CHAPTER XII
THE ALUMINIUM FLASK
"I have telephoned to Lemerre, the Chef de la Surete at Geneva," saidHanaud, as the car sped out of Aix along the road to Annecy. "He willhave the house watched. We shall be in time. They will do nothing untildark."
But though he spoke confidently there was a note of anxiety in hisvoice, and he sat forward in the car, as though he were alreadystraining his eyes to see Geneva.
Ricardo was a trifle disappointed. They were on the great journey toGeneva. They were going to arrest Mlle. Celie and her accomplices. AndHanaud had not come disguised. Hanaud, in Ricardo's eyes, was hardlyliving up to the dramatic expedition on which they had set out. Itseemed to him that there was something incorrect in the great detectivecoming out on the chase without a false beard.
"But, my dear friend, why shouldn't I?" pleaded Hanaud. "We are goingto dine together at the Restaurant du Nord, over the lake, until itgrows dark. It is not pleasant to eat one's soup in a false beard. Haveyou tried it? Besides, everybody stares so, seeing perfectly well thatit is false. Now, I do not want to-night that people should know me fora detective; so I do not go disguised."
"Humorist!" said Mr. Ricardo.
"There! you have found me out!" cried Hanaud, in mock alarm. "Besides,I told you this morning that that is precisely what I am."
Beyond Annecy, they came to the bridge over the ravine. At the far endof it, the car stopped. A question, a hurried glance into the body ofthe car, and the officers of the Customs stood aside.
"You see how perfunctory it is," said Hanaud and with a jerk the carmoved on. The jerk threw Hanaud against Mr. Ricardo. Something hard inthe detective's pocket knocked against his companion.
"You have got them?" he whispered.
"What?"
"The handcuffs."
Another disappointment awaited Ricardo. A detective without a falsebeard was bad enough, but that was nothing to a detective withouthandcuffs. The paraphernalia of justice were sadly lacking. However,Hanaud consoled Mr. Ricardo by showing him the hard thing; it wasalmost as thrilling as the handcuffs, for it was a loaded revolver.
"There will be danger, then?" said Ricardo, with a tremor ofexcitement. "I should have brought mine."
"There would have been danger, my friend," Hanaud objected gravely, "ifyou had brought yours."
They reached Geneva as the dusk was falling, and drove straight to therestaurant by the side of the lake and mounted to the balcony on thefirst floor. A small, stout man sat at a table alone in a corner of thebalcony. He rose and held out his hands.
"My friend, M. Lemerre, the Chef de la Surete of Geneva," said Hanaud,presenting the little man to his companion.
There were as yet only two couples dining in the restaurant, and Hanaudspoke so that neither could overhear him. He sat down at the table.
"What news?" he asked.
"None," said Lemerre. "No one has come out of the house, no one hasgone in."
"And if anything happens while we dine?"
"We shall know," said Lemerre. "Look, there is a man loitering underthe trees there. He will strike a match to light his pipe."
The hurried conversation was ended.
"Good," said Hanaud. "We will dine, then, and be gay."
He called to the waiter and ordered dinner. It was after seven whenthey sat down to dinner, and they dined while the dusk deepened. In thestreet below the lights flashed out, throwing a sheen on the foliage ofthe trees at the water's side. Upon the dark lake the reflections oflamps rippled and shook. A boat in which musicians sang to music,passed by with a cool splash of oars. The green and red lights of thelaunches glided backwards and forwards. Hanaud alone of the party onthe balcony tried to keep the conversation upon a light and generallevel. But it was plain that even he was overdoing his gaiety. Therewere moments when a sudden contraction of the muscles would clench hishands and give a spasmodic jerk to his shoulders. He was waitinguneasily, uncomfortably, until darkness should come.
"Eat," he cried--"eat, my friends," playing with his own barely tastedfood.
And then, at a sentence from Lemerre, his knife and fork clattered onhis plate, and he sat with a face suddenly grown white.
For Lemerre said, as though it was no more than a matter of ordinarycomment:
"So Mme. Dauvray's jewels were, after all, never stolen?"
Hanaud started.
"You know that? How did you know it?"
"It was in this evening's paper. I bought one on the way here. Theywere found under the floor of the bedroom."
