoulders,
neat-fitting clothes and closely clipped appearance at the back of the
neck which mark the British officer; but he also stood square on his
feet and swayed with unconscious ease whether the vessel pitched or
rolled or executed the combined movement.
"Now, I wonder," said Brett, "if that is Captain Gaultier. He must be.
Gaultier, from his name, should be a Jersey man, hence his facility in
foreign languages and his employment as a Foreign Office messenger. It's
worth trying. I will make the experiment."
He reached the bar and ordered a whisky and soda. Turning affably to the
stranger, he remarked--
"Nasty night, isn't it? I hope we shan't be much behind time."
The stranger glanced at him with sharp and inquisitive eyes, but the
glance evidently reassured him, for he replied quite pleasantly--
"Oh, no. A matter of a few minutes, perhaps. They usually manage to make
up any delay after we leave Calais."
"That's good," said Brett, "because I want to be in Paris at the
earliest possible moment."
The other man smiled.
"We are due there at 5.38," he said. "Rather an early hour for business,
isn't it?"
"Well, yes," assented the barrister, "under ordinary circumstances, but
as my only business in Paris is to examine an hotel register and then
get something to eat before I return, I do not wish to waste time
unnecessarily on the road."
The other man nodded affably, but gave no sign of further interest.
"So," communed Brett, "if it be Gaultier, he has not heard the latest
developments. I must try a frontal attack."
"Does your name happen to be Gaultier?" he went on.
The stranger arrested his liqueur glass in the final tilt.
"It does," he said; "but I do not think I have the pleasure of knowing
you."
"No," said Brett, "you haven't."
"Well?" said the other man.
"The fact is," said Brett, "I heard you had been in London. I guessed
from your appearance that you might be a King's messenger, and it was
just possible that the Captain Gaultier in whom I was interested might
start back to the Continent to-night, so I put two and two together,
don't you see, with the result that they made four, a thing which
doesn't always happen in deduction if in mathematics."
Now, Foreign Office messengers are not chosen for their simplicity or
general want of intelligence. Captain Gaultier eyed his questioner with
some degree of stern suspicion as he said from behind his cigar--
"May I ask who you are?"
"Certainly," replied Brett, producing his card.
After a quick glance at the pasteboard, Gaultier continued--
"I suppose, Mr. Brett, you have some motive in addressing me? What is
it?"
"I am interested in the fate of a man named Talbot," was the
straightforward reply, "and as you told the Under-Secretary that you had
seen Talbot crossing to Paris in company with a lady last Tuesday, I
hoped that perhaps you would not mind discussing the matter with me."
Captain Gaultier was evidently puzzled. Private conversations with
Under-Secretaries of State are not, as a rule, public property, and his
momentary intention to decline further conversation with this
good-looking and fascinating stranger was checked by remembrance of the
fact.
"Really, Mr. Brett," he said, "although I do not question the accuracy
of your statement, you will readily understand that I can hardly discuss
the matter with you under the circumstances."
"Naturally. You would not be holding a responsible position in His
Majesty's service if you were at all likely to do any such thing. But I
propose, in the first instance, to reassure you as to my bona fides, and
I may point out, in the second place, that as I have met you by a
fortunate chance, you can hardly deem it a breach of confidence to
discuss with me the mere accidental appearance on a cross-Channel
steamer of a man known not only to both of us, but to society at large."
Gaultier clearly hesitated, but did not refuse to accept the
Under-Secretary's letter, which Brett handed to him, with the words--
"You know the handwriting, no doubt?"
"That speaks for itself." The King's messenger smiled when he returned
the note. "It is an odd coincidence," he added, "and still more curious
that you should spot me so readily. However, Mr. Brett, we have now
cleared the air. What can I do for you?"
"Simply this," said the barrister; "do you mind telling me how you came
to recognize Mr. Talbot?"
"Well, for one thing," was the thoughtful reply, "I knew his overcoat. I
often met Talbot in the Foreign Office, and one day he drove me to his
club wearing a very handsome coat lined with astrachan. It struck me as
a peculiarly comfortable and well-fitting one, and although there are
plenty of men about town who may possess astrachan coats, it is a
reasonable assumption that this was the identical garment when it
happened to be worn by the man himself."
"Then you are quite certain it was Talbot?" went on the barrister.
"Quite certain."
"Would you swear it was he, though his life depended on your accuracy?"
