Grace had remained upon her knees beside the prostrate figure of her
husband but a moment, when she was torn away by Hartmann and his
assistant, and before she realized their intention, the former had
slipped about her waist the broad leather strap he had brought from the
room above, and was busy securing it to an iron staple fixed in the wall
at one side of the room. Then he stood back and surveyed the scene with
a smile of satisfaction.
"You see, Mayer," he observed, grimly, "my purpose. The wife sees the
husband's suffering. If he refuses to speak, she will speak. One or the
other will tell us what we want to know, of that you may be sure. Let us
leave them to talk matters over." He and his man at once left the room,
and in a few moments Grace heard their footsteps upon the floor of the
laboratory above.
"Richard," she cried, softly, "are you suffering very much?"
"Never mind, dear," he said, trying vainly to turn his head so that he
might see her. "What has happened--why have they brought you here?"
She told him her story, brokenly, with many sobs. "I could not help it,
Richard," she moaned. "I did my best. I could not help their finding out
everything."
"I know it, dear. You have done all you could. Is there any news from
outside?"
"None. They told me to play the phonograph to send you a message. Did
you hear it?"
"Yes, I heard, and understood."
"Understood? Then you know something--you have some hope?"
"I do not know. It may be, although I cannot see what to do now. I dare
not tell you more than that--these scoundrels are undoubtedly listening
in the room above."
"Richard, what is that light? What is it they mean to do to you? Dr.
Hartmann showed me his hand--it was all scarred and burned. He said it
came from that." She looked toward the glowing cone of light with bitter
anger.
"I do not know--exactly. I am not sure. The agony of the thing is very
great--it burns into my eyes--into my brain. Hartmann says it will
produce insanity. I do not know whether this is true or not. I begin to
feel that perhaps it may be--not that the light itself can produce it,
but that inability to sleep, pain, nervous exhaustion, the constant
glare and brilliance before my eyes--those things might cause a man to
go insane, if they were kept up long enough."
"But--he--he will not dare to do that."
Duvall groaned, striving in vain to turn his head to one side. "He
intends to keep me here, until I tell him where he can find the snuff
box," he gasped.
"Richard!" Grace fairly screamed out his name. "Then you must tell--you
_must_! You cannot let yourself go mad--not even for Monsieur Lefevre."
"I shall not tell--no matter what comes," he replied.
"Then _I_ will. I refuse to let you suffer like this. I can't do it, I
won't. If you do not speak, I shall. Oh, my God! Don't you see--I love
you--I love you so--what do I care about this foolish snuff box? I want
you--you--and I _won't_ let them take you away from me."
"Grace, you shall not tell them."
"I will."
"I forbid it."
"I cannot help it, Richard. I am ready to disobey you--if I must, to
save your life. Even if you turn from me--afterward--I cannot help it. I
refuse to let them go ahead with this thing."
He groaned in desperation. "Please--please--my girl--listen to me. You
must not speak. We must think of our duty to those who have trusted us.
Wait, I implore you. Don't do this!"
"I will. I have a duty to you which is greater than my duty to them. Dr.
Hartmann!" she screamed. "I will tell everything--everything." She
collapsed against the wall and sobbed as though her heart would break.
In a few moments they heard Hartmann and Mayer descending the steps, and
the door was thrown open.
"Ah, so you have come to your senses, have you?" the doctor cried.
"Well, what have you to say?"
Grace raised her head. "If I tell you where the ivory snuff box is
hidden," she said, "will you let my husband go?"
"Yes. Your husband, and yourself, and the rat we've just caught sneaking
around outside. He's up in the laboratory now. You can all take
yourselves off as quickly as you like, when once the snuff box is in my
hands. Now speak."
"First, let my husband up."
Hartmann went to the wall, and switching off the violet rays, turned on
the electric lamp, then nodded to Mayer. "Unbind him," he said.
Duvall staggered to his feet, half-blinded. As he did so, Hartmann
turned to Grace. "Speak!" he commanded. "We are wasting time."
Before Grace could reply, Duvall turned to her.
"I forbid you," he cried. "If you do this thing, I will never see you
again as long as I live. You are destroying my honor. I refuse to let
you do it. Stop!"
The girl hesitated, and Hartmann swore a great oath. "Take her out of
here, Mayer," he cried. "She'll never speak, as long as her husband is
present to dissuade her. Up with her to the laboratory. She'll talk
there, quick enough."
