THE INNKEEPER
The fair-ground of Montmartre was in full swing when Brett arrived
there. The Cabaret Noir was in charge of his former acquaintance, the
weary-eyed waiter, and other assistants.
The barrister wondered whether Mlle. Beaucaire had taken her father
completely into her confidence. To make certain he questioned the
waiter.
"Is Monsieur Beaucaire in?" he said.
"But yes, monsieur. You will find him in the billiard-room."
This time Brett was not conducted through the private passage that led
through the rear of the bar. The man politely indicated another
entrance, and brought him to the proprietor with the introductory
remark--
"A gentleman who wishes to see you."
The room was tenanted by a nondescript crowd, whose attention was
promptly attracted by the appearance of a stranger, and a well-dressed
one at that.
The games in progress at the two tables were momentarily suspended,
whilst Gros Jean, a corpulent man above the middle height, whose legs
seemed to be too frail to support his rotund body, advanced, peering
curiously beneath his bushy eyebrows to get a glimpse of the newcomer,
for the shaded light did not fall on Brett's features, and M. Beaucaire
wondered who the stranger could be. The barrister almost started when he
recognized his fellow-passenger, the man who travelled to Paris with
Gaultier and himself. Gros Jean bowed politely enough, and murmured
something about being at Brett's service.
"Oh, it is nothing of great importance," said Brett airily, as he was
not anxious to attract too much observation from the unwashed humanity
who took such interest in him. "I merely wish to know when it will be
convenient for me to have some conversation with mademoiselle, your
charming daughter?"
"May I inquire the reason, monsieur?" said the other.
"Certainly. I have heard of her skill as an artist, and it is possible I
may be able to arrange a London engagement for her."
"Ah," said the landlord deprecatingly, "what a pity! Had monsieur called
here yesterday he could have seen mademoiselle. She has now left Paris
for some weeks."
"Perhaps," said Brett, "I may have the pleasure of meeting her
elsewhere. I myself depart to-morrow on a tour in the South of France.
It is possible that mademoiselle may be employed in some of the southern
cities. If so I will certainly make it my business to call on her."
Beaucaire came a step nearer. Clearly he did not recall the barrister's
face. He knew well that his daughter's attainments were not such as to
command the eager search of London theatrical managers, yet he was
assured that the individual who now addressed him was not an ordinary
music-hall agent, hunting up fees.
He lowered his voice, after an angry glance at the loungers in the room,
which caused them to turn to the tables with redoubled interest.
"I regret," he said, "that mademoiselle is not professionally engaged at
this moment. Indeed, she has not appeared in public for some months. May
I ask how monsieur came to hear of her name?"
"It is the easiest matter in the world," said Brett with his ready
smile, producing his note-book and rapidly turning over the leaves. "I
have here the names and addresses of a large number of artists whom I
was recommended to visit. Mademoiselle's name was given to me among
others at the Cirque d'Hiver, where I heard most encouraging accounts of
her skill. You see, monsieur," he went on, "that in England the public
are not acquainted with any other language than their own, and when
Continental artists are engaged we prefer those whose performance
consists chiefly of acrobatic or other feats in which dialogue is
unnecessary."
The barrister's ready explanation was sufficient. Nevertheless Beaucaire
was puzzled. But even the most vulgar or brutal Frenchman is endowed
with a certain amount of politeness, and in this instance Gros Jean felt
that his visitor should be treated deferentially.
"I am most sorry," he cried, "to be unable to assist monsieur any
further. If, however, you leave me your address I will communicate with
you after I have heard from my daughter. I have no doubt that she will
readily come to terms."
"I think you said that mademoiselle was in the South of France?"
observed Brett casually.
Instantly Beaucaire became suspicious again.
"No," he replied shortly; "I do not think I said so."
"Of course not," laughed Brett. "How foolish of me! It was I who
mentioned the South of France, was it not? You see that French is a
foreign language to me, and I do not express myself very easily."
Beaucaire grinned politely again: "Permit me to congratulate monsieur
upon both his pronunciation and facility. Not many Englishmen speak
French as he does."
The barrister was determined not to allow the conversation to end too
rapidly. He wished to note more carefully the details of this
interesting household. Pulling out his cigar-case, he offered it to Gros
Jean with the remark: "Your small French tables seem curious to my eyes
after long acquaintance with English billiards. Are any of these
gentlemen here skilled players in your fashion?"
"Oh, yes," said the innkeeper. "André there, for instance, can make big
breaks. I have seen him make forty consecutive coups. Will you not take
a seat for a little while and observe the play?"
"With pleasure." And Brett confirmed the favourable opinion formed of
him by ordering refreshments for Beaucaire and himself and inviting the
redoubtable André to join them.