"Well, no, perhaps not that; but I would certainly swear that I believed
it was Mr. Talbot."
"Ah, that is a material difference. The only way in which you could be
positively certain was to enter into conversation with him, was it not?"
"Yes, that is so."
"I do not want you to think, Captain Gaultier, that I am cross-examining
you. Let me tell you at once that I believe you saw someone masquerading
in Talbot's clothes, and made up to represent him. Was there anything
about his appearance that might lend credence to such a view?"
The other reflected a little while before answering.
"There was only one thing," he said--"he did not seem to notice me. Now,
he is a sharp sort of chap, and as it was broad daylight and a fine day,
he must have seen me, for he knows me well. Again, from all that I have
heard of him, I do not think that he would either pass an acquaintance
without speaking to him, nor take flying trips to the Continent with
ladies of the music-hall persuasion."
"You have supplied two very powerful reasons why the individual you saw
should not be Jack Talbot. Yet, as you say, it was broad daylight, and
you had a good look at him."
"No, no," interrupted the other. "I had a good look at his coat--and the
lady. Whoever the man was, he appeared to be wrapped up in both of them,
and he certainly did not court observation. I naturally thought that the
feminine attachment accounted for this, and for the same reason, I did
not even seek to scrutinize him too closely. To put the thing in a
nutshell, I saw a man whom I believed to be Jack Talbot--and who
certainly resembled him in face and figure--attired in Talbot's clothes,
and wearing a coat which I had noted so particularly as to be able to
describe it to my tailor when ordering a similar one. Add to that the
appearance of an attractive lady, young and unknown, and you have my
soul laid bare to you in the matter."
"Thank you," said Brett. "I am much obliged."
He would have quitted the saloon, but Captain Gaultier laughed--
"Hold on a bit: it is my turn now. Suppose I try to pump you."
A giant wave took hold of the vessel and shook her violently, and Brett,
though an average amateur sailor, felt that the saloon was no place for
him.
"Between you and the ship, Captain Gaultier," he said, "the success of
the operation would be certain. I have secured a quiet corner of the
deck. If you wish for further talk we must adjourn there."
The transit was effected without incident, much to Brett's relief. After
a minute or two he felt that a cigar was possible. He turned to his
companion with a quiet observation--
"The vessel has failed. You can start now."
"Well," said Gaultier, "tell me what is the mystery attaching to
Talbot's movements. I only heard the vaguest of rumours in the
Department, but something very terrible appears to have happened, and,
indeed, I heartily wished I had kept my mouth shut concerning my
supposed meeting with him last Tuesday, as the affair was no business of
mine. Moreover, you have now somewhat shaken my belief in his identity,
although I can hardly tell you why that should be so."
Brett paused to make sure that no one would overhear him, but the fierce
wind whistling round the chart house and bridge, the seas that smote the
ship's quarter with a thunderous noise, the all-pervading sense of
riotous fury in the elements, rendered the precaution almost
unnecessary. In any case, there was no one near enough to act the part
of eavesdropper, and Brett, exercising the rapid decision which
frequently impressed others as a gift of divination, determined that to
let such a man as the King's messenger into the secret could not
possibly be harmful to the interests of his client, whilst his help
might be beneficial.
In the fewest possible words, therefore, he poured the tale into the
other's wondering ear. When he had finished, Gaultier remained silent a
few minutes.
Already the clear radiance of the magnificent light at Calais was
sending intermittent flashes of brightness over the deck, and the long
shoulder of Cape Grisnez was thrusting the force of the gale back into
mid-Channel.
"I think," said Gaultier, speaking slowly and thoughtfully, "that your
view is the right one, Mr. Brett. There is much more in this business
than meets the eye, and any man who believes that Jack Talbot would mix
himself up in it must be a most determined ass. Of course, such people
do exist, but they shouldn't be in the police force. You are going on to
Paris, you said?"
"Yes."
"Then we can travel together. All that you have said is quite new to me.
Curiously enough, I have just returned from Constantinople, and I may be
able to assist you."
Brett silently thanked his stars for the gratuitous circumstance which
threw him into the company of Captain Gaultier. He recognized that the
King's messenger, with the precaution that might be expected from one
whose daily life demanded extreme prudence, desired to mentally review
the strange facts made known to him before he committed himself further.
With ready tact the barrister changed the conversation to matters of the
moment until they reached the pier at Calais, when both men, not
encumbered with much luggage, were among the first flight of passengers
to reach the station buffet.
