FOURTH CHAPTER
WHAT THE DOSSIER CONTAINED
Walter Brock was awakened at four o'clock that morning by Hugh touchinghim upon the shoulder.
He started up in bed and staring at his friend's pale, haggard faceexclaimed:
"Good Heavens!--why, what's the matter?"
"Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo has been shot!" the other replied in a hardvoice.
"Shot!" gasped Brock, startled. "What do you mean?"
Briefly Hugh who had only just entered the hotel, explained the curiouscircumstances--how, just at the moment she had been about to reveal thesecret of his father's death she was shot.
"Most extraordinary!" declared his friend. "Surely, we have not beenfollowed here by someone who is determined to prevent you from knowingthe truth!"
"It seems much like it, Walter," replied the younger man very seriously."There must be some strong motive or no person would dare to shoot herright before my eyes."
"Agreed. Somebody who is concerned in your father's death has adoptedthis desperate measure in order to prevent Mademoiselle from telling youthe truth."
"That's exactly my opinion, my dear Walter. If it was a crime for gain,or through motives of either jealousy or revenge, Mademoiselle wouldcertainly have been attacked on her way home. The road is quite desertedtowards the crest of the hill."
"What do the police say?"
"They do not appear to trouble to track Mademoiselle's assailant. Theysay they will wait until daylight before searching for footprints on thegravel outside."
"Ah! They are not very fond of making arrests within the Principality.It's such a bad advertisement for the Rooms. The Administration like toshow a clean sheet as regards serious crime. Our friends here leave itto the French or Italian police to deal with the criminals so that thePrincipality shall prove itself the most honest State in Europe," Brocksaid.
"The police, I believe, suspect me of shooting her," said Hugh bluntly.
"That's very awkward. Why?"
"Well--they don't know the true reason I went to see her, or theywould never believe me to be guilty of a crime so much against my owninterests."
Brock, who was still sitting up in bed in his pale blue silk pyjamas,reflected a few moments.
"Well, Hugh," he said at last, "after all it is only natural that theyshould believe that you had a hand in the matter. Even though she toldyou the truth, it is quite within reason that you should have suddenlybecome incensed against her for the part she must have played in yourfather's mysterious death, and in a frenzy of anger you shot her."
Hugh drew a long breath, and his eyebrows narrowed.
"By Jove! I had never regarded it in that light before!" he gasped. "Butwhat about the weapon?"
"You might easily have hidden it before the arrival of the police. Youadmit that you went out on the veranda. Therefore if they do chance tofind the weapon in the garden then their suspicions will, no doubt, beconsiderably increased. It's a pity, old man, that you didn't make aclean breast of the motive of your visit."
"I now see my horrible mistake," Henfrey admitted. "I thought myselfwise to preserve silence, to know nothing, and now I see quite plainlythat I have only brought suspicion unduly upon myself. The police,however, know Yvonne Ferad to be a somewhat mysterious person."
"Which renders the situation only worse," Brock said. Then, after apause, he added: "Now that you have declined to tell the police why youvisited the Villa Amette and have, in a way, defied them, it willbe best to maintain that attitude. Tell them nothing, no matter whathappens."
"I intend to pursue that course. But the worst of it is, Walter, thatthe doctors hold out no hope of Mademoiselle's recovery. I saw Duponteilhalf an hour ago, and he told me that he could give me no encouraginginformation. The bullet has been extracted, but she is hovering betweenlife and death. I suppