CHAPTER XXI
HANAUD EXPLAINS
This is the story as Mr. Ricardo wrote it out from the statement ofCelia herself and the confession of Adele Rossignol. Obscurities whichhad puzzled him were made clear. But he was still unaware how Hanaudhad worked out the solution.
"You promised me that you would explain," he said, when they were bothtogether after the trial was over at Aix. The two men had just finishedluncheon at the Cercle and were sitting over their coffee. Hanaudlighted a cigar.
"There were difficulties, of course," he said; "the crime was socarefully planned. The little details, such as the footprints, theabsence of any mud from the girl's shoes in the carriage of themotor-car, the dinner at Annecy, the purchase of the cord, the want ofany sign of a struggle in the little salon, were all carefully thoughtout. Had not one little accident happened, and one little mistake beenmade in consequence, I doubt if we should have laid our hands upon oneof the gang. We might have suspected Wethermill; we should hardly havesecured him, and we should very likely never have known of the Tacefamily. That mistake was, as you no doubt are fully aware--"
"The failure of Wethermill to discover Mme. Dauvray's jewels," saidRicardo at once.
"No, my friend," answered Hanaud. "That made them keep Mlle. Celiealive. It enabled us to save her when we had discovered the whereaboutsof the gang. It did not help us very much to lay our hands upon them.No; the little accident which happened was the entrance of our friendPerrichet into the garden while the murderers were still in the room.Imagine that scene, M. Ricardo. The rage of the murderers at theirinability to discover the plunder for which they had risked theirnecks, the old woman crumpled up on the floor against the wall, thegirl writing laboriously with fettered arms 'I do not know' underthreats of torture, and then in the stillness of the night the clear,tiny click of the gate and the measured, relentless footsteps. Nowonder they were terrified in that dark room. What would be their onethought? Why, to get away--to come back perhaps later, when Mlle. Celieshould have told them what, by the way, she did not know, but in anycase to get away now. So they made their little mistake, and in theirhurry they left the light burning in the room of Helene Vauquier, andthe murder was discovered seven hours too soon for them."
"Seven hours!" said Mr. Ricardo.
"Yes. The household did not rise early. It was not until seven that thecharwoman came. It was she who was meant to discover the crime. By thattime the motor-car would have been back three hours ago in its garage.Servettaz, the chauffeur, would have returned from Chambery some timein the morning, he would have cleaned the car, he would have noticedthat there was very little petrol in the tank, as there had been whenhe had left it on the day before. He would not have noticed that someof his many tins which had been full yesterday were empty to-day. Weshould not have discovered that about four in the morning the car wasclose to the Villa Rose and that it had travelled, between midnight andfive in the morning, a hundred and fifty kilometres."
"But you had already guessed 'Geneva,'" said Ricardo. "At luncheon,before the news came that the car was found, you had guessed it."
"It was a shot," said Hanaud. "The absence of the car helped me to makeit. It is a large city and not very far away, a likely place for peoplewith the police at their heels to run to earth in. But if the car hadbeen discovered in the garage I should not have made that shot. Eventhen I had no particular conviction about Geneva. I really wished tosee how Wethermill would take it. He was wonderful."
"He sprang up."
"He betrayed nothing but surprise. You showed no less surprise than hedid, my good friend. What I was looking for was one glance of fear. Idid not get it."
"Yet you suspected him--even then you spoke of brains and audacity. Youtold him enough to hinder him from communicating with the red-hairedwoman in Geneva. You isolated him. Yes, you suspected him."