"No!" Duvall staggered toward her. "You shall not." His movements were
slow and uncertain, due to the blinding pain in his eyes, and his
stiffened, nerve-racked limbs. Hartmann pushed him aside angrily. "Be
quiet," he growled. "Let the woman alone."
Meanwhile Hartmann's companion had torn away the strap which bound Grace
to the wall and was leading her to the door. Her husband's efforts to
detain her, weak and uncertain, were easily frustrated by Hartmann. In a
few moments the door had swung shut upon the detective, and she was
being led up the steps to the room above.
Here she fell into a chair, and looking about, saw huddled on a couch in
the far corner of the room a little, bent old man, who sat with his
white head bowed upon his breast, his hands tied behind his back.
Hartmann went over to him and unfastened his bonds. "You will be happier
in a moment, my friend," he laughed. "This lady is going to set you
free."
Dufrenne--for it was he--sprang to his feet. "How?" he demanded. "How?"
As he spoke, he crossed the room, his eyes gleaming, and faced Grace as
she sat in the chair.
"Wait and see, old man," said Hartmann, roughly. "Stand aside, please."
He pushed Dufrenne impatiently away. "Now, young woman, where is the
ivory snuff box?"
Grace raised her head to reply, when the little old Frenchman turned to
her, pale with anger. "No!" he shouted, starting forward. "You shall not
do this thing. Would you be a traitor to France!"
Grace looked at him and shuddered. His face was quivering with
emotion--his eyes burned with piercing brightness, he seemed about to
spring at her, in his rage. In a moment Hartmann had turned on him. "Be
quiet!" he roared. "I want no interference from you. Mayer!" He pointed
a trembling forefinger at the old Frenchman. "Take this fellow away."
Mayer took Dufrenne by the arm and twisted it cruelly. "No nonsense,
now!" he growled, thrusting the old man toward the couch upon which he
had been sitting. "Hold your tongue, or it will be worse for you."
Dufrenne resisted him as best he could, but his age and feebleness
rendered him helpless. He sank upon the couch, with tears of anger
starting to his eyes.
Grace dared not look at him. The enormity of the thing she was about to
do appalled her. Yet there was Richard, her husband; Richard, whom she
loved with all her soul, in the room below, facing madness, death. The
love she felt for him overmastered all other considerations. She turned
to Hartmann with quivering face. "The box is in the room below," she
cried, in a voice shaking with emotion.
"_Mon Dieu--mon Dieu!_" she heard Dufrenne gasp, as he started from the
couch. "You have ruined us all."
Hartmann and Mayer gazed at each other incredulously. "Impossible!" the
former gasped. "Impossible!" Then he turned to Grace. "Girl, are you
telling me the truth?"
She nodded, bowing her head upon her hands. She could not trust herself
to speak.
"Where? Where in that room could it be hidden? Tell me!" he shook her
angrily by the arm. "Haven't we wasted enough time over this thing?"
Still she made no reply. Now that she had told them, a sudden revulsion
swept over her. She hated herself for what she had done, hated Hartmann,
hated Monsieur Lefevre for placing her in this cruel situation.
Hartmann dragged her roughly to her feet. "If the box is in the room
below, come with me and find it."
He hurried her toward the staircase. "Come along, Mayer," he called over
his shoulder. "Bring that fellow with you. It won't be safe to leave
him." As she descended the steps, Grace heard the other two close behind
her. The Frenchman staggered along like a man in a daze, offering no
resistance.
When they burst into the room in which Duvall was confined, they found
the latter standing beneath the electric lamp, a look of determination
upon his face. He regarded them steadily, in spite of his reddened and
burning eyes.
Hartmann paid little attention to him. He was too greatly interested in
the movements of Grace. "Now," he said, "where is it? You say the snuff
box is here--in this room. Find it."
She hesitated, looking at her husband pitifully. What would he think of
her? Would he, too, regard her as a traitor, a weak and contemptible
creature, forever barred from love and respect, false to her duty, her
honor? His face told her nothing. He was regarding her impassively. She
remembered now that he had said that he would never see her again if she
disobeyed him. Then she turned away, her mind made up. She would save
him, come what might. He had told her that the box was hidden in an
opera hat, in one corner of the room. She glanced about quickly, trying
to discover its whereabouts in one of the dark corners.
Duvall saw her intention. He took a step forward, and addressed
Hartmann. "You have forced this girl, through her love for me, to betray
a great trust. I prefer that, if anyone here is to become a traitor, it
shall be myself." He thrust his hand into the pocket of his coat, and
extended a round white object toward the astonished doctor. "Here is the
snuff box."
