It was characteristic of Monsieur Etienne Lefevre, Prefect of Police of
Paris, that when he had once placed a case in the hands of one of his
men, he rarely ever interfered in any way with the latter's conduct of
it. Reports of progress he did not desire, nor encourage. Success was
the only report that he asked, and by thus throwing his subordinates
upon their own responsibility, he obtained from them far better results
than would have been the case had he kept in constant touch with their
movements.
Hence when he dispatched Richard Duvall, and Monsieur Dufrenne, the
little curio dealer of the _Rue de Richelieu_, to London, and the
former's wife and later on Lablanche to Brussels, he felt that he had
done all that it was possible to do, to secure the recovery of Monsieur
de Grissac's stolen snuff box.
He did not, it is true, dismiss the matter from his mind--it was,
indeed, of too grave and sinister a character to be treated thus
lightly, but he had the utmost confidence in Duvall, and believed that
the latter would without doubt succeed in his quest.
Since Duvall's departure, he had waited anxiously for the detective's
appearance. He did not expect to hear from him, but felt convinced that
within the next day or two he would walk into his office with the
missing snuff box in his pocket.
It was with some dismay, therefore, that he received, on the fourth day,
a sudden visit from Dufrenne. The latter had been released, the day
before, by the Brussels police, after a most uncomfortable night in a
cell, an experience for which he knew he had Hartmann to thank, and in
desperation had decided to place the condition of affairs before his
chief.
The latter had heard him in silence, and then followed a long
conference, with the result that Dufrenne returned to Brussels, bearing
the mysterious message subsequently given to Grace by Lablanche, to play
_The Rosary_ upon the phonograph.
Since then, the Prefect had been in a state of profound agitation,
although he carefully concealed the fact from his subordinates. The
gravity of the issues at stake tortured him ceaselessly, and to add to
his discomfort, Monsieur de Grissac arrived from London, determined to
ascertain what progress, if any, had been made toward the recovery of
his lost property.
He was bitterly disappointed to find that Lefevre was unable to give him
the slightest encouragement. The box had not, he believed, passed into
the hands of their enemies, but beyond that he could say nothing.
It was on the day of the Ambassador's arrival that Dufrenne appeared at
the Prefecture a second time, his face pale and haggard, his eyes
bloodshot and sunken from loss of sleep, his whole manner indicating
that he had lately passed through some terrible experience. De Grissac
was closeted with the Prefect at the time, but the man's appearance, his
urgent request that he see Monsieur Lefevre at once, gained him an
immediate audience.
The Prefect and the Ambassador stood awaiting his entrance, their faces
tense with anxiety. The expression upon the old man's countenance
confirmed their worst fears. He staggered into the room, grasping the
back of a chair to support himself. "He has given it up--the
scoundrel--the traitor; he has given it up, to save himself and his
wife."
The Ambassador turned away with a groan of despair. Lefevre stepped up
to Dufrenne. "You mean to tell me," he cried, "that Richard Duvall has
proven false to his duty? I cannot believe it."
Dufrenne nodded. "He gave it to Hartmann last night. I saw him do it.
Hartmann had promised to let him go free. They had been torturing him,
in some way, I do not know how. It was the woman who weakened first. The
man--Duvall--gave up the box to save her from doing so."
"Then she knew where it was?"
"Yes."
The Prefect went over to the window and looked out over the Seine. His
emotions almost overcame him. The loss of the box--Duvall's
faithlessness--his own failure, all plunged him into the deepest
despair. "_Mon Dieu!_" he muttered to himself. "Duvall--it is
incredible!"
Suddenly he turned. The Ambassador had begun to question Dufrenne. "What
did this Dr. Hartmann do, when the box was given to him?" he asked in a
voice trembling with excitement.
"He pressed the large pearl, pushed aside the cross, and removed the
paper that was hidden beneath it. He read the paper. It contained
nothing but a row of numbers. I saw it as he held it beneath the light."
De Grissac became as white as chalk, and turning to Lefevre, cried out,
in a broken voice, "It is all over. Nothing can be done now. It is too
late. _Mon Dieu!_ What will become of France?"
"Where is Duvall?" cried the Prefect, suddenly. "I must see him. He is
not the man to do such a thing as this. I must talk to him. Do not tell
me that he has run away."
