While Richard Duvall was thus flying toward Boulogne, racking his brains
in a futile attempt to discover the reasons for his sudden and
unexpected dispatch to London, Grace, his wife, equally mystified, was
proceeding in the direction of Brussels.
The reasons for her going to Brussels were no more clear to her than
were Richard's, to him. At the conclusion of the wedding breakfast which
had followed her simple marriage to Duvall, she had gone to the
_pension_ at which she had been living, to await her husband's return.
She had not then understood the mysterious message which had summoned
him to the Prefect's office, nor, for that matter, had he, but he had
assured her that he would return in a short while, and that had been
enough for her.
Her patient waiting had been finally terminated by the arrival of the
Prefect himself, who had explained with polite brevity that a matter of
the gravest importance had made it necessary for him to send Richard at
once to London.
The girl's grief and alarm had been great--Monsieur Lefevre had at last,
however, succeeded in convincing her that Richard could not under the
circumstances have done anything but go. His position as an assistant to
Lefevre, and more particularly the friendship which existed between
them, made it imperative for him to come to the Prefect's assistance in
this crisis.
What the crisis was, Grace did not learn. She had insisted upon
following Richard, upon being near him, upon assisting him, should
opportunity offer, and Monsieur Lefevre, seized with a sudden
inspiration, had dispatched her to Brussels, with the assurance that she
would not only see her husband very soon, but might be able to render
both him, and France, a very signal service.
Grace had accepted the mission; her desire to be near Richard was a
compelling motive, and as a result she found herself flying toward the
Belgian frontier, on an early afternoon express, with no idea whatever
of what lay before her, and only a few words, written by Monsieur
Lefevre upon a page torn from his notebook, to govern her future
actions.
She luckily was able to find a compartment in one of the first-class
carriages where she could be alone, and sank back upon the cushioned
seat, determined to face whatever dangers the future might hold, for the
sake of her husband.
Her mind traveled, in retrospect, over the events of the past few
months--the conspiracy against her, by her step-uncle, Count d'Este, by
which he had so nearly deprived her of the fortune left to her by her
aunt, and the striking way in which his plans had been upset by Richard
Duvall. She had loved him at their very first meeting, and now that they
had become husband and wife, she loved him more than ever. It is small
wonder that the thought of the way in which he had been suddenly torn
from her, on the eve of their wedding journey, brought tears to her
eyes.
Presently she regained her composure and looked at the sheet of paper
which the Prefect had handed to her. It contained but a few words:
"Proceed to the Hotel Metropole, Brussels. Take a room in the name of
Grace Ellicott, and wait further instructions." That was all--no hint of
how or when she and Richard were to meet, or what had been the cause of
their separation. Once more the cruelty of the situation brought tears
to her eyes. While feeling in her handbag for her handkerchief, she drew
out the small silver ring which the Prefect had handed to her at the
last moment. "Trust any one," he had said, "who comes to you with such a
token as this." She examined the ring carefully, but the singular device
worked in gold upon the silver band, meant nothing to her. At length she
placed the ring carefully upon her finger, and proceeded to cover it by
putting on her glove.
For a long time she sat, speculating upon the strange workings of fate,
which doomed her to be thus speeding alone to Brussels, instead of to
Cherbourg, _en route_ to America, with Richard by her side. The sight of
two lovers, who boarded the train at St. Quentin, increased her
dissatisfaction. They came into the compartment, evidently quite wrapped
up in each other, and even the presence of a third person did not
prevent them from holding each other's hands under the cover of a
friendly magazine, and gazing at each other with longing eyes. Grace was
quite unable to endure the sight of their happiness--she turned away and
buried herself in her thoughts.
Presently the adventure-loving side of her nature began to assert
itself. Richard had been sent on a mission of the greatest
importance--one involving, Monsieur Lefevre had told her, the honor of
both his country and himself. And she was to share it--to take part in
its excitement, its dangers. The thought stirred all her love of the
mysterious, the unusual. After all, since she had become the wife of a
man whose profession in life was the detection of crime, should she not
herself take an interest, an active part in his work, and thereby
encourage and assist him? The thought made her impatient of all
delay--she felt herself almost trying to urge the train to quicker
motion--she was glad when at last they roared into the station at
Brussels.