On their way they captured a railway official and told him to reserve a
_coupé lit_ compartment. In the midst of their hasty meal the Frenchman
arrived, voluble, apologetic. The train was crowded. Never had there
been such a rush to the South. By the exercise of most profound care he
had secured them two seats in a compartment, but the third had already
taken itself. He was sorry for it; he had done his best.
When they entered their carriage the third occupant was in possession.
He was French, aggressively so. Phil May might have used him for a
model. The poor man had been wretchedly ill from the moment he left
Dover until the vessel was tied to her berth in the harbour at Calais.
He paid not the least attention to the newcomers, being apparently
absorbed in contemplation of his own misery. The two Englishmen, though
experienced travellers, were sufficiently insular to resent the presence
of the stranger, whom Brett resolved to put to the language test
forthwith.
"It is very cold in here," he said. "Shall I turn on the hot air?"
The Frenchman seemed to understand that he was addressed. He looked up
with a shivering smile and explained that he had only booked one seat.
The remainder of the compartment was at their disposal. He was evidently
guiltless of acquaintance with the English tongue, but Brett did not
like his appearance.
Though well-dressed and well-spoken he was a nondescript individual, and
the flash of his dark eyes was not reassuring. Yet the man was so ill
that Brett forthwith dismissed him from his thoughts, though he took
care to occupy the centre seat himself, thus placing Captain Gaultier on
the other side of the carriage. After a visit from the ticket examiner,
the Frenchman disposed himself for a nap and the train started.
Captain Gaultier by this time had made up his mind as to the information
he felt he could give his new acquaintance.
"It is very odd," he said, "that those diamonds should disappear just at
the moment when there is every sign of unrest in Turkey. You know, of
course, the manner of the last Sultan's death?"
Brett nodded.
"And you have heard, no doubt, something of the precautions taken by the
present Sultan to safeguard his life against the attacks of possible
assassins?"
"Yes," said Brett.
"Well, these have been redoubled of late, and the man never goes out
that he is not in the most abject state of fear. He is a pitiful sight,
I assure you. I saw him less than a fortnight ago, driving to the Mosque
on Friday, and his coachman evidently had orders to go at a gallop
through the streets, whilst not only was the entire road protected by
soldiers, but every house was examined previously by police agents.
There is something in the wind of more than usual importance in the
neighbourhood of Yildiz Kiosk just now, I am certain. I suppose you did
not chance to see any mention of the fact that Hussein-ul-Mulk, the
Sultan's nephew, has recently fled from Turkey, and is now under the
protection of the French Government?"
"Yes, I noticed that."
"You don't seem to miss much," was Gaultier's sharp remark, pausing in
his narrative to light a cigar.
"One of my few virtues is that I read the newspapers."
The train was slowing down as it neared the town station in Calais, and
Gaultier's voice could be momentarily heard above the diminishing
rattle.
"Well," he said, "I happen to know Hussein-ul-Mulk, and if we find out
where he lives in Paris I will introduce you to him."
Brett looked at the slumbering Frenchman out of the corner of his eye.
The man appeared to be dozing peacefully enough, but the alert barrister
had an impression that his limbs were not sufficiently relaxed under the
influence of slumber. Indeed, he felt sure that the Frenchman was wide
awake and endeavouring to catch the drift of their conversation.
"I will be most pleased to meet your friend, Captain Gaultier," he said,
"and lest it should slip your memory I will give you a reminder."
He opened his card-case and wrote on the back of a card: "Grand Hotel.
Breakfast 11.30. No more at present."
The quick-witted King's messenger read and understood.
"It seems to me," he went on, "that he is the very man for your purpose.
Though he is not in favour at Court just now he has plenty of friends in
the various departments, and he could give you letters which would be
certain to secure you some excellent orders. I suppose you are going to
the East as the result of the rumoured intention of the Turkish
Government to reconstitute the navy."
Brett made a haphazard guess at Gaultier's meaning.
"Yes," he said, "we ought to place a good many thousand tons with them."
Gaultier leant forward to strike a match and glanced at their companion.
For some indescribable reason he shared Brett's views concerning this
gentleman, and immediately started a conversation of general
significance. They soon discovered that they had several mutual
acquaintances, and in this way they passed the dreary journey to Paris
pleasantly enough.
