A STARTLING DISCOVERY
Harry Wethermill, however, was not so easily satisfied.
"Surely, monsieur, it would be well to know whither she is going," he
said, "and to make sure that when she has gone there she will stay
there--until we want her again?"
Hanaud looked at the young man pityingly.
"I can understand, monsieur, that you hold strong views about Helene
Vauquier. You are human, like the rest of us. And what she has said to
us just now would not make you more friendly. But--but--" and he
preferred to shrug his shoulders rather than to finish in words his
sentence. "However," he said, "we shall take care to know where Helene
Vauquier is staying. Indeed, if she is at all implicated in this affair
we shall learn more if we leave her free than if we keep her under lock
and key. You see that if we leave her quite free, but watch her very,
very carefully, so as to awaken no suspicion, she may be emboldened to
do something rash--or the others may."
Mr. Ricardo approved of Hanaud's reasoning.
"That is quite true," he said. "She might write a letter."
"Yes, or receive one," added Hanaud, "which would be still more
satisfactory for us--supposing, of course, that she has anything to do
with this affair"; and again he shrugged his shoulders. He turned
towards the Commissaire.
"You have a discreet officer whom you can trust?" he asked.
"Certainly. A dozen."
"I want only one."
"And here he is," said the Commissaire.
They were descending the stairs. On the landing of the first floor
Durette, the man who had discovered where the cord was bought, was
still waiting. Hanaud took Durette by the sleeve in the familiar way
which he so commonly used and led him to the top of the stairs, where
the two men stood for a few moments apart. It was plain that Hanaud was
giving, Durette receiving, definite instructions. Durette descended the
stairs; Hanaud came back to the others.
"I have told him to fetch a cab," he said, "and convey Helene Vauquier
to her friends." Then he looked at Ricardo, and from Ricardo to the
Commissaire, while he rubbed his hand backwards and forwards across his
shaven chin.
"I tell you," he said, "I find this sinister little drama very
interesting to me. The sordid, miserable struggle for mastery in this
household of Mme. Dauvray--eh? Yes, very interesting. Just as much
patience, just as much effort, just as much planning for this small end
as a general uses to defeat an army--and, at the last, nothing gained.
What else is politics? Yes, very interesting."
His eyes rested upon Wethermill's face for a moment, but they gave the
young man no hope. He took a key from his pocket.
"We need not keep this room locked," he said. "We know all that there
is to be known." And he inserted the key into the lock of Celia's room
and turned it.
"But is that wise, monsieur?" said Besnard.
Hanaud shrugged his shoulders.
"Why not?" he asked.
"The case is in your hands," said the Commissaire. To Ricardo the
proceedings seemed singularly irregular. But if the Commissaire was
content, it was not for him to object.
"And where is my excellent friend Perrichet?" asked Hanaud; and leaning
over the balustrade he called him up from the hall.
"We will now," said Hanaud, "have a glance into this poor murdered
woman's room."
The room was opposite to Celia's. Besnard produced the key and unlocked
the door. Hanaud took off his hat upon the threshold and then passed
into the room with his companions. Upon the bed, outlined under a
sheet, lay the rigid form of Mme. Dauvray. Hanaud stepped gently to the
bedside and reverently uncovered the face. For a moment all could see
it--livid, swollen, unhuman.
"A brutal business," he said in a low voice, and when he turned again
to his companions his face was white and sickly. He replaced the sheet
and gazed about the room.
It was decorated and furnished in the same style as the salon
downstairs, yet the contrast between the two rooms was remarkable.
Downstairs, in the salon, only a chair had been overturned. Here there
was every sign of violence and disorder. An empty safe stood open in
one corner; the rugs upon the polished floor had been tossed aside;
every drawer had been torn open, every wardrobe burst; the very bed had
been moved from its position.
"It was in this safe that Madame Dauvray hid her jewels each night,"
said the Commissaire as Hanaud gazed about the room.
"Oh, was it so?" Hanaud asked slowly. It seemed to Ricardo that he read
something in the aspect of this room too, which troubled his mind and
increased his perplexity.
"Yes," said Besnard confidently. "Every night Mme. Dauvray locked her
jewels away in this safe. Vauquier told us so this morning. Every night
she was never too tired for that. Besides, here"--and putting his hand
into the safe he drew out a paper--"here is the list of Mme. Dauvray's
jewellery."
Plainly, however, Hanaud was not satisfied. He took the list and
glanced through the items. But his thoughts were not concerned with it.
"If that is so," he said slowly, "Mme. Dauvray kept her jewels in this
safe, why has every drawer been ransacked, why was the bed moved?
Perrichet, lock the door--quietly--from the inside. That is right. Now
lean your back against it."
Hanaud waited until he saw Perrichet's broad back against the door.