"No, monsieur. He is outside, he and his wife. I have placed them both
under arrest."
"Were they attempting to escape?"
"No, monsieur. They were coming to Paris."
"At least," the Prefect remarked, mournfully, "he is not cowardly enough
for that. Bring him here--bring them both here at once. I must question
them."
Dufrenne turned to the door. "In a moment, monsieur, they will be before
you."
"What can it avail now?" said De Grissac, sadly.
"We shall see. I never condemn a man without a hearing." As he spoke,
Duvall and Grace came into the room.
The Prefect looked at his young assistant with an expression both grave
and sad. He had always been very fond of Duvall--he was fond of him
still. The whole matter had hurt him very deeply.
"Monsieur Duvall," he said, without further preliminaries, "Monsieur
Dufrenne tells me that you, after recovering Monsieur de Grissac's snuff
box from Dr. Hartmann, deliberately returned it to him last night, in
order to secure your liberty and that of your wife. Is this true?"
"Yes." Duvall's voice was calm, even, emotionless. "It is true."
Lefevre recoiled as though he had received a blow. "Can you dare to come
before me, and tell me such a thing as that?"
"It was my fault, Monsieur Lefevre," cried Grace, going up to him.
"Richard begged me not to tell--commanded me not to tell, but they were
torturing him--they were driving him mad. Oh, I could not stand it--I
could not!"
"You should have considered your duty, madame, not your husband,"
remarked the Prefect, coldly, then turned to Duvall.
"Young man," he said, "you have done a terrible thing--perhaps even now,
you do not realize how terrible a thing. I regret that I did not inform
you at the time I placed the case in your hands, but the matter is one
which, at all costs, I wished to have remain a secret. Now it makes
little difference. Monsieur de Grissac has for many months been carrying
on with the Foreign Office a correspondence regarding the relations of
France and England in the matter of Morocco. Many details of action have
been settled which, in the event of certain eventualities, would
constitute the joint policy of the two nations. I need hardly say that
these details and policies are of such a nature as to cause, if known,
an immediate declaration of war by the third nation involved. This
correspondence, Monsieur de Grissac, unwilling to trust to the ordinary
cipher in use for such purposes, carried on in a code of his own; one
which he regarded as absolutely proof against all attempts at solution.
That desperate attempts to obtain copies of the correspondence would be
made he well knew, and in spite of all precautions, our enemies, by
bribing a subordinate, did, some time ago, manage to secure copies of
many of the most important letters and documents. Their attempts at
reading them, however, were fruitless. Without the cipher, and its key,
they could do nothing.
"How they ultimately learned that the key and the cipher were contained
in the ivory snuff box, we do not know. Perhaps through Noel, the
Ambassador's servant, although Monsieur de Grissac is positive that he
never, under any circumstances, made use of the cipher in the presence
of a third person. That they did learn the whereabouts of the cipher,
however, we now realize only too well. When I told you that in the
missing snuff box lay not only my honor, but the honor of France, I
indulged in no extravagant statements. It is the solemn truth. Even now,
by means of the snuff box and key which you have delivered to them, our
enemies have no doubt read the stolen documents, and are preparing to
strike while we are as yet unprepared." He strode up and down the room
in a state of extreme excitement. "As a last desperate chance, I
attempted to send you a message by means of the phonograph record. I
hoped you might, in this way, learn the secret of the box, and by
destroying the key, render it useless. If you hesitated to do this,
fearing that, should Hartmann discover the key was missing he would
refuse to liberate you, you are worse than a traitor. You are a
contemptible coward. Let me tell you, Monsieur Duvall, if I had a son, I
should rather have struck him dead at my feet, than have had him fail me
in a crisis like this."
Grace began to weep, hysterically. "It was all my fault," she began. "I
told them the box was hidden in the room below, against my husband's
wishes."
"Where were you, then, that you say 'in the room below?'" asked Lefevre
suddenly.
"In the laboratory, on the second floor. My husband was confined in the
basement. I said I would tell--for they were killing him. He cried out
to me--forbidding me to do so. Then they took me away to the room
above."
"And left your husband alone, with the snuff box in his possession?"
demanded the Prefect, sternly.
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"About--about ten minutes," she replied, wondering at his question.
