"Ah, I guessed as much," he replied, with a sigh, placing his hat on the
table and flinging himself into a chair. "Mind if I smoke? I've been
busy all day, and am dying for a weed."
"Smoke? Why, of course," I answered, pushing my cigars and some matches
before him.
I took one also, thinking that it might soothe my nerves, and when we
had lit up he leaned back in his chair, and, looking at me curiously
through the smoke, asked at last:
"What has occurred between you? Mademoiselle is leaving Paris
to-morrow."
"How did you know?"
"I called half an hour ago, and found both her and the Countess making
preparations for a hasty departure. Have you quarrelled again?"
"No, there is no quarrel between us," I answered gravely. "On the
contrary, there is a perfect understanding."
An incredulous smile crossed his features. "Well," he said, "I don't
know, after all, what right I have to interfere in your private affairs
at all, old chap, but if I might be allowed to make an observation I
should say that there is some very extraordinary mystery surrounding
both the Countess and her daughter."
"You don't like the Countess?"
"No, I don't. I conceived a violent prejudice against her on the first
occasion that I saw her. That prejudice has already ripened into--well,
I was about to say hatred."
"Why?"
"Well, I called upon them this afternoon with an object, and found the
Countess determined to place impediments in my way."
"What was your object?"
"I wished to satisfy myself of a certain fact."
"Of what fact?" I inquired with quick suspicion. "Of the cause of her
daughter's sudden attack last night."
"And what did you find?" I asked eagerly.
"I discovered a rather curious circumstance," he said. "You will
remember telling me that when you searched the room you found she had
written a letter almost immediately before her mysterious attack. Well,
when I had a look round that room later I saw the letter sealed in its
envelope and addressed to the Baroness Maillac, at Grands Sablons, lying
in the little letter-rack, and took possession of it, in the faint hope
that it might direct me to some clue as to the cause of her curious
condition. You will remember, too, the curious, unaccountable mark upon
her lip. I wished to see that mark again. I examined it, but against
the wish of the Countess, who appeared to regard me with considerable
animosity."
"What was in the letter? You opened it, of course?"
"Yes, I opened it, but the note inside was of no interest whatever.
Nevertheless, I had my suspicions, and have proved them to be well
grounded."
"What have you proved?"
"Briefly this: the mark upon mademoiselle's lip caused me to suspect
poisoning; yet it was apparent that she had not attempted suicide, but
that the poison, whatever its nature, had entered the tiny crack in the
lip by accident. I therefore came to the conclusion that her lip had
come into contact with some baneful substance immediately prior to her
attack, and when you mentioned the writing of the letter it appeared to
me that the gum upon the envelope might be the channel by which the
poison was conveyed to the mouth. The greater part of the night I spent
in dissolving the gum and making experiments with the solutions thus
obtained."
"And what did you discover?"
"I discovered the presence of a most powerful specific irritant poison.
I used Mitscherlich's method of detection, and although I cannot yet
actually determine the poison with which the gum on the envelope had
been impregnated, I proved its terrible effect by experiments. A rabbit
inoculated with a single drop of the solution died, in fourteen seconds,
of complete paralysis of the muscles, while a drop placed on a piece of
meat and given to a cat proved fatal within one minute."
"Then there was poison on the envelope?" I gasped, astounded.
"Yes, but only upon that particular envelope. While left alone in the
room awaiting mademoiselle, I secured four other of the same envelopes
from the stationary rack on her escritoire. These I took home at once,
made solutions, and tested them upon rabbits without effect. This
proved that one envelope alone was poisoned."
"Then she was actually poisoned?" I said, surprised at his ingenuity
and careful investigation.
"Undoubtedly so. The most curious feature is the mysterious character
of the poison. At first I suspected strychnia; but as that attacks the
sensitive portion of the spinal nervous system, and the symptoms were so
totally different, I was compelled to abandon that theory, as also
another I formed--namely, that the paralysis of the motor nerves might
be due to curare. After some hours of study and experiment, however, I
found that the poison was one extremely difficult of detection when
absorbed into the system--that its symptoms were none of those
ordinarily attributed to irritant poisons by Tanner and the other
toxicologists--that it was a poison not commonly known, if, indeed,
known at all."
"Then you think that Yolande was the victim of a deliberate attempt upon
her life?"
"Of that I am absolutely convinced. Having taken possession of the
letter, I could not well mention it or make inquiries regarding it. I
thought it would be best to leave such inquiries to you, who are her
intimate friend. I went there to-day in order to satisfy myself
regarding the mark on the lip, and also to secure some of the other
envelopes. Both of these objects I fortunately accomplished, and have
succeeded in establishing the fact that she was poisoned in a most
ingenious and secret manner by some person who is evidently no novice in
the use of that most deadly and mysterious substance."
"But whom do you suspect?"
