THE EVIDENCE OF THE DEAD
At this point I began to feel a touch of nervousness. I had faced the
proprietress of the Domino Club without any, because she had not seen
me even in my disguise. But the waiters had been going to and fro
throughout the night. I had given orders once or twice, and I could
not feel certain that my voice would not be recognized. I told myself
that my fear was fanciful, and that the last thing that could occur to
anyone’s mind was that a representative of the Home Office, engaged in
the investigation, had himself been present on the scene of the crime,
if crime it was. But none the less I resolved to do nothing to attract
the waiter’s notice, if I could help it.
I saw Tarleton frown as Madame Bonnell returned with her servant. He
gave her an authoritative nod.
“Thank you, Madame. I won’t detain you while I am questioning this man.”
The prudent Frenchwoman concealed any vexation she may have felt, and
instantly retired, leaving Gerard alone with us.
He was as much the type of the discreet waiter as Madame was of the
discreet manageress. If he had only possessed side-whiskers he would
have been the perfect waiter of the French stage. But he was a good
deal younger than Madame, and showed less self-possession. His eyes
searched us nervously in turn as though he were looking for someone to
propitiate. The physician read his rather white face with one swift
glance, and came to his relief.
“You are not under any suspicion, Gerard. Provided you tell the truth,
you have nothing to fear.”
The waiter braced himself up with a visible effort. Not, I fancied,
that he had any objection to tell the truth, but that it was a rather
novel exercise for him. From that moment he neglected the Inspector and
me to concentrate his efforts to propitiate on Sir Frank.
“I hear that the man who is dead trusted you. Did he trust you with his
real name?”
“Never, sir.” Gerard spread out his two hands to show their emptiness
of knowledge. “I knew nothing of him except what I learned from Madame.”
“And that was?”
The waiter looked apprehensive. No doubt the idea crossed his mind that
it might be awkward if his account contradicted hers.
“That was very little indeed, sir. She told me to treat him as
proprietor. He never paid for what he consumed. I supposed that he was
Madame’s partner.”
“Were you the only man who waited on him?”
“For the last four months or six months, yes, sir. He made it his
request to Madame and to me that I should bring him everything he
ordered.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“Yes, he said to me that I was to carry his glass of wine or his cup
of coffee very carefully. ‘See that you do not spill it, and see that
nothing is spilled into it by the way’--those were his words, sir, as
nearly as I can recollect.”
“What did you think when he said that?”
Gerard’s expressive hands mutely protested that it was not their
business to think.
“I do what I am ordered to do, sir, without thinking too much. But
Monsieur Wilson himself explained his motive to me. He said, ‘I do not
like to have practical jokes played on me, and I fancy there are some
practical jokers in the _cercle_.’”
“Did he say _cercle_ or club?”
“Monsieur, he always spoke to me in French. He had spent much time in
Paris, he told me once. I believe----” Gerard interrupted himself, as
though doubtful whether his belief would be acceptable as evidence. It
struck me that he had been a witness in a court of law at some time or
other.
Tarleton threw him a friendly nod. “Go on; tell me what you believe.”
“I think,” Gerard corrected himself, “that perhaps Monsieur Wilson
founded this club in order to escape the necessity for going to Paris
to amuse himself.”
The examiner moved his head doubtfully.
“You think he had some business, then, which made it necessary for him
to remain in London.”
“But I am sure of it!” The waiter’s tone became confident. “Business
that assisted him in establishing the club, even. The great people who
came here were his customers rather than his personal friends; such is
my idea.”
Tarleton turned an approving face to us.
“I think that this man knows what he is talking about. We are dealing
with something very daring and very dark. Did you ever guess what the
business was?”
The question was darted out suddenly. But the little Frenchman
manifested no uneasiness. The doctor’s praise seemed to have given him
confidence.
“I supposed sometimes that it was not a lawful business, sir.” He
lowered his voice a little and glanced behind him as if to make sure
that his employer was not within hearing. “I fancied that Monsieur
Wilson might be the proprietor of an establishment for the reception of
ladies who did not wish to become mothers.”
I could not resist a slight shudder as the gruesome hint came
glibly from the lips of the pasty-faced waiter. He did not look the
kind of man who would have made any objection to a post in such an
establishment.
“Some of the ladies whom he introduced here had the air of being afraid
of him, I thought,” Gerard added by way of confirmation.
Inspector Charles had begun to take notes of this evidence. He now
straightened himself up, and looked at Tarleton.
“Wouldn’t it be well to search his clothes, Sir Frank? We might find an
address, perhaps?”
“In another minute. Is there any question you would like to put,
Cassilis?”
I had to make a call on my courage, as Gerard faced towards me in
readiness to be addressed. His figure was not less familiar to me than
that of the masked Inquisitor had been. I was now to see whether my
voice would sound familiar to him. I dared not modify my usual tone
with Tarleton’s keen ears listening.
“We have heard that a royal personage was here last night,” I said
slowly and distinctly, and then paused to note the effect.
At my first words Gerard’s watery eyes grew wider for an instant and
I feared the worst. Some note must have been struck in the echoing
cells of his memory. But the next moment reassured me. Out of the many
hundred voices with which a waiter’s memory must be stored, how should
he be able to identify one which he had heard say scarcely a dozen
words? The man’s face was a perfect blank again before I went on.
“Can you tell us if there were any other strangers present?” I asked
boldly. And turning to my chief and the Inspector, I explained, “It
seems to me just possible that an attempt may have been planned on the
life of the Crown Prince, and that this man may have been mistaken for
him.”
Tarleton did not reject this suggestion so decidedly as the theory of
suicide. I saw a thoughtful expression come on his face, as though he
was engaged in trying to adjust the idea with another one previously in
his mind. Captain Charles took up the scent quite eagerly.
“Do you know what disguise His Royal Highness was wearing?” he demanded.
The waiter hesitated and then shook his head.
“I had my suspicion, sir, but Madame can tell you for certain.”
The Inspector was satisfied with the answer. But Tarleton’s voice rang
out sharply.
“Let us have your suspicion, please.”
Gerard had the air of a man who had committed himself, and regrets it.
“Milor,”--he had been sharp enough to notice the Inspector’s use of a
title in addressing the consultant--“I particularly noticed one person
who appeared to me a stranger who did not very well know his way about
the club, and who appeared to have some business with Monsieur Wilson.”
“Ah!” Tarleton’s deep breath told me that he felt himself on a real
trail. “And how was this person disguised?”
“The disguise was an extraordinary one, milor. It was that which first
attracted my notice. It was at once the costume of a man and of a
woman. That is to say, the upper part was that of a warrior in armour,
and the lower part was a woman’s skirt.”
“Joan of Arc,” exclaimed Charles.
The Frenchman shrank in horror. “But, monsieur, it could not have been
Sainte Jeanne! For instance, the helmet was Roman.”
“Neither did she wear a skirt with her armour,” the physician added
quietly. “It must have been meant for Zenobia.”
The Inspector’s face showed so clearly that he had never heard of the
famous Queen of Palmyra that I should have been amused if I had not
been on the rack of suspense. Fortunately, Tarleton was now engrossed
in his new line of inquiry.
“In spite of this feminine disguise, in spite of the skirt, you
recognized that this stranger was a man, it seems?”
The eloquent hands protested again. “But no, milor; I said I had my
suspicion, that is all. Madame----”
The doctor cut him short.
“You thought this person, Zenobia, had some business with Wilson. Tell
me, how many persons knew that Wilson wore that disguise last night?”
He turned and pointed to the dead body which lay full in view from
where we were seated. Gerard let his eyes follow the gesture and
withdrew them with a sickly twinge.
“Everyone knew it, I think. It was the disguise he wore invariably in
the club. It was as if he came here to meet his clients, and it was
necessary for them to know that they were speaking to him.”
Sir Frank Tarleton nodded more than once this time. He evidently
felt himself to be getting a firm grip on the problem. I admired
the sagacity he had shown in transferring his examination from the
proprietress of the club to the waiter. Gerard was proving a much
easier witness to deal with than Madame Bonnell. He had not so much at
stake.
“And now,” the consultant pursued, “perhaps you can tell us if there
were any other persons who showed a desire to meet Wilson last night?”
Gerard brightened up visibly.
“But certainly, milor. There was one in particular who never seemed to
take her eyes off him. She danced with him time after time, and when
she was not dancing with him herself she watched those who did.”
“And how was she dressed?”