"Let us take the case from the beginning. When you first came to me, asI told you, the Commissaire had already been with me. There was aninteresting piece of evidence already in his possession. AdolpheRuel--who saw Wethermill and Vauquier together close by the Casino andoverheard that cry of Wethermill's, 'It is true: I must havemoney!'--had already been with his story to the Commissaire. I knew itwhen Harry Wethermill came into the room to ask me to take up the case.That was a bold stroke, my friend. The chances were a hundred to onethat I should not interrupt my holiday to take up a case because ofyour little dinner-party in London. Indeed, I should not haveinterrupted it had I not known Adolphe Ruel's story. As it was I couldnot resist. Wethermill's very audacity charmed me. Oh yes, I felt thatI must pit myself against him. So few criminals have spirit, M.Ricardo. It is deplorable how few. But Wethermill! See in what a fineposition he would have been if only I had refused. He himself had beenthe first to call upon the first detective in France. And his argument!He loved Mlle. Celie. Therefore she must be innocent! How he stuck toit! People would have said, 'Love is blind,' and all the more theywould have suspected Mile. Celie. Yes, but they love the blind lover.Therefore all the more would it have been impossible for them tobelieve Harry Wethermill had any share in that grim crime."
Mr. Ricardo drew his chair closer in to the table.
"I will confess to you," he said, "that I thought Mlle. Celie was anaccomplice."
"It is not surprising," said Hanaud. "Some one within the house was anaccomplice--we start with that fact. The house had not been brokeninto. There was Mlle. Celie's record as Helene Vauquier gave it to us,and a record obviously true. There was the fact that she had got rid ofServettaz. There was the maid upstairs very ill from the chloroform.What more likely than that Mlle. Celie had arranged a seance, and thenwhen the lights were out had admitted the murderer through thatconvenient glass door?"
"There were, besides, the definite imprints of her shoes," said Mr.Ricardo.
"Yes, but that is precisely where I began to feel sure that she wasinnocent," replied Hanaud dryly. "All the other footmarks had been socarefully scored and ploughed up that nothing could be made of them.Yet those little ones remained so definite, so easily identified, and Ibegan to wonder why these, too, had not been cut up and stamped over.The murderers had taken, you see, an excess of precaution to throw thepresumption of guilt upon Mlle. Celie rather than upon Vauquier.However, there the footsteps were. Mlle. Celie had sprung from the roomas I described to Wethermill. But I was puzzled. Then in the room Ifound the torn-up sheet of notepaper with the words, 'Je ne sais pas,'in mademoiselle's handwriting. The words might have beenspirit-writing, they might have meant anything. I put them away in mymind. But in the room the settee puzzled me. And again I wastroubled--greatly troubled."
"Yes, I saw that."
"And not you alone," said Hanaud, with a smile. "Do you remember thatloud cry Wethermill gave when we returned to the room and once more Istood before the settee? Oh, he turned it off very well. I had saidthat our criminals in France were not very gentle with their victims,and he pretended that it was in fear of what Mlle. Celie might besuffering which had torn that cry from his heart. But it was not so. Hewas afraid--deadly afraid--not for Mlle. Celie, but for himself. He wasafraid that I had understood what these cushions had to tell me."
"What did they tell you?" asked Ricardo.
"You know now," said Hanaud. "They were two cushions, both indented,and indented in different ways. The one at the head was irregularlyindented--something shaped had pressed upon it. It might have been aface--it might not; and there was a little brown stain which was freshand which was blood. The second cushion had two separate impressions,and between them the cushion was forced up in a thin ridge; and theseimpressions were more definite. I measured the distance between the twocushions, and I found this: that supposing--and it was a largesupposition--the cushions had not been moved since those impressionswere made, a girl of Mlle. Celie's height lying stretched out upon thesofa would have her face pressing down upon one cushion and her feetand insteps upon the other. Now, the impressions upon the secondcushion and the thin ridge betwe
en them were just the impressions whichmight have been made by a pair of shoes held close together. But thatwould not be a natural attitude for any one, and the mark upon the headcushion was very deep. Supposing that my conjectures were true, then awoman would only lie like that because she was helpless, because shehad been flung there, because she could not lift herself--because, in aword, her hands were tied behind her back and her feet fastenedtogether. Well, then, follow this train of reasoning, my friend!Suppose my conjectures--and we had nothing but conjectures to buildupon--were true, the woman flung upon the sofa could not be HeleneVauquier, for she would have said so; she could have had no reason forconcealment. But it must be Mlle. Celie. There was the slit in the onecushion and the stain on the other which, of course, I had notaccounted for. There was still, too, the puzzle of the footstepsoutside the glass doors. If Mlle. Celie had been bound upon the sofa,how came she to run with her limbs free from the house? There was aquestion--a question not easy to answer."
"Yes," said Mr. Ricardo.
"Yes; but there was also another question. Suppose that Mlle. Celiewas, after all, the victim, not the accomplice; suppose she had beenflung tied upon the sofa; suppose that somehow the imprint of her shoesupon the ground had been made, and that she had afterwards been carriedaway, so that the maid might be cleared of all complicity--in that caseit became intelligible why the other footprints were scored out andhers left. The presumption of guilt would fall upon her. There would beproof that she ran hurriedly from the room and sprang into a motor-carof her own free will. But, again, if that theory were true, then HeleneVauquier was the accomplice and not Mlle. Celie."
"I follow that."
"Then I found an interesting piece of evidence with regard to thestrange woman who came: I picked up a long red hair--a very importantpiece of evidence about which I thought it best to say nothing at all.It was not Mlle. Celie's hair, which is fair; nor Vauquier's, which isblack; nor Mme. Dauvray's, which is dyed brown; nor the charwoman's,which is grey. It was, therefore, the visitor's. Well, we went upstairsto Mile. Celie's room."
"Yes," said Mr. Ricardo eagerly. "We are coming to the pot of cream."
"In that room we learnt that Helene Vauquier, at her own request, hadalready paid it a visit. It is true the Commissaire said that he hadkept his eye on her the whole time. But none the less from the windowhe saw me coming down the road, and that he could not have done, as Imade sure, unless he had turned his back upon Vauquier and leaned outof the window. Now at the time I had an open mind about Vauquier. Onthe whole I was inclined to think she had no share in the affair. Buteither she or Mlle. Celie had, and perhaps both. But one of them--yes.That was sure. Therefore I asked what drawers she touched after theCommissaire had leaned out of the window. For if she had any motive inwishing to visit the room she would have satisfied it when theCommissaire's back was turned. He pointed to a drawer, and I took out adress and shook it, thinking that she may have wished to hidesomething. But nothing fell out. On the other hand, however, I saw somequite fresh grease-marks, made by fingers, and the marks were wet. Ibegan to ask myself how it was that Helene Vauquier, who had just beenhelped to dress by the nurse, had grease upon her fingers. Then Ilooked at a drawer which she had examined first of all. There were nogrease-marks on the clothes she had turned over before the Commissaireleaned out of the window. Therefore it followed that during the fewseconds when he was watching me she had touched grease. I looked aboutthe room, and there on the dressing-table close by the chest of drawerswas a pot of cold cream. That was the grease Helene Vauquier hadtouched. And why--if not to hide some small thing in it which, firstly,she dared not keep in her own room; which, secondly, she wished to hidein the room of Mlle. Celie; and which, thirdly, she had not had anopportunity to hide before? Now bear those three conditions in mind,and tell me what the small thing was."
Mr. Ricardo nodded his head.
"I know now," he said. "You told me. The earrings of Mlle. Celie. But Ishould not have guessed it at the time."
"Nor could I--at the time," said Hanaud. "I kept my open mind aboutHelene Vauquier; but I locked the door and took the key. Then we wentand heard Vauquier's story. The story was clever, because so much of itwas obviously, indisputably true. The account of the seances, of Mme.Dauvray's superstitions, her desire for an interview with Mme. deMontespan--such details are not invented. It was interesting, too, toknow that there had been a seance planned for that night! The method ofthe murder began to be clear. So far she spoke the truth. But then shelied. Yes, she lied, and it was a bad lie, my friend. She told us thatthe strange woman Adele had black hair. Now I carried in my pocket-bookproof that that woman's hair was red. Why did she lie, except to makeimpossible the identification of that strange visitor? That was thefirst false step taken by Helene Vauquier.
"Now let us take the second. I thought nothing of her rancour againstMlle. Celie. To me it was all very natural. She--the hard peasant womanno longer young, who had been for years the confidential servant ofMme. Dauvray, and no doubt had taken her levy from the impostors whopreyed upon her credulous mistress--certainly she would hate this youngand pretty outcast whom she has to wait upon, whose hair she has todress. Vauquier--she would hate her. But if by any chance she were inthe plot--and the lie seemed to show she was--then the seances showedme new possibilities. For Helene used to help Mlle. Celie. Suppose thatthe seance had taken place, that this sceptical visitor with the redhair professed herself dissatisfied with Vauquier's method of testingthe medium, had suggested another way, Mlle. Celie could not object,and there she would be neatly and securely packed up beyond the powerof offering any resistance, before she could have a suspicion thatthings were wrong. It would be an easy little comedy to play. And ifthat were true--why, there were my sofa cushions partly explained."
"Yes, I see!" cried Ricardo, with enthusiasm. "You are wonderful."
Hanaud was not displeased with his companion's enthusiasm.
"But wait a moment. We have only conjectures so far, and one fact thatHelene Vauquier lied about the colour of the strange woman's hair. Nowwe get another fact. Mlle. Celie was wearing buckles on her shoes. Andthere is my slit in the sofa cushions. For when she is flung on to thesofa, what will she do? She will kick, she will struggle. Of course itis conjecture. I do not as yet hold pigheadedly to it. I am not yetsure that Mlle. Celie is innocent. I am willing at any moment to admitthat the facts contradict my theory. But, on the contrary, each factthat I discover helps it to take shape.
"Now I come to Helene Vauquier's second mistake. On the evening whenyou saw Mlle. Celie in the garden behind the baccarat-rooms you noticedthat she wore no jewellery except a pair of diamond eardrops. In thephotograph of her which Wethermill showed me, again she was wearingthem. Is it not, therefore, probable that she usually wore them? When Iexamined her room I found the case for those earrings--the case wasempty. It was natural, then, to infer that she was wearing them whenshe came down to the seance."
"Yes."
"Well, I read a description--a carefully written description--of themissing girl, made by Helene Vauquier after an examination of thegirl's wardrobe. There is no mention of the earrings. So I askedher--'Was she not wearing them?' Helene Vauquier was taken by surprise.How should I know anything of Mlle. Celie's earrings? She hesitated.She did not quite know what answer to make. Now, why? Since she herselfdressed Mile. Celie, and remembers so very well all she wore, why doesshe hesitate? Well, there is a reason. She does not know how much Iknow about those diamond eardrops. She is not sure whether we have notdipped into that pot of cold cream and found them. Yet without knowingshe cannot answer. So now we come back to our pot of cold cream."
"Yes!" cried Mr. Ricardo. "They were there."
"Wait a bit," said Hanaud. "Let us see how it works out. Remember theconditions. Vauquier has some small thing which she must hide, andwhich she wishes to hide in Mlle. Celie's room. For she admitted thatit was her suggestion that she should look through mademoiselle'swardrobe. For what reason does she choose the
girl's room, except thatif the thing were discovered that would be the natural place for it? Itis, then, something belonging to Mlle. Celie. There was a secondcondition we laid down. It was something Vauquier had not been able tohide before. It came, then, into her possession last night. Why couldshe not hide it last night? Because she was not alone. There were theman and the woman, her accomplices. It was something, then, which shewas concerned in hiding from them. It is not rash to guess, then, thatit was some piece of the plunder of which the other two would haveclaimed their share--and a piece of plunder belonging to Mlle. Celie.Well, she has nothing but the diamond eardrops. Suppose Vauquier isleft alone to guard Mlle. Celie while the other two ransack Mme.Dauvray's room. She sees her chance. The girl cannot stir hand or footto save herself. Vauquier tears the eardrops in a hurry from herears--and there I have my drop of blood just where I should expect itto be. But now follow this! Vauquier hides the earrings in her pocket.She goes to bed in order to be chloroformed. She knows that it is verypossible that her room will be searched before she regainsconsciousness, or before she is well enough to move. There is only oneplace to hide them in, only one place where they will be safe. In bedwith her. But in the morning she must get rid of them, and a nurse iswith her. Hence the excuse to go to Mlle. Celie's room. If the eardropsare found in the pot of cold cream, it would only be thought that Mlle.Celie had herself hidden them there for safety. Again it is conjecture,and I wish to make sure. So I tell Vauquier she can go away, and Ileave her unwatched. I have her driven to the depot instead of to herfriends, and searched. Upon her is found the pot of cream, and in thecream Mlle. Celie's eardrops. She has slipped into Mlle. Celie's room,as, if my theory was correct, she would be sure to do, and put the potof cream into her pocket. So I am now fairly sure that she is concernedin the murder.
"We then went to Mme. Dauvray's room and discovered her brilliants andher ornaments. At once the meaning of that agitated piece ofhand-writing of Mlle. Celie's becomes clear. She is asked where thejewels are hidden. She cannot answer, for her mouth, of course, isstopped. She has to write. Thus my conjectures get more and moresupport. And, mind this, one of the two women is guilty--Celie orVauquier. My discoveries all fit in with the theory of Celie'sinnocence. But there remain the footprints, for which I found noexplanation.
"You will remember I made you all promise silence as to the finding ofMme. Dauvray's jewellery. For I thought, if they have taken the girlaway so that suspicion may fall on her and not on Vauquier, they meanto dispose of her. But they may keep her so long as they have a chanceof finding out from her Mme. Dauvray's hiding-place. It was a smallchance but our only one. The moment the discovery of the jewellery waspublished the girl's fate was sealed, were my theory true.
"Then came our advertisement and Mme. Gobin's written testimony. Therewas one small point of interest which I will take first: her statementthat Adele was the Christian name of the woman with the red hair, thatthe old woman who was the servant in that house in the suburb of Genevacalled her Adele, just simply Adele. That interested me, for HeleneVauquier had called her Adele too when she was describing to us theunknown visitor. 'Adele' was what Mme. Dauvray called her."
"Yes," said Ricardo. "Helene Vauquier made a slip there. She shouldhave given her a false name."
Hanaud nodded.
"It is the one slip she made in the whole of the business. Nor did sherecover herself very cleverly. For when the Commissaire pounced uponthe name, she at once modified her words. She only thought now that thename was Adele, or something like it. But when I went on to suggestthat the name in any case would be a false one, at once she went backupon her modifications. And now she was sure that Adele was the nameused. I remembered her hesitation when I read Marthe Gobin's letter.They helped to confirm me in my theory that she was in the plot; andthey made me very sure that it was an Adele for whom we had to look. Sofar well. But other statements in the letter puzzled me. For instance,'She ran lightly and quickly across the pavement into the house, asthough she were afraid to be seen.' Those were the words, and the womanwas obviously honest. What became of my theory then? The girl was freeto run, free to stoop and pick up the train of her gown in her hand,free to shout for help in the open street if she wanted help. No; thatI could not explain until that afternoon, when I saw Mlle. Celie'sterror-stricken eyes fixed upon that flask, as Lemerre poured a littleout and burnt a hole in the sack. Then I understood well enough. Thefear of vitriol!" Hanaud gave an uneasy shudder. "And it is enough tomake any one afraid! That I can tell you. No wonder she lay still as amouse upon the sofa in the bedroom. No wonder she ran quickly into thehouse. Well, there you have the explanation. I had only my theory towork upon even after Mme. Gobin's evidence. But as it happened it wasthe right one. Meanwhile, of course, I made my inquiries intoWethermill's circumstances. My good friends in England helped me. Theywere precarious. He owed money in Aix, money at his hotel. We knew fromthe motor-car that the man we were searching for had returned to Aix.Things began to look black for Wethermill. Then you gave me a littlepiece of information."
"I!" exclaimed Ricardo, with a start.
"Yes. You told me that you walked up to the hotel with Harry Wethermillon the night of the murder and separated just before ten. A glance intohis rooms which I had--you will remember that when we had discoveredthe motor-car I suggested that we should go to Harry Wethermill's roomsand talk it over--that glance enabled me to see that he could veryeasily have got out of his room on to the verandah below and escapedfrom the hotel by the garden quite unseen. For you will remember thatwhereas your rooms look out to the front and on to the slope of MontRevard, Wethermill's look out over the garden and the town of Aix. In aquarter of an hour or twenty minutes he could have reached the VillaRose. He could have been in the salon before half-past ten, and that isjust the hour which suited me perfectly. And, as he got out unnoticed,so he could return. So he did return! My friend, there are someinteresting marks upon the window-sill of Wethermill's room and uponthe pillar just beneath it. Take a look, M. Ricardo, when you return toyour hotel. But that was not all. We talked of Geneva in Mr.Wethermill's room, and of the distance between Geneva and Aix. Do youremember that?"