He apparently took a keen interest in the game, and applauded the manner
in which the Frenchman scored a series of difficult cannons.
Meanwhile he noted that between the private passage from the bar and the
public one that led from the café was a room into which the light of day
could not possibly penetrate. He was certain that no door communicated
with it from the public passage, and he could not remember having
passed one that first afternoon when La Belle Chasseuse brought him and
Fairholme into the billiard-room to display her prowess as a markswoman.
It was certainly a curious apartment, and for some undefinable reason he
could not prevent his mind from dwelling upon its possible uses.
Probably the Café Noir had no cellars. The place might serve as a store
room. This natural hypothesis was upset by the appearance of the waiter,
who passed through the billiard-room and opened another door at the
further end, through which he soon emerged, carrying a fresh supply of
bottles.
"It is obvious," said Brett to himself, "that if there is no door
communicating with the private passage, then the only way in which that
room can be reached is by a ladder from the top. Now I wonder why that
should be necessary?"
He remained in the billiard-room some twenty minutes. When Gros Jean was
called on some momentary errand to the front of the house he took his
departure, purposely making the mistake of quitting the room by the
wrong exit. At the same instant he struck a match to relight his cigar,
and while the expert billiard player, André, ran after him to direct him
as to the right way he rapidly surveyed the passage. The plaster walls
were smooth and unbroken on their inner side, affording no doorway exit.
Apologising to André with a laugh, he then sauntered towards the front
café, where he purchased another drink at the counter. He assured
himself that he had not been mistaken. The only private door out of the
bar led into the passage, so that the room beyond could only be reached
by a staircase or through a trap-door.
"I have learned something, at any rate," he murmured as he passed out
into the Boulevard, "and I imagine that my knowledge is not shared by
the Paris police. Mademoiselle would have acted more wisely had she not
yielded to impulse, and reserved her shooting display for a more
dramatic occasion."
Brett kept his appointment with the commissary next morning. That worthy
official set himself to the congenial task of examining a prisoner with
the air of one who said: "Now you will see what manner of man I am. Here
I am on my native heath."
He consulted bulky volumes, made notes, fussily called up various
subordinates, both in person and by speaking-tube, and generally
conducted himself with a business-like air that much amused the
barrister, who, however, for his own purposes took care to appear
greatly impressed.
At last all was ready, and the captive of the Rue Barbette was
introduced.
This precocious personage had recovered his self-possession and natural
impudence during the night. By the commissary's instructions he had been
well supplied with eatables, and the restrictions as to persons under
detention were relaxed, to permit him to enjoy a supply of his
much-loved cigarettes. Consequently, the little thief was restored to
his usual state of jaunty cheekiness.
The first part of the interrogation, which promptly ensued, was not
strange to him.
"Your name?" said the commissary.
"Charles Petit."
"Age?"
"Believed to be twenty-seven, but as no record was kept of my birth I
cannot be certain."
"Abode?"
"Changeable. Of late I have dwelt in the Cabaret Noir, Boulevard de
Montmartre."
"You are generally known as 'The Worm?'"
"That is so."
"You have served several periods of imprisonment, and have paid over 400
francs in fines?"
"I have not kept count, but I suppose it is all written down there." And
he jerked his thumb towards the conviction book on the commissary's
desk.
"You are a noted thief, and you obtained your nickname by reason of your
dexterity in picking locks and climbing through scullery windows?"
"If you say so, monsieur, your words cannot be disputed."
"Very well." The commissary scratched a few lines on a memorandum
tablet. Then he suddenly raised his quick eyes and fastened them on the
prisoner with the direct question--
"How came you to be detained in such an extraordinary manner in the
house, No. 11, Rue Barbette, yesterday?"
A vacant and stolid expression intended to convey an idea of utter
innocence came over "The Worm's" face.
"Believe me, monsieur," he said, "I cannot give you the slightest
explanation of that extraordinary incident."
"Indeed! You surprise me. I suppose you wish me to understand that you
casually strolled in out of the street and were set upon by three Turks,
who gagged you and bound you with leather thongs, leaving you to starve
quietly to death if you had not been rescued by reason of a chance visit
paid to the place by myself and others?"
"I assure you, monsieur, that, strange as it may seem, you have almost
related the facts. I went to the place in question with a very ordinary
message from a Turkish gentleman with whom I have a slight acquaintance.
The other Turks listened to me with the gravity peculiar to their
nation, and then, before I could offer a word of remonstrance, treated
me exactly as you saw."
"At what time did you go there?"
"It must have been nearly three o'clock, the day before yesterday," was
the answer.
"And what message did you bring?"