At the Gare du Nord, their knowledge of French methods enabled them to
get quickly clear of the _octroi_, as neither of them had any baggage
which rendered their presence necessary at the Custom-house. The
Frenchman, who seemed to be thoroughly revived by the air of his beloved
Paris, hurried out simultaneously with themselves. He had no difficulty
in hearing Brett's directions to a cabman. Gaultier entered another
vehicle.
Brett was the first away from the station. He fancied he saw his French
travelling companion hastily whisper something to a lounger near the
exit, so he suddenly pulled up his _voiture_, gave the driver a
two-franc piece and told him to go to the Grand Hotel and there await
his arrival. The cab had halted for the moment in the Rue Lafayette, at
the corner of the Place Valenciennes, and the cabman, recognizing that
his fare was an Englishman and consequently mad, drove off immediately
in obedience to orders.
Though nearly six o'clock in the morning, it was quite dark, but as
Brett walked rapidly back towards the station he had no difficulty in
picking out Gaultier, who occupied an open vehicle. Some little distance
behind came another, and herein the barrister thought he recognized the
man to whom the Frenchman in the train had spoken. By this time many
other cabs were dashing out of the station-yard, so Brett took the
chance that he might be hopelessly wrong.
He hailed a third vehicle and told the driver to follow the other two,
which were now some distance down the Rue Lafayette. Not until the three
cabs had crossed the Place de l'Opera and passed the Madeleine could
Brett be certain that the occupant of the second was following his
friend Gaultier. Then he chuckled to himself, for this was surely a rare
stroke of luck.
Quickly reviewing the possibilities of the affair, he came to the
conclusion that the travelling Frenchman really understood little, if
any, English, but that he had caught the name of the fugitive from the
Sultan's wrath and had forthwith betrayed an interest in their
conversation which was, to say the least, remarkable. At the exit from
the Gare du Nord the stranger had readily enough ascertained Brett's
destination, but he clearly regarded it as important that Gaultier--the
man who claimed Hussein-ul-Mulk as a friend--should be tracked, and had
given the necessary instructions to the confederate who awaited his
arrival.
Although Gaultier had not said as much, Brett guessed that his
destination was the British Embassy in the Rue du Faubourg St. Honoré.
The route followed by the cabman led straight to that well-known
locality. The Frenchman in the second cab evidently thought likewise,
for, at the corner of the Rue Boissy he pulled up, and Brett was just in
time to give his driver instructions to go ahead and thus avoid
attracting undue notice to himself.
Gaultier turned into the Embassy, and Brett himself halted a little
further on. Dismissing his _cocher_ with a liberal fare, he walked
rapidly back, and saw the spy enter into conversation with the night
porter on duty. The latter personage, however, was clearly a trustworthy
official, for he loudly told the other to be off and attend to his own
affairs.
Then followed a most exciting and perplexing chase through many streets,
and it was only by the exercise of the utmost discretion that Brett
finally located his man at a definite number in the Rue Barbette, a tiny
thoroughfare in the Temple district.
By this time dawn was advancing over Paris, and the streets were
beginning to fill with early workers. He inquired from a passer-by the
most likely locality in which he could find a cab, and the man civilly
conducted him to the Rue de Rivoli. Thence he was not long in reaching
the Grand Hotel, where he found the astonished _cocher_ of his first
vehicle still safeguarding his bag and arguing fiercely with a porter
that he had unquestionably obeyed the Englishman's instructions.
Tired though he was, Brett did not fail to scrutinize the list of
arrivals at the hotel on the preceding Tuesday. He instantly found the
entry he sought. The arrival of "Mr. and Mrs. John Talbot, London," was
chronicled in the register with uncompromising boldness. Hastily
comparing the writing in Talbot's letter with that of the visitors'
book, Brett was at first staggered by their similarity, but he quickly
recognized the well-known signs which indicate that a man who himself
writes a bold and confident hand has been copying the signature of
another with the object of reproducing it freely and with reasonable
accuracy. There are always perceptible differences in the varying
pressure of the pen and the distribution of the ink.
Allowance had evidently not been made for the fact that Englishmen
almost invariably write their names very badly in Continental hotel
registers, owing to their inability to use foreign pens. The man who not
only forged Mr. Talbot's name, but also supplied him with a wife,
laboured under no such disadvantage. Indeed, Talbot himself would
probably not have written his own name so legibly.
"That is all right," said Brett wearily, traversing a corridor to gain
his room. "Now, I wonder if there is any connexion between
Hussein-ul-Mulk and the Rue Barbette."