"Yes," replied Ricardo.
"Do you remember too that I asked him for a road-book?"
"Yes; to make sure of the distance. I do."
"Ah, but it was not to make sure of the distance that I asked for theroad-book, my friend. I asked in order to find out whether HarryWethermill had a road-book at all which gave a plan of the roadsbetween here and Geneva. And he had. He handed it to me at once andquite naturally. I hope that I took it calmly, but I was not at allcalm inside. For it was a new road-book, which, by the way, he bought aweek before, and I was asking myself all the while--now what was Iasking myself, M. Ricardo?"
"No," said Ricardo, with a smile. "I am growing wary. I will not tellyou what you were asking yourself, M. Hanaud. For even were I right youwould make out that I was wrong, and leap upon me with injuries andgibes. No, you shall drink your coffee and tell me of your own accord."
"Well," said Hanaud, laughing, "I will tell you. I was asking myself:'Why does a man who owns no motor-car, who hires no motor-car, go outinto Aix and buy an automobilist's road-map? With what object?' And Ifound it an interesting question. M. Harry Wethermill was not the manto go upon a walking tour, eh? Oh, I was obtaining evidence. But thencame an overwhelming thing--the murder of Marthe Gobin. We know now howhe did it. He walked beside the cab, put his head in at the window,asked, 'Have you come in answer to the advertisement?' and stabbed herstraight to the heart through her dress. The dress and the weapon whichhe used would save him from being stained with her blood. He was inyour room that morning, when we were at the station. As I told you, heleft his glove behind. He was searching for a telegram in answer toyour advertisement. Or he came to sound you. He had already receivedhis telegram from Hippolyte. He was like a fox in a cage, snapping atevery one, twisting vainly this way and that way, risking everythingand every one to save h
is precious neck. Marthe Gobin was in the way.She is killed. Mlle. Celie is a danger. So Mile. Celie must besuppressed. And off goes a telegram to the Geneva paper, handed in by awaiter from the cafe at the station of Chambery before five o'clock.Wethermill went to Chambery that afternoon when we went to Geneva. Oncewe could get him on the run, once we could so harry and bustle him thathe must take risks--why, we had him. And that afternoon he had to takethem."
"So that even before Marthe Gobin was killed you were sure thatWethermill was the murderer?"
Hanaud's face clouded over.
"You put your finger on a sore place, M. Ricardo. I was sure, but Istill wanted evidence to convict. I left him free, hoping for thatevidence. I left him free, hoping that he would commit himself. He did,but--well, let us talk of some one else. What of Mlle. Celie?"
Ricardo drew a letter from his pocket.
"I have a sister in London, a widow," he said. "She is kind. I, too,have been thinking of what will become of Mlle. Celie. I wrote to mysister, and here is her reply. Mlle. Celie will be very welcome."
Hanaud stretched out his hand and shook Ricardo's warmly.
"She will not, I think, be for very long a burden. She is young. Shewill recover from this shock. She is very pretty, very gentle. If--ifno one comes forward whom she loves and who loves her--I--yes, Imyself, who was her papa for one night, will be her husband forever."
He laughed inordinately at his own joke; it was a habit of M. Hanaud's.Then he said gravely:
"But I am glad, M. Ricardo, for Mlle. Celie's sake that I came to youramusing dinner-party in London."
Mr. Ricardo was silent for a moment. Then he asked:
"And what will happen to the condemned?"
"To the women? Imprisonment for life."
"And to the man?"
Hanaud shrugged his shoulders.
"Perhaps the guillotine. Perhaps New Caledonia. How can I say? I am notthe President of the Republic."
END
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