Grace had never before been in the Belgian capital, but she summoned a
cab, and proceeded without difficulty to the Hotel Metropole. Here she
was assigned to a small suite, and at once began to unpack the steamer
trunk which was the only baggage she had brought with her. It was after
four o'clock when she had completed this task, and had removed the
stains of travel and changed her gown. As she came into the tiny parlor
which formed the second of the two rooms of the suite, she heard a
tapping at the door, and upon opening it, discovered one of the hotel
maids, waiting outside with fresh towels. The girl came in, and busied
herself setting to rights the toilet articles on the washstand. Grace,
who was engaged in listlessly watching the traffic in the square
outside, paid no attention to her. Presently she heard the girl come in
from the bedroom, and inquire if there was anything else that she could
do for her. "Nothing," she replied, without turning. The maid, however,
did not leave the room, but stood near by, observing her. Grace faced
about. "That is all," she said sharply.
"I have something to say to you, mademoiselle," the girl whispered in a
low tone, as she took a step forward. "A message from Monsieur Lefevre."
"Monsieur Lefevre? You?"
"Yes, mademoiselle, I am in his confidence. I know the purpose of your
visit here, and I come to give you further instructions." She spoke
quietly, impressively, and Grace was convinced that she was what she
represented herself to be. Still, she felt the necessity of caution.
"Please explain," she remarked, without further committing herself.
The girl approached still closer, and reaching into the bosom of her
dress, drew out a ring similar to the one which the Prefect had given
Grace. It was attached to a bit of ribbon. She glanced at the ring on
Grace's finger and smiled. "May I suggest, mademoiselle," she said,
"that you place the ring you are wearing where it will be less
conspicuous?"
Grace colored slightly at the criticism which the woman's words implied,
but drew the ring from her finger and placed it in her purse. "What have
you to say to me?" she inquired.
"This, mademoiselle. Certain persons, whose identity is not known to the
police, have committed a theft in London--in fact, have stolen a
valuable article from the French Ambassador there, Monsieur de Grissac.
This theft was committed this morning."
"What did they steal?" asked Grace.
"Monsieur de Grissac's ivory snuff box, mademoiselle."
"His snuff box? You don't mean to say that they are making all this fuss
over a trifling thing like a snuff box?"
"Yes, mademoiselle. Such is, indeed, the case."
"But why?"
"That I cannot tell. I do not know. It is sufficient to me that Monsieur
Lefevre wishes it recovered. In our service, mademoiselle, we are not
supposed to ask questions, but to obey orders."
Grace repressed her annoyance as best she could. "I suppose it must be
very valuable," she remarked, lamely.
"Undoubtedly. Very valuable, as you say. Now that it is stolen, it must
be recovered without delay. Monsieur Lefevre informs us here in Brussels
that others have gone to London to recover it. Should they fail to do
so--we believe that the persons who have committed the theft will come
here."
"Why?"
"Because they are acting, we believe, in the interests of a certain Dr.
Hartmann, who is a resident of Brussels."
"Why should this Dr. Hartmann want the box?" asked Grace, somewhat
mystified.
"That I am unable to tell you. He is an enemy of my country. He has many
agents, and is a man of great power."
"But why don't you arrest him?"
"Alas, mademoiselle, you do not understand. This Dr. Hartmann is a
physician of great prominence. His cures of nervous and mental disorders
have made him famous throughout Europe. He has in Brussels--just outside
the city, a sanatorium, where he receives and treats his patients. He is
looked up to by all. His work as an enemy of France is quite secret,
known to but a few. Even we know very little about it."
"Then how do you know that he had anything to do with the matter of this
snuff box?"