And even as he spoke a newsboy's voice rang out in the street belowthem. Lemerre was alarmed by the look upon his friend's face.
"Does it matter, Hanaud?" he asked, with some solicitude.
"It matters--" and Hanaud rose up abruptly.
The boy's voice sounded louder in the street below. The words becamedistinct to all upon that balcony.
"The Aix murder! Discovery of the jewels!"
"We must go," Hanaud whispered hoarsely. "Here are life and death inthe balance, as I believe, and there"--he pointed down to the littlegroup gathering about the newsboy under the trees--"there is thecommand which way to tip the scales."
"It was not I who sent it," said Ricardo eagerly.
He had no precise idea what Hanaud meant by his words; but he realisedthat the sooner he exculpated himself from the charge the better.
"Of course it was not you. I know that very well," said Hanaud. Hecalled for the bill. "When is that paper published?"
"At seven," said Lemerre.
"They have been crying it in the streets of Geneva, then, for more thanhalf an hour."
He sat drumming impatiently upon the table until the bill should bebrought.
"By Heaven, that's clever!" he muttered savagely. "There's a man whogets ahead of me at every turn. See, Lemerre, I take every care, everyprecaution, that no message shall be sent. I let it be known, I takecareful pains to let it be known, that no message can be sent withoutdetection following, and here's the message sent by the one channel Inever thought to guard against and stop. Look!"
The murder at the Villa Rose and the mystery which hid its perpetrationhad aroused interest. This new development had quickened it. From thebalcony Hanaud could see the groups thickening about the boy and thewhite sheets of the newspapers in the hands of passers-by.
"Every one in Geneva or near Geneva will know of this message by now."
"Who could have told?" asked Ricardo blankly, and Hanaud laughed in hisface, but laughed without any merriment.
"At last!" he cried, as the waiter brought the bill, and just as he hadpaid it the light of a match flared up under the trees.
"The signal!" said Lemerre.
"Not too quickly," whispered Hanaud.
With as much unconcern as each could counterfeit, the three mendescended the stairs and crossed the road. Under the trees a fourth manjoined them--he who had lighted his pipe.
"The coachman, Hippolyte," he whispered, "bought an evening paper atthe front door of the house from a boy who came down the streetshouting the news. The coachman ran back into the house."
"When was this?" asked Lemerre.
The man pointed to a lad who leaned against the balustrade above thelake, hot and panting for breath.
"He came on his bicycle. He has just arrived."
"Follow me," said Lemerre.
Six yards from where they stood a couple of steps led down from theembankment on to a wooden landing-stage, where boats were moored.Lemerre, followed by the others, walked briskly down on to thelanding-stage. An electric launch was waiting. It had an awning and wasof the usual type which one hires at Geneva. There were two sergeantsin plain clothes on board, and a third man, whom Ricardo recognised.
"That is the man who found out in whose shop the cord was bought," hesaid to Hanaud.
"Yes, it is Durette. He has been here since yesterday."
Lemerre and the three who followed him stepped into it, and it backedaway
from the stage and, turning, sped swiftly outwards from Geneva.The gay lights of the shops and the restaurants were left behind, thecool darkness enveloped them; a light breeze blew over the lake, atrail of white and tumbled water lengthened out behind and overhead, ina sky of deepest blue, the bright stars shone like gold.
"If only we are in time!" said Hanaud, catching his breath.
"Yes," answered Lemerre; and in both their voices there was a strangenote of gravity.
Lemerre gave a signal after a while, and the boat turned to the shoreand reduced its speed. They had passed the big villas. On the bank thegardens of houses--narrow, long gardens of a street of smallhouses--reached down to the lake, and to almost each garden there was arickety landing-stage of wood projecting into the lake. Again Lemerregave a signal, and the boat's speed was so much reduced that not asound of its coming could be heard. It moved over the water like ashadow, with not so much as a curl of white at its bows.
Lemerre touched Hanaud on the shoulder and pointed to a house in a rowof houses. All the windows except two upon the second floor and oneupon the ground floor were in absolute darkness, and over those uppertwo the wooden shutters were closed. But in the shutters there werediamond-shaped holes, and from these holes two yellow beams of light,like glowing eyes upon the watch, streamed out and melted in the air.
"You are sure that the front of the house is guarded?" asked Hanaudanxiously.