"I was told to ask the Turkish gentlemen to be good enough to cross the
Pont Neuf exactly at half-past six, when they would meet a friend who
desired to give some information to them."
"Oh! come now," said the commissary, with a knowing smile, "that will
not do, Petit. You are far too old a hand to convey such a childish
message as that. What reason can you have for seeking to shield these
men who treated you in a barbarous way and left you to die a cruel
death?"
"On my honour----" began the thief melodramatically, but Brett here
interrupted the conversation.
"Will you allow me," he said to the commissary, "to put a few questions
to this man?"
"Certainly," was the answer.
"Now listen," said Brett, sternly gazing at the truculent little rascal
with those searching eyes of his, which seemed to reach to the very
spine. "It is useless for you to attempt any further prevarication. We
know exactly who are your confederates. We are acquainted with a large
number of the gang that frequents the Café Noir. Do not forget that I
was present when you tried to palm off on Hussein-ul-Mulk the false
diamonds, which your confederates hoped he would accept. For you to
attempt now to escape from the law is hopeless. The sole chance you have
of remitting a punishment which may even lead you beneath the guillotine
is to confess fully and freely all that you know concerning the outrage
which has been committed.
"No, don't interrupt me," he continued with even greater emphasis, when
"Le Ver" tried to break in. "You will tell me that you merely acted as
the agent of others, and that you yourself are not conscious of the
nature of any crime that has been committed. I know that to be so. You
have been made a mere tool. You are the cat, simply employed by the
monkey to pull the chestnuts out of the fire, and you have only
succeeded in getting your own paws burnt. Your sole chance of safety now
is to inform the commissary and me exactly how you came to be mixed up
with this affair."
The Frenchman's truculency seemed to vanish under Brett's cutting words.
His wizened face even manifested a faint flush of anger as the barrister
pointed out how he had been duped by his employers and made to run risks
which they avoided.
Yet the order of his craft was strong in its influence, and he commenced
another series of protestations.
"I assure you, gentlemen," he cried, "that with respect to the Turks I
have no knowledge whatever of their pursuits or motives. I was present
when this English gentleman here was debating with them, and I
understood that they even went so far as to use threats against him. My
mission was to give to the leaders of the Turks a package which I did
not even know contained diamonds, either genuine or false. No one could
be more surprised than myself when the Turkish gentleman produced them."
"Who sent you there with the diamonds?" said Brett.
"Even that I cannot tell you," said Petit. "It was a mere chance affair.
I was seated in a café sipping some absinthe when a man asked me if I
would execute a small commission for him. He explained that it was to
deliver a parcel at a house not five minutes distant, and----"
"I see," interrupted Brett, with the cynical smile which so often
disconcerted glib liars like Petit. "It is hopeless to expect you to
tell the truth. However, I think I know a way to clear your wits. You
must be brought face to face with La Belle Chasseuse. Perhaps when you
are confronted with that lady in the room between the café and the
billiard saloon of the Cabaret Noir----"
"The Worm" gasped out brokenly--
"Pardon, monsieur! I will tell you everything!"
The man's face had absolutely become livid as he listened to the
barrister's words.
The commissary was vastly surprised at the turn taken by the
conversation. He could not guess what deep significance lay behind the
Englishman's threat, and, to tell the truth, Brett himself was
considerably astonished at the effect of his vague insinuations, but he
lost not a moment in following up the advantage thus gained.
"Well," he said, "tell us now who it was that sent you to the Turks with
the diamonds?"
"It was Le Jongleur, Henri Dubois."
"What?" cried the commissary, starting violently. "Henri Dubois! The
most expert thief in France! A scoundrel against whom the police have
vainly tried for years to secure evidence."
"I know nothing of that, monsieur," said the little man, who seemed to
be strangely crestfallen, "but I am telling you the truth this time. It
was he who sent me the day before yesterday to the Rue Barbette, and
again yesterday, although I was very unwilling to go the second time,
because, as this gentleman will tell you, they looked very like
murdering me on the first occasion."
"What was the object of your visit yesterday?" said Brett.
"There, monsieur, I have told you the truth, although monsieur the
commissary here thinks it was childish. My instructions really were to
ask them to meet him on the Pont Neuf at 6.30 p.m., when he said he
would explain everything to their satisfaction. But, above all, I was to
warn them to beware of the Englishman."
"Then, why should they seize and gag you for conveying such a simple
message?" demanded the commissary.
"I cannot tell. I have done them no harm. Believe me, gentlemen both, I
have not the slightest idea how these diamonds were obtained, or why
there should be such a fuss about them. All I know is that these Turks
are desperate fellows, and you won't catch me going near them again, I
swear."
"How long have you known Dubois?" said Brett.