Then he went down upon his knees, and, tossing the rugs here and there,
examined with the minutest care the inlaid floor. By the side of the
bed a Persian mat of blue silk was spread. This in its turn he moved
quickly aside. He bent his eyes to the ground, lay prone, moved this
way and that to catch the light upon the floor, then with a spring he
rose upon his knees. He lifted his finger to his lips. In a dead
silence he drew a pen-knife quickly from his pocket and opened it. He
bent down again and inserted the blade between the cracks of the
blocks. The three men in the room watched him with an intense
excitement. A block of wood rose from the floor, he pulled it out, laid
it noiselessly down, and inserted his hand into the opening.
Wethermill at Ricardo's elbow uttered a stifled cry. "Hush!" whispered
Hanaud angrily. He drew out his hand again. It was holding a green
leather jewel-case. He opened it, and a diamond necklace flashed its
thousand colours in their faces. He thrust in his hand again and again
and again, and each time that he withdrew it, it held a jewel-case.
Before the astonished eyes of his companions he opened them. Ropes of
pearls, collars of diamonds, necklaces of emeralds, rings of
pigeon-blood rubies, bracelets of gold studded with opals--Mme.
Dauvray's various jewellery was disclosed.
"But that is astounding," said Besnard, in an awe-struck voice.
"Then she was never robbed after all?" cried Ricardo.
Hanaud rose to his feet.
"What a piece of irony!" he whispered. "The poor woman is murdered for
her jewels, the room's turned upside down, and nothing is found. For
all the while they lay safe in this cache. Nothing is taken except what
she wore. Let us see what she wore."
"Only a few rings, Helene Vauquier thought," said Besnard. "But she was
not sure."
"Ah!" said Hanaud. "Well, let us make sure!" and, taking the list from
the safe, he compared it with the jewellery in the cases on the floor,
ticking off the items one by one. When he had finished he knelt down
again, and, thrusting his hand into the hole, felt carefully about.
"There is a pearl necklace missing," he said. "A valuable necklace,
from the description in the list and some rings. She must have been
wearing them;" and he sat back upon his heels. "We will send the
intelligent Perrichet for a bag," he said, "and we will counsel the
intelligent Perrichet not to breathe a word to any living soul of what
he has seen in this room. Then we will seal up in the bag the jewels,
and we will hand it over to M. le Commissaire, who will convey it with
the greatest secrecy out of this villa. For the list--I will keep it,"
and he placed it carefully in his pocket-book.
He unlocked the door and went out himself on to the landing. He looked
down the stairs and up the stairs; then he beckoned Perrichet to him.
"Go!" he whispered. "Be quick, and when you come back hide the bag
carefully under your coat."
Perrichet went down the stairs with pride written upon his face. Was he
not assisting the great M. Hanaud from the Surete in Paris? Hanaud
returned into Mme. Dauvray's room and closed the door. He looked into
the eyes of his companions.
"Can't you see the scene?" he asked with a queer smile of excitement.
He had forgotten Wethermill; he had forgotten even the dead woman
shrouded beneath the sheet. He was absorbed. His eyes were bright, his
whole face vivid with life. Ricardo saw the real man at this
moment--and feared for the happiness of Harry Wethermill. For nothing
would Hanaud now turn aside until he had reached the truth and set his
hands upon the quarry. Of that Ricardo felt sure. He was trying now to
make his companions visualise just what he saw and understood.
"Can't you see it? The old woman locking up her jewels in this safe
every night before the eyes of her maid or her companion, and then, as
soon as she was alone, taking them stealthily out of the safe and
hiding them in this secret place. But I tell you--this is human. Yes,
it is interesting just because it is so human. Then picture to
yourselves last night, the murderers opening this safe and finding
nothing--oh, but nothing!--and ransacking the room in deadly haste,
kicking up the rugs, forcing open the drawers, and always finding
nothing--nothing--nothing. Think of their rage, their stupefaction, and
finally their fear! They must go, and with one pearl necklace, when
they had hoped to reap a great fortune. Oh, but this is
interesting--yes, I tell you--I, who have seen many strange
things--this is interesting."
Perrichet returned with a canvas bag, into which Hanaud placed the
jewel-cases. He sealed the bag in the presence of the four men and
handed it to Besnard. He replaced the block of wood in the floor,
covered it over again with the rug, and rose to his feet.
"Listen!" he said, in a low voice, and with a gravity which impressed
them all. "There is something in this house which I do not understand.
I have told you so. I tell you something more now. I am afraid--I am
afraid." And the word startled his hearers like a thunderclap, though
it was breathed no louder than a whisper, "Yes, my friends," he
repeated, nodding his head, "terribly afraid." And upon the others fell
a discomfort, an awe, as though something sinister and dangerous were
present in the room and close to them. So vivid was the feeling,
instinctively they drew nearer together. "Now, I warn you solemnly.