"And you," exclaimed the Prefect, in a voice of fury, turning on Duvall,
"were left alone in this room, with the snuff box in your possession,
for ten minutes, at the end of which time you calmly turned it over to
this fellow Hartmann. _Mon Dieu!_ Why did you not destroy it--crush it
under your heel--anything, to prevent our enemies from obtaining
possession of it?" He looked at Duvall, his face working convulsively.
"You--you are a--_sacre bleu!_--I cannot tell you what I think of you."
"Monsieur de Grissac," asked Duvall, his face white, "had I destroyed
the box, or even only the key, could you have read these documents
yourself?"
The Ambassador gazed at him, puzzled for a moment. "Certainly not,
monsieur," he replied. "I could no more have solved the cipher than they
could. It was for that reason that I was forced to carry the key about
with me. But it would have been infinitely better, had the documents
never again been read, than to have them read by our enemies."
Without making any reply, Duvall placed his hand in his pocket and drew
out, between his thumb and forefinger, a tiny white pellet, no larger
than the head of a match. "You are no doubt acquainted, Monsieur de
Grissac," he said, coolly, "with your own handwriting."
"My handwriting! Naturally. What of it?" He went toward the detective,
an eager look in his face. Lefevre, Dufrenne, and Grace also crowded
about, their expressions showing the interest which Duvall's questions
had aroused.
The detective began to unroll the little white pellet with the utmost
deliberation. It presently became a tiny strip of tissue paper, not over
two and a half inches long, upon which was written a series of numbers.
"Is that, then, your handwriting, monsieur?" he inquired carelessly, as
he placed the strip of paper in De Grissac's trembling hand.
"_Mon Dieu!_ The key!" fairly shouted the Ambassador, as his eyes fell
upon the bit of paper. "Monsieur Duvall, what does this mean?"
"It means, monsieur," replied the detective, coolly, "that while I was
left alone in the room downstairs, I tore off the lower half of your
key, which luckily, was a sufficient width to enable me to do so, and
with a fountain pen I had in my pocket, wrote upon this second slip of
paper a series of numbers taken at random. This series I placed in the
secret recess in the box. I do not think it will prove of much use to
our friends in Brussels."
"Duvall!" cried Lefevre, rushing forward with outstretched hands.
"Forgive me--forgive me!" He was not quick enough, however, to forestall
Grace, who with one cry of happiness had flung herself into her
husband's arms. "Richard!" she cried, and then sank sobbing but happy
upon his breast.
Monsieur Lefevre seized his assistant by the arm and began to shake his
hand in a way which almost threatened to dislocate the young man's
shoulder. "My boy," he cried, laughing and crying at the same time,
"forgive me--forgive me. I was hasty. I should have let you speak,
first. God be praised, everything is well. De Grissac--think of it--they
will puzzle their brains over that cipher for weeks and weeks and they
will discover nothing--nothing! Is it not splendid!" He grasped the
Ambassador's hand and embraced him with ardor. "Magnificent! Superb!"
The Ambassador was no less overjoyed. "Young man," he said, "we owe you
the deepest apologies. No one could have done better. I thank you from
the bottom of my heart." Dufrenne also offered his congratulations. "My
friend," he said, "I have done you a great injustice. I salute you, not
only as a brave man, but as a very shrewd one. As for me, I fear I am
only an old fool."
Duvall patted the old man on the shoulder and smiled. "A patriot,
monsieur, and for that I honor you. I was luckily able to turn the
tables on these fellows. But one thing you, and all of you, gentlemen,
should know. Had I not been able to substitute a false key for the real
one, the latter would never have passed into Hartmann's hands, if I had
died for it."
"I know it, my friend. I was a fool, a dolt, even for one moment to
doubt it. I ask your pardon, and that of madame, your wife," cried
Lefevre, seizing Duvall's hands in his. Grace looked proudly at her
husband, her knowledge of her own weakness forgotten in the triumph that
he had won.
"And now, monsieur," said Duvall, with a look of happiness in his face
as he caught his wife's glance, "with your permission, Mrs. Duvall and
myself will begin once more our interrupted honeymoon."