“Milor, she was hardly dressed at all.” Gerard may have feared another
irreverent guess from Captain Charles, for he added quickly: “I heard
Monsieur address her as Salome.”
The Inspector was again busy with his note-book. But Sir Frank struck
me as not being quite so deeply interested in Salome as he had been in
Zenobia.
“And there was also a lady whose costume it is not easy to describe.”
Gerard was going on of his own accord now, as though his interest had
been kindled in the inquiry. “Part of it was a leopard skin. And she
wore a necklace composed of claws of the same beast, as I imagined. In
my own mind I called her the Leopardess. Without doubt, her costume was
that of an East Indian princess.”
Tarleton’s interest seemed to revive again at the description of the
Leopardess. Yet it was impossible to be sure that he was not playing a
part to conceal his true opinion of all this from the witness.
“And this lady, did she dance much with Wilson?”
Gerard gave his head an emphatic shake.
“She did not dance with him at all, although he asked her more than
once. I am sure of it. I was surprised, for it was not often that
he was refused. I saw him speaking to her very earnestly, even
threateningly, but it was no use. And she left early, long before the
dance was over.”
The examiner shrugged his shoulders. I wondered that he did not point
out to the man that a woman who had left early could hardly have played
any part in the tragedy. But I was beginning to grasp that it was his
method to listen much and speak little when he was face to face with a
mystery.
The next moment he had dismissed Gerard abruptly, and risen to his
feet. He crossed over to the corpse, followed by Charles and myself,
and gazed intently on the exposed face. The slight leaden tinge I had
remarked was more noticeable already, and in addition there was a
slight roughness of the skin which I understood still less. I took
care this time not to make any remark on it.
The specialist’s attention was concentrated on the features and
expression of the dead man. After a moment or two he slowly shook his
head.
“No,” he pronounced, “that is not the face of a man degraded enough
for such a business as the waiter supposed. It is not the face of an
adventurer. This was a man of the world, in a good position, able to
meet with the people whom he brought to this place on a footing of
equality. His motives were not sordid, perhaps, in the first place. We
are dealing with a Tiberius rather than a Tigellinus, I think.”
I don’t fancy those names had much more meaning for Captain Charles
than Zenobia’s. But he acquiesced respectfully in the judgment.
“From all that we have heard about the Domino Club at Scotland Yard
there has never been the slightest suggestion of crime about it,” he
observed. “One of the judges of the High Court is a member of it. He
has the reputation of being pretty fond of women, but he certainly
wouldn’t be mixed up with anything shady.”
“Shaded, but not shady, eh?” Tarleton returned with a curl of the lip.
“But come, it is time to see if the dead has any evidence to give about
himself.”
Thrusting his gold repeater carelessly into his pocket, he deftly
stripped the body of its long Inquisitor’s robe. Underneath was
revealed an evening suit of fine material and faultless cut with a
white silk waistcoat and soft-fronted shirt. They were the clothes of
a man of good position, as Sir Frank had said, and a man accustomed
to respect himself. A Bohemian would scarcely have troubled to dress
himself so carefully beneath a domino.
Captain Charles viewed this correct attire with the approval of a
military man. “A gentleman as you guessed, Sir Frank.”
“As I inferred,” the doctor responded sharply, “I never guess.” His
capable fingers were already exploring the pockets of the corpse.
Most of them seemed to be empty, but presently he extracted a silver
matchbox from the waistcoat, and opened it. A low sound like a
suppressed whistle came from his tight lips as he shook out on the palm
of his hand two pellets the size of small peas.
Of all my experiences on that eventful night, or rather morning, this
was the most amazing. Only by a strong effort was I able to keep
my astonishment within due bounds. Although I had thrown out the
suggestion of suicide, the last thing I had expected was to find poison
on the dead man’s person.
My chief passed me one of the pellets, and put the other first to his
nostrils and then to the tip of his tongue.
“Well?” He motioned to me to imitate his action.
There could be no doubt about the result of the test. “Opium in a
highly concentrated form, and soluble,” I whispered hoarsely.
We exchanged looks of intense surprise. The Inspector on his part was
evidently surprised by our attitude.
“Then Dr. Cassilis was right after all,” he said, staring at us. “It
was suicide?”
The great consultant smiled at him indulgently.