There must be no whisper that these jewels have been discovered; no
newspaper must publish a hint of it; no one must suspect that here in
this room we have found them. Is that understood?"
"Certainly," said the Commissaire.
"Yes," said Mr. Ricardo.
"To be sure, monsieur," said Perrichet.
As for Harry Wethermill, he made no reply. His burning eyes were fixed
upon Hanaud's face, and that was all. Hanaud, for his part, asked for
no reply from him. Indeed, he did not look towards Harry Wethermill's
face at all. Ricardo understood. Hanaud did not mean to be deterred by
the suffering written there.
He went down again into the little gay salon lit with flowers and
August sunlight, and stood beside the couch gazing at it with troubled
eyes. And, as he gazed, he closed his eyes and shivered. He shivered
like a man who has taken a sudden chill. Nothing in all this morning's
investigations, not even the rigid body beneath the sheet, nor the
strange discovery of the jewels, had so impressed Ricardo. For there he
had been confronted with facts, definite and complete; here was a
suggestion of unknown horrors, a hint, not a fact, compelling the
imagination to dark conjecture. Hanaud shivered. That he had no idea
why Hanaud shivered made the action still more significant, still more
alarming. And it was not Ricardo alone who was moved by it. A voice of
despair rang through the room. The voice was Harry Wethermill's, and
his face was ashy white.
"Monsieur!" he cried, "I do not know what makes you shudder; but I am
remembering a few words you used this morning."
Hanaud turned upon his heel. His face was drawn and grey and his eyes
blazed.
"My friend, I also am remembering those words," he said. Thus the two
men stood confronting one another, eye to eye, with awe and fear in
both their faces.
Ricardo was wondering to what words they both referred, when the sound
of wheels broke in upon the silence. The effect upon Hanaud was
magical. He thrust his hands in his pockets.
"Helene Vauquier's cab," he said lightly. He drew out his
cigarette-case and lighted a cigarette.
"Let us see that poor woman safely off. It is a closed cab I hope."
It was a closed landau. It drove past the open door of the salon to the
front door of the house. In Hanaud's wake they all went out into the
hall. The nurse came down alone carrying Helene Vauquier's bag. She
placed it in the cab and waited in the doorway.
"Perhaps Helene Vauquier has fainted," she said anxiously: "she does
not come." And she moved towards the stairs.
Hanaud took a singularly swift step forward and stopped her.
"Why should you think that?" he asked, with a queer smile upon his
face, and as he spoke a door closed gently upstairs. "See," he
continued, "you are wrong: she is coming."
Ricardo was puzzled. It had seemed to him that the door which had
closed so gently was nearer than Helene Vauquier's door. It seemed to
him that the door was upon the first, not the second landing. But
Hanaud had noticed nothing strange; so it could not be. He greeted
Helene Vauquier with a smile as she came down the stairs.
"You are better, mademoiselle," he said politely. "One can see that.
There is more colour in your cheeks. A day or two, and you will be
yourself again."
He held the door open while she got into the cab. The nurse took her
seat beside her; Durette mounted on the box. The cab turned and went
down the drive.
"Goodbye, mademoiselle," cried Hanaud, and he watched until the high
shrubs hid the cab from his eyes. Then he behaved in an extraordinary
way. He turned and sprang like lightning up the stairs. His agility
amazed Ricardo. The others followed upon his heels. He flung himself at
Celia's door and opened it He burst into the room, stood for a second,
then ran to the window. He hid behind the curtain, looking out. With
his hand he waved to his companions to keep back. The sound of wheels
creaking and rasping rose to their ears. The cab had just come out into
the road. Durette upon the box turned and looked towards the house.
Just for a moment Hanaud leaned from the window, as Besnard, the
Commissaire, had done, and, like Besnard again, he waved his hand. Then
he came back into the room and saw, standing in front of him, with his
mouth open and his eyes starting out of his head, Perrichet--the
intelligent Perrichet.
"Monsieur," cried Perrichet, "something has been taken from this room."
Hanaud looked round the room and shook his head.
"No," he said.
"But yes, monsieur," Perrichet insisted. "Oh, but yes. See! Upon this
dressing-table there was a small pot of cold cream. It stood here,
where my finger is, when we were in this room an hour ago. Now it is
gone."
Hanaud burst into a laugh.
"My friend Perrichet," he said ironically, "I will tell you the
newspaper did not do you justice. You are more intelligent. The truth,
my excellent friend, lies at the bottom of a well; but you would find
it at the bottom of a pot of cold cream. Now let us go. For in this
house, gentlemen, we have nothing more to do."
He passed out of the room. Perrichet stood aside, his face crimson, his
attitude one of shame. He had been rebuked by the great M. Hanaud, and
justly rebuked. He knew it now. He had wished to display his
intelligence--yes, at all costs he must show how intelligent he was.
And he had shown himself a fool. He should have kept silence about that
pot of cream.