The Prefect put his arm about the detective's shoulder, and gave him an
affectionate hug. "My poor children," he cried, smiling at Grace. "In my
excitement, my happiness, I had completely forgotten that you are only
just married. And such a honeymoon as you have had. It is indeed
shameful, and the fault is mine--mine alone. But I shall make amends, my
children. You have rendered both me, and France, a great service, and I
do not forget it. I insist that to-night you shall dine with me. You, De
Grissac," he exclaimed, turning to the Ambassador, "will, I know, be one
of the party. And it is not alone for the purpose of dining that I ask
you, your service to France shall be acknowledged in a more substantial
way. Monsieur de Grissac and myself will have the honor to present to
you, Monsieur Duvall, and to your charming bride, some tokens of our
gratitude and esteem. After that--go--enjoy your happiness. You have
earned it." He glanced at his watch. "Madame, you are fatigued. You need
rest--sleep. I insist that you permit me to send you to my house, where
Madame Lefevre will have the honor to receive you, and make you
comfortable. You, Duvall, can in the meantime make your arrangements for
leaving Paris to-night, and also secure your baggage from the _pension_
in the _Rue Lubeck_ where it awaits you. I myself will accompany you,
and render you any assistance in my power; we will then rejoin your wife
at my house, where Monsieur de Grissac will meet us in time for dinner.
What do you say?"
Grace clung to her husband's arm. "I'm afraid to leave him, even for a
minute," she said.
Duvall pressed her hand, and noted her swollen eyes, her white and drawn
cheeks. "You have had a terrible night, dear," he said, kissing her,
"and you must have a few hours' rest. Go to Monsieur Lefevre's house,
and lie down and sleep for a little while. You are so nervous you can
scarcely stand. I will not be long."
She gave his arm a little squeeze, then turned to the Prefect. "I thank
you, monsieur, and since my husband thinks it best, I will gladly go to
your house at once. Good-by, Richard." She accompanied Monsieur Lefevre
to the door.
Two hours later, Duvall, having made all arrangements for leaving Paris
for London that night, descended from the Prefect's automobile at the
latter's house in the _Rue de Courcelles_. Within an hour they had been
joined by Monsieur de Grissac and were all seated about Monsieur
Lefevre's hospitable board. Everyone was in jubilant spirits, and in the
happiness of the moment all the suffering of the past week was
forgotten. De Grissac presented to the bride a magnificent diamond
crescent, and to Duvall a gold cigarette-case of exquisite design and
workmanship, while Monsieur Lefevre, not to be outdone, placed in
Grace's hand a rare lace shawl which, he assured her, had been worn by a
Marquise under the Empire. To Duvall he gave a seal ring, with the arms
of France engraved upon a setting of jade. "It belonged to my father,"
he said, simply. "With me it is a talisman; you will never ask any favor
from me in vain."
When M. Lefevre came at last to say good-by to Duvall and his wife,
there were tears of real sorrow in his eyes. He had no children of his
own, and the happiness of his two young friends had been his happiness
as well. The thought that he might never see them again left him with a
great sense of loneliness.
"Good-by, my dear boy," he said, grasping Duvall's hand in both of his,
as he stood beside the door of the automobile which was to take the
happy pair to the railway station. "When you settle down upon that
little farm in your own country, and raise the chickens, and the pigs,
and, may I also venture to hope"--he smiled meaningly at Grace--"the
children, do not forget your old friend Lefevre."
Duvall pressed his hand, while Grace hid her blushes in the darkness of
the cab.
"I shall never forget, _monsieur_, that to you I owe the possession of
the sweetest and best wife in the world. We shall meet again, I promise
you."
"Good! I shall hold you to the promise, _mon ami_. And if you do not
keep it"--he pointed his finger impressively at the pair in the cab--"I
shall send for you to assist me in the next difficult case which puzzles
me, and _voila_! The thing is done. You would not _dare_ to fail me,
should I call upon you for assistance."
He took Grace's hand and kissed it with old time courtliness, then
slapped Duvall upon the shoulder.
"Go now, my children. If you stay longer I shall be unable to restrain
my tears."
As the automobile turned the corner below, its occupants saw the old
gentleman still standing on the sidewalk, gazing after them and waving
his handkerchief in farewell.
"Dear old Lefevre," said Duvall, as he drew Grace to him and kissed her.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Ivory Snuff Box, by Arnold Fredericks