Dufrenne, for the moment left unguarded by Mayer, sprang forward with a
fierce cry. "No--no--no!" he screamed. "You shall not--you shall not."
"Out of my way!" exclaimed the doctor, brushing the old man aside as
easily as though the latter had been a child. With eager hands he took
the box, and going to the light, bent over it. As he saw the pearls, the
cross, his face lit up with delight. "This is it, Mayer. Just as the
valet described it." He gave the ring of pearls a swift turn, then
pressed immediately upon the larger one of the circle and slid the top
of the ivory cross to one side. Duvall, who was watching him with
interest, concluded that from some source, probably through Monsieur de
Grissac's dead servant, Dr. Hartmann had learned thoroughly the secret
of the box.
With a cry of satisfaction the latter drew out from the tiny recess the
slip of folded paper, glanced at the row of numbers written upon it,
then passed it over to Mayer. The latter nodded his head. "Now we are
all right," he muttered. "This is easily worth a million francs."
"Money doesn't measure its value, my friend," the doctor remarked,
gravely, as he replaced the slip of paper beneath the cross and put the
box carefully into his pocket.
During these few moments, Dufrenne had been observing the doctor with
bulging eyes. Suddenly he turned on the detective. "May the good God
curse you and your woman for this," he cried, hoarsely, "until the day
of your death. May He turn all men against you, and make your name a
despised and dishonored one forever. You have been false to your
duty--false to France. You are a traitor, a contemptible dog of a
traitor, and you deserve to die." His whole body shook with passion as
he poured the fury of his wrath upon the man before him.
Duvall sank weakly against the packing case behind him. Suffering, lack
of sleep and food, the burning pain in his eyes and brain, threatened to
overcome him. "Let me alone," he gasped. "I am so tired, so very tired!"
He almost fell as he uttered the words and indeed would have done so had
Grace not gone quickly up to him and passed her arm lovingly about his
shoulders. Turning to Dufrenne, she regarded him with a look of
defiance. "He is not guilty!" she cried. "It is I--I!--who have been
false. I made him do it--I made him do it. Go away, and tell the others
what you please. I know that my husband has done his best." She fell to
soothing him, kissing him upon his hot forehead, his burning cheeks.
Dufrenne looked at Dr. Hartmann, who was regarding the scene before him
with impatience. "Do I understand, monsieur," he asked, in a ghastly
voice, "that I am free to leave this place?"
"Yes. Out with you. I could hold you for trespass upon my grounds, for
attempting to break into my house, but I don't want to be bothered with
you. Go!" He went to the door and held it open. "Mayer," he said, "show
this fellow the road. And as for you"--he turned to Duvall and his
wife--"get away from here, and from Brussels, as soon as you like. I
advise you not to stay in the town. I rather think that, through the
evidence of Seltz, I can make it slightly uncomfortable for you. Tell
what story you please. I have done you no injury. You came here of your
own free will--you could have escaped and you would not. As for the
light--" He laughed harshly. "An ordinary arc, focused on your eyes with
a powerful lens. It would probably have blinded you, in time, and if it
kept you awake long enough, you would no doubt have gone mad, but so far
you are not hurt much. I can swear that it is part of my new treatment
for a disordered mental state. My man here will agree with me. What are
you going to do about it? How are you going to explain your robbery of
Seltz in my office, the deception your wife has practised upon me and
upon the United States Minister? And above all, now that I have the
secret I desired, I am quite willing to have a cast made of the snuff
box and return it to you, but I fancy that neither Monsieur de Grissac
nor my friend Lefevre will want to have the matter made public in the
courts. You'd better leave here quietly and take the first steamer to
America. I don't fancy you'll find a very flattering reception awaiting
you in Paris." He turned to the door. "Come, I'll have your belongings
put on a cab, and be glad to be rid of you." He paused beside the
doorway, waiting.
Grace turned to her husband. "Come, Richard," she said. "Let us go."
He made no reply, but followed her blindly. His spirits seemed broken,
he walked like a man in a heavy sleep.
It was just dawn when, half an hour later, Richard Duvall and his wife
drove silently through the ghostly streets of Brussels toward the
railway station. The detective did not speak. He sat silent, plunged in
a deep stupor. Grace, her heart breaking, held one of his hands, and
with white face, gazed helplessly out of the window at the city, just
waking to another day. To all these people the dawn came with some
measure of hope, of happiness, but to her, and to her husband, now once
more beginning their honeymoon, the future seemed full of bitterness and
despair. She shivered in the cold morning air, and the tears she could
not repress stole unheeded down her cheeks.