"Yes," replied Lemerre.
Ricardo shivered with excitement. The launch slid noiselessly into thebank and lay hidden under its shadow. Hanaud turned to his associateswith his finger to his lips. Something gleamed darkly in his hand. Itwas the barrel of his revolver. Cautiously the men disembarked andcrept up the bank. First came Lemerre, then Hanaud; Ricardo followedhim, and the fourth man, who had struck the match under the trees,brought up the rear. The other three officers remained in the boat.
Stooping under the shadow of the side wall of the garden, the invadersstole towards the house. When a bush rustled or a tree whispered in thelight wind, Ricardo's heart jumped to his throat. Once Lemerre stopped,as though his ears heard a sound which warned him of danger. Thencautiously he crept on again. The garden was a ragged place of unmownlawn and straggling bushes. Behind each one Mr. Ricardo seemed to feelan enemy. Never had he been in so strait a predicament. He, thecultured host of Grosvenor Square, was creeping along under a wall withContinental policemen; he was going to raid a sinister house by theLake of Geneva. It was thrilling. Fear and excitement gripped him inturn and let him go, but always he was sustained by the pride of theman doing an out-of-the-way thing. "If only my friends could see menow!" The ancient vanity was loud in his bosom. Poor fellows, they wereupon yachts in the Solent or on grouse-moors in Scotland, or ongolf-links at North Berwick. He alone of them all was trackingmalefactors to their doom by Leman's Lake.
From these agreeable reflections Ricardo was shaken. Lemerre stopped.The raiders had reached the angle made by the side wall of the gardenand the house. A whisper was exchanged, and the party turned and movedalong the house wall towards the lighted window on the ground floor. AsLemerre reached it he stooped. Then slowly his forehead and his eyesrose above the sill and glanced this way and that into the room. Mr.Ricardo could see his eyes gleaming as the light from the window caughtthem. His face rose completely over the sill. He stared into the roomwithout care or apprehension, and then dropped again out of the reachof the light. He turned to Hanaud.
"The room is empty," he whispered.
Hanaud turned to Ricardo.
"Pass under the sill, or the light from the window will throw yourshadow upon the lawn."
The party came to the back door of the house. Lemerre tried the handleof the door, and to his surprise it yielded. They crept into thepassage. The last man closed the door noiselessly, locked it, andremoved the key. A panel of light shone upon the wall a few pacesahead. The door of the lighted room was open. As Ricardo steppedsilently past it, he looked in. It was a parlour meanly furnished.Hanaud touched him on the arm and pointed to the table.
Ricardo had seen the objects at which Hanaud pointed often enoughwithout uneasiness; but now, in this silent house of crime, they hadthe most sinister and appalling aspect. There was a tiny phial halffull of a dark-brown liquid, beside it a little leather case lay open,and across the case, ready for use or waiting to be filled, was abright morphia needle. Ricardo felt the cold creep along his spine, andshivered.
"Come," whispered Hanaud.
They reached the foot of a flight of stairs, and cautiously mounted it.They came out in a passage which ran along the side of the house fromthe back to the front. It was unlighted, but they were now on the levelof the street, and a fan-shaped glass window over the front dooradmitted a pale light. There was a street lamp near to the door,Ricardo remembered. For by the light of it Marthe Gobin had seen CeliaHarland run so nimbly into this house.
For a moment the men in the passage held their breath. Some one strodeheavily by on the pavement outside--to Mr. Ricardo's ear a mostcompanionable sound. Then a clock upon a church struck the half-hourmusically, distantly. It was half-past eight. And a second afterwards atiny bright light shone. Hanaud was directing the light of a pocketelectric torch to the next flight of stairs.
Here the steps were carpeted, and once more the men crept up. One afteranother they came out upon the next landing. It ran, like those belowit, along the side of the house from the back to the front, and thedoors were all upon their left hand. From beneath the door nearest tothem a yellow line of light streamed out.