He blew a cloud of smoke from his lips, and, with his eyes fixed upon
the panelled ceiling, answered:
"Ah! that's the enigma."
"Well," I said, after a pause, "you seem so hostile towards the
Countess, I'm wondering if you suspect her?"
"I can't very well, even though there are several curious circumstances
which seem to point in that direction. The great fact in favour of her
innocence is that she sent for you. Therefore I should like to obtain
more direct evidence before actually condemning her. Some of the
circumstances are distinctly suspicious, even damning, yet others go far
to prove the exact contrary."
"But I can't see what object she could have in getting rid of her
daughter," I observed, much puzzled by this extraordinary theory.
"Unless she feared some awkward revelations which Yolande might make in
a moment of desperation. To me there is still a good deal of mystery
surrounding both mother and daughter."
"I quite agree, Dick. But do you think it possible that a mother could
deliberately attempt to kill her daughter by such dastardly means? I
don't."
"Such a thing is not unknown in the annals of crime," he answered,
knocking the ash slowly from his cigar. "You see, it is practically
plain that Yolande is in possession of some secret, and has grown
nervous and melancholy. Of the nature of that secret we have no idea.
If it were disclosed it might seriously affect the Countess; hence it
would be to the latter's advantage if her daughter's lips were sealed."
"But, my dear fellow, I know the Countess well. She's one of the most
charming of women, and utterly devoted to Yolande. Your suggestion
seems incredible."
"How incredible it appears to you is of no import, my dear Ingram," he
answered calmly. "You asked me to investigate the strange affair for
you, and I've done so to the best of my ability. I found that the young
lady had been poisoned, in a most secret and ingenious manner, by
someone well acquainted with the use of the unknown drug. That the
envelope was carefully prepared is quite plain, but by whom it is
impossible to say--"
"Not by her mother," I declared, interrupting him. "I can't believe
that."
"It is for you to discover that. You can ask her a little later about
the letter, without giving her any clue to the fact that I have secured
it. She must remain under the impression that the letter was duly
posted by one of the servants."
"But she is leaving Paris," I said.
"You can see her this evening and make the necessary inquiries, surely?"
"No," I responded. "I shall not see her again."
"Then it is true, as I've already suggested, that you've quarrelled?"
"No," I declared, "we have agreed to part again--that's all."
He was silent for a moment, contemplating the end of his cigar. Then he
observed:
"Well, if I may be permitted to say so, old fellow, I think you've
chosen a very wise course. You, in your official position, ought not to
be mixed up with any mystery of this sort."
"I know, Dick--I know quite well," I responded hastily. "You, however,
do not love a woman as I love Yolande."
"Love be hanged!" he cried, laughing. "Love is like the influenza--
painful while it lasts, but easily forgotten."
"This matter is too serious for joking," I said, a trifle annoyed by his
flippancy.
"Ah, I've heard that story once or twice before! It is astonishing what
a difference a month makes in the course of the malady. Take my tip,
old chap, and think no more of her. Depend upon it, your charming
Yolande with the pretty hair, that used to be admired so much in
Brussels, is not worth the position of wife to a good fellow like you."
"That's all very well," I sighed. "I know I was a fool to have called
upon her, but I was compelled."
"What compelled you?"
"A circumstance over which I had no control," I answered, for I did not
intend to explain to him the accusation made against her by Kaye.
"And you at once fell in love with her again? Ah! such meetings are
always extremely dangerous."
"Yes; that is only too true. I know I have been foolish, and now must
suffer."
"Rubbish!" he cried. "Why, my dear fellow, Edith loves you, and is
perfectly devoted to you. She is charming, pretty, smart, with all the
qualities necessary for the wife of a successful diplomatist. Some day,
when you get your promotion, you will be gazetted minister to one or
other of the South American Republics, and with her as your wife you'll
be perfectly happy."
"You seem to have already carved out my future for me, Dick."
"I've only prophesied the ordinary course of things."
"I shall, I feel certain, never marry Edith," I answered, shaking my
head. "It is entirely out of the question."
"Well, we shall see. A man hardly ever marries his first love, you
know. There always seems an evil fortune connected with first loves."
"How coldly philosophical you are, Dick! Is it because you've never
been in love?"
"Never been in love?" he echoed. "Why, my dear old fellow, I've been in
love a hundred times, but it's never been sufficiently serious to cause
me to pop the question. I'm quite catholic in my tastes, you see. I'm
fond of women as a sex."
What he said was perfectly true. He was a popular favourite among the
English colony in Paris, and was an inveterate diner-out. Indeed, his
well-set-up figure was constantly to be seen at all smart gatherings,
and I had overheard many a dainty Parisienne whisper nice things about
him behind her fan.
"You'll find a pair of eyes fascinating you one of these days, never
fear," I said. "Then it will be my turn to smile."
"Smile away, old chap; you'll never offend me. We are too old friends
for that."