"We do not know it--we only surmise. There is a reason, which I am not
permitted at present to tell you, which causes Monsieur Lefevre to
believe that Dr. Hartmann had a hand in this matter. It is for that
reason, indeed, that he has sent you here."
"What can I do?"
"I will tell you. For a long time we have tried to get one of our own
agents into Dr. Hartmann's house, but without success. He is very
shrewd--very cautious. All his servants are countrymen of his, upon whom
he knows he can depend. His patients are people of wealth, position,
standing, who, he knows, could not possibly be agents of the French
police. He will take no others, and always insists upon the strictest
references. It is for these reasons that we have failed. Now an
opportunity presents itself for you, mademoiselle, to accomplish that
which the police cannot accomplish. You are an American girl, of
prominent family, of wealth, of position. I am informed that your aunt,
by her second marriage, was the Countess d'Este. Should you apply to Dr.
Hartmann for treatment, you will have no difficulty in obtaining
admission, for he could not, by any chance, think that Miss Grace
Ellicott, of New York, was in the employ of the French secret police.
You observe, mademoiselle, Monsieur the Prefect's object in sending you
to Brussels?"
Grace nodded. She was beginning to feel a keen interest in the matter.
"But I am not ill," she said, with a laugh. "How can I ask Dr. Hartmann
to treat me?"
"We have thought of that. The matter has been under consideration ever
since we were advised, early this afternoon, that you were coming. We
have thought it best that you represent yourself to the doctor as a
somnambulist."
"A sleep walker?"
"Precisely. It is a form of nervous trouble which is by no means
infrequent. We are informed that Dr. Hartmann has treated several such
cases in the past. There are not symptoms, except a state of nervousness
on the part of the patient which in your case it is probable the
excitement of the enterprise will supply, and, of course, the tendency
to walking in the sleep. This latter you must assume."
"Assume?"
"Yes. You must pretend to be a somnambulist. You must get up, each
night, at some hour, and wander about the house--pretending to be
oblivious of all about you. You are not normally conscious. You are in a
walking dream. Your eyes are fixed ahead--seeing no one. It will not be
difficult for you to pretend all this--and naturally, by wandering about
in this way, you may--we hope you will--have excellent opportunities to
observe what goes on within the doctor's walls."
"Is that all I am to do--just watch?"
"I think not. If we are unable, by other means, to prevent the stolen
box from being delivered to Dr. Hartmann, it must be recovered from him,
at any cost--at any cost whatever--" the woman repeated, significantly.
"Even life itself cannot be spared, in this case. The box _must be
recovered_, no matter what the price we pay--so we are informed by
Monsieur Lefevre."
"Then if it should pass into his possession, I may have to steal it? Is
that what you mean?"
"Undoubtedly, and at the very first opportunity." The girl rose,
gathered up the soiled towels which she had taken from the bedroom, and
went toward the door. "That is all, mademoiselle, except that you will
communicate to us any news of importance by means of a young man who
goes to the house each morning and evening to deliver bread. He comes in
a small wagon, and you will no doubt be able to speak with him, as he
enters or leaves the grounds. He is quite safe, and can be trusted.
Address your communications to him verbally--no letters, understand;
they are always dangerous. And now, let me suggest that you arrange to
see Dr. Hartmann at once."
"But--he may require reference--credentials."
"We have thought of that, and have prepared the way. One of our men has
ascertained that the United States Minister here is acquainted with
you--that your family is known to him. Your aunt, you will remember, was
quite prominent in society, in New York, at the time she married
Monsieur the Count d'Este. Whether the Minister is acquainted with you
personally, we have not been able to learn, but that he knows who you
are, is certain."
"Then I had best call upon him, and arrange for letters to Dr.
Hartmann."
"That is the best course. His house is near by. Take a cab at once, go
to him, and state your errand. You will have no difficulty, I feel
sure." She noiselessly opened the door, and in a moment was gone,
leaving Grace in a state of wonder. She did not waste much time,
however, in speculating upon the curious affair in which she found
herself involved, but putting on her hat, started off at once in search
of the American Minister.