They stood in the darkness listening. But not a sound came from behindthe door. Was this room empty, too? In each one's mind was the fearthat the birds had flown. Lemerre carefully took the handle of the doorand turned it. Very slowly and cautiously he opened the door. A stronglight beat out through the widening gap upon his face. And then, thoughhis feet did not move, his shoulders and his face drew back. The actionwas significant enough. This room, at all events, was not empty. But ofwhat Lemerre saw in the room his face gave no hint. He opened the doorwider, and now Hanaud saw. Ricardo, trembling with excitement, watchedhim. But again there was no expression of surprise, consternation, ordelight. He stood stolidly and watched. Then he turned to Ricardo,placed a finger on his lips, and made room. Ricardo crept on tiptoe tohis side. And now he too could look in. He saw a brightly lit bedroomwith a made bed. On his left were the shuttered windows overlooking thelake. On his right in the partition wall a door stood open. Through thedoor he could see a dark, windowless closet, with a small bed fromwhich the bedclothes hung and trailed upon the floor, as though someone had been but now roughly dragged from it. On a table, close by thedoor, lay a big green hat with a brown ostrich feather, and a whitecloak. But the amazing spectacle which kept him riveted was just infront of him. An old hag of a woman was sitting in a chair with herback towards them. She was mending with a big needle the holes in anold sack, and while she bent over her work she crooned to herself someFrench song. Every now and then she raised her eyes, for in front ofher, under her charge, Mlle. Celie, the girl of whom Hanaud was insearch, lay helpless upon a sofa. The train of her delicate green frockswept the floor. She was dressed as Helene Vauquier had described. Hergloved hands were tightly bound behind her back, her feet were crossedso that she could not have stood, and her ankles were cruelly strappedtogether. Over her face and eyes a piece of coarse sacking wasstretched like a mask, and the ends were roughly sewn together at theback of her head. She lay so still that, but for the labouring of herbosom and a tremor which now and again shook her limbs, the watcherswould have thought her dead. She made no struggle of resistance; shelay quiet and still. Once she writhed, but it was with the uneasinessof one in pain, and the moment she stirred the old woman's hand wentout to a bright aluminium flask which stood on a little table at herside.
"Keep quiet, little one!" she ordered in a careless, chiding voice, andshe rapped with the flask peremptorily upon the table. Immediately, asthough the tapping had some
strange message of terror for the girl'sear, she stiffened her whole body and lay rigid.
"I am not ready for you yet, little fool," said the old woman, and shebent again to her work.
Ricardo's brain whirled. Here was the girl whom they had come toarrest, who had sprung from the salon with so much activity of youthacross the stretch of grass, who had run so quickly and lightly acrossthe pavement into this very house, so that she should not be seen. Andnow she was lying in her fine and delicate attire a captive, at themercy of the very people who were her accomplices.
Suddenly a scream rang out in the garden--a shrill, loud scream, closebeneath the windows. The old woman sprang to her feet. The girl on thesofa raised her head. The old woman took a step towards the window, andthen she swiftly turned towards the door. She saw the men upon thethreshold. She uttered a bellow of rage. There is no other word todescribe the sound. It was not a human cry; it was the bellow of anangry animal. She reached out her hand towards the flask, but beforeshe could grasp it Hanaud seized her. She burst into a torrent of fouloaths. Hanaud flung her across to Lemerre's officer, who dragged herfrom the room.
"Quick!" said Hanaud, pointing to the girl, who was now strugglinghelplessly upon the sofa. "Mlle. Celie!"
Ricardo cut the stitches of the sacking. Hanaud unstrapped her handsand feet. They helped her to sit up. She shook her hands in the air asthough they tortured her, and then, in a piteous, whimpering voice,like a child's, she babbled incoherently and whispered prayers.Suddenly the prayers ceased. She sat stiff, with eyes fixed andstaring. She was watching Lemerre, and she was watching him fascinatedwith terror. He was holding in his hand the large, bright aluminiumflask. He poured a little of the contents very carefully on to a pieceof the sack; and then with an exclamation of anger he turned towardsHanaud. But Hanaud was supporting Celia; and so, as Lemerre turnedabruptly towards him with the flask in his hand, he turned abruptlytowards Celia too. She wrenched herself from Hanaud's arms, she shrankviolently away. Her white face flushed scarlet and grew white again.She screamed loudly, terribly; and after the scream she uttered astrange, weak sigh, and so fell sideways in a swoon. Hanaud caught heras she fell. A light broke over his face.
"Now I understand!" he cried. "Good God! That's horrible."