"Oh, two years more or less."
"Have you ever been associated with him before?"
"Never, monsieur. My record is there." And he again jerked his thumb
towards the volume on the table. "It will tell you that I deal in small
affairs. Dubois is an artist. If he found a woman's purse in the street
he would return it to her with a bow, if she were rich and handsome--and
with some francs added, if she were poor."
"I know little about him," he continued, "except that he is a great man.
They say that he once robbed the Bank of France of 200,000 francs!"
And the little wretch's voice became tremulous with admiration as he
recounted the legend.
"He is a favoured lover of La Belle Chasseuse?" demanded Brett sharply.
"The Worm" recovered his equanimity somewhat at this question. He softly
drew his hand over his chin as he replied with a smirk: "There are
others!"
"I think not," came the quick retort. "No; there are none on whom
mademoiselle bestows such favours. She left Paris with him last night."
"The devil!" ejaculated the little man.
"Oh, yes; and she has just passed a fortnight with him in London."
"A thousand thunders!" screamed Petit. "Her father told me she was
performing in a music-hall at Marseilles."
The barrister had evidently touched a sore point, and "The Worm" was
more ready than ever to tell all that he knew about Le Jongleur. But his
information amounted to little more of importance. The chief fact had
been ascertained, its predominant interest was the identity of the man
who had planned and carried out the "Albert Gate outrage."
Brett quickly realized that to question him further was useless. Petit
evidently expected to be set at liberty at once. In this, however, he
was disappointed, for the commissary curtly remanded him to the cells.
Brett, on the other hand, made up his mind that "The Worm" at liberty
might be more valuable to him than "The Worm" in gaol. So he asked the
commissary, as a favour to himself, to set Petit free, first giving the
thief to understand that he owed his release to the barrister's
intervention.
This was done, and "Le Ver" was voluble in his expressions of gratitude.
Brett soon cut him short.
"Here," he said, "are a couple of louis for your immediate necessities.
I am living at the Grand Hotel, and I want you to call there each
morning at ten o'clock. You will inquire at the office if Mr. Brett has
left any message for you. Then, if I need your services, I will be able
to reach you early."
Petit protested that he would serve monsieur most willingly, and soon
afterwards the barrister took leave of the commissary, promising to keep
him fully posted as to further developments, and secure for him, and him
only, the ultimate credit of capturing such a noted thief as Dubois.
Fate settled matters differently.
The French official was already much impressed by Brett's method of
handling this difficult inquiry, and he consented readily enough not
only to assist him in every possible way, but to restrain the police
from further active interference in the case until matters had developed
from their present stage.
During the afternoon Brett received a visit from his actor acquaintance,
who brought him a telegram from Marseilles. It read--
"Mlle. Beauclaire has obtained an engagement here at the Palais de
Glâce. She makes her first appearance on Monday evening."
Brett smiled as he realized how accurately he had interpreted the
actions of La Belle Chasseuse and her companion.
"This is certain," he said to himself. "They left Paris on Thursday
night and they probably will not reach Marseilles until Monday. I have
plenty of time to hear Talbot's story from his own lips before I take
my departure for the South."
An hour later he was seated in his room smoking and reading a magazine
when the waiter appeared.
"A lady and three gentlemen wish to see monsieur," he explained.
He rose promptly, and accompanied the man to the foot of the staircase.
There, near the elevator, he saw Edith Talbot, Lord Fairholme, and Sir
Hubert Fitzjames, whilst with them was a tall, handsome young man, in
whom the fair outlines of the girl's face were repeated in sterner and
bolder characteristics.
Edith was the first to catch sight of him. She sprang forward and cried
with an impulsiveness that showed how deeply her quiet nature had been
stirred.
"Oh, Mr. Brett, I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you! Here is my
brother!"
The two men shook hands and looked at each other with a natural
curiosity, for seldom had an acquaintance been made after more exciting
preliminaries.
"I am indeed glad to see you," said Brett, shaking Talbot's hand with
more demonstrativeness than was usual to one of his quiet temperament.
"Then how shall I find words to express myself?" was the reply, "for in
my case there is joined to the pleasure of making a much-desired
acquaintance the knowledge that to your efforts I am indebted for my
liberty and possibly for my reputation."
"We have much to say to each other," said the barrister. "I suppose you
have secured rooms in the hotel?" he continued, turning to Miss Talbot.
"Oh, yes, everything is settled," she cried. "The servants are looking
after our trunks. I simply would not wait a moment until I had seen you.
Please take us all somewhere at once where we can talk quietly."
Brett answered with a smile: "Lord Fairholme and I have a sitting-room
which we use in common, and which has already been the scene of many
earnest conferences. Let us go there."