“I am sure that this discovery has made Dr. Cassilis renounce that
theory,” he answered. “A man who was accustomed to take opium in such
doses as these would have to take a terrible quantity to kill himself.
And this box, is nearly full.”
My brain was buzzing while he spoke. Utter darkness seemed to be
settling down on my mind. I gazed at my chief in stupefaction greater
than the Inspector’s.
“The problem for Dr. Cassilis and myself is this,” he continued,
addressing his explanation to Captain Charles, although I realized that
he was speaking at least as much for my benefit. “The corpse shows
all the usual symptoms of poisoning by opium. But if the deceased had
accustomed his system to opium it is not easy to understand how anyone
could have given him enough to produce death. The dose must have been
enormous, and he must have detected the taste at once in any ordinary
medium such as a cup of coffee.”
I just managed to nod my head with assent.
“The inference I am inclined to draw at the moment,” the specialist
concluded, “is that Wilson was not a taker of the drug and that these
pellets were not intended for himself. I think it is more probable
that he carried them as weapons of self-defense. Perhaps Salome would
have been given one last night if her jealousy had carried her too far,
perhaps Zenobia. And perhaps the Leopardess left so early because she
had been given one.”
My brain seemed to resume its normal clearness as the doctor spoke.
There was really nothing very extraordinary in the coincidence, if
he was right. After all, opium was the drug which it was natural for
anyone to use in such circumstances. It was practically tasteless, its
effects were easily mistaken for those of alcohol even by the victim,
till it was too late for him to resist them. And the character of the
Domino Club was such, and its members came to it in such secrecy, that
one of them might be carried home in a narcotic sleep, and die before
wakening from it, without his death ever being traced to the place
where he had been.
While these reflections were coming to compose my mind Tarleton was
renewing his investigation of the dead man’s pockets. This time the
result was negative, so far as I could see. It gave a start to me and
to the Inspector when the doctor suddenly raised himself with a look of
triumph and exclaimed, “I see it!”
Charles bent forward with a bewildered gaze. I held my breath. The next
sentence was decisive.
“There are no keys--not even a latchkey. Whoever drugged him took
his keys, and took them for a purpose.” He turned on the startled
Inspector, and issued his commands like a general on a battlefield
ordering an advance all along the line. “Ring up your people and find
out if they have received a report of any house being entered during
the night or early this morning. And ask them to send a man round the
theatrical costumiers to find out if any of them have supplied costumes
lately of a Zenobia and a Salome and an Eastern one with a leopard
skin. Though I doubt if you will hear anything about the last. It
sounds like one made up privately. Meanwhile we will ask Madame Bonnell
to give us some breakfast.”
Madame was charmed to give us breakfast. Gerard’s report of his
examination must have impressed her favourably. It was clear by this
time that the great Sir Frank Tarleton could be trusted to conduct the
investigation with prudence, and not to bring any unnecessary publicity
on the Domino Club. She beamed satisfaction when he informed her that
he hoped to learn Wilson’s address within the next few minutes, and to
have the body removed thither for the inquest. In her absence he added
to his instructions to Charles:
“I think, Captain Charles that it will be well if you can go yourself
to the Foreign Office and ascertain through them if this Crown Prince
actually was present last night. They will feel more confidence in you
than in one of the ordinary police.”
The Honourable Captain looked pleased. “Do you think it is possible
that his life was aimed at, after all, Sir Frank?” he added with
deference.
Sir Frank shook his head. “That possibility is disposed of by the
abstraction of the keys. The solution of the mystery lies there. But it
is just possible that the thief chose his occasion; that he relied on
the Prince’s presence to screen him from too close an inquiry. At all
events I find it difficult to accept too many coincidences in the case.”
I thought I might venture to raise a different point.
“Madame Bonnell had ample time to search the body and remove anything
she pleased before Captain Charles came.”
My chief shook his head good-naturedly.
“I haven’t too high an opinion of Madame’s ethical code, but I think
sufficiently well of her intelligence to feel pretty sure that if she
had had any use for her partner’s keys they would have been back in his
pocket before Captain Charles heard that he was dead.”
The remark was unanswerable as far as I was concerned. A moment later
the expected message came through from Scotland Yard.
The house of Doctor Weathered, of Warwick Street, Cavendish Square, had
been entered during the night, and his safe had been found open, with
his bunch of keys in it. And the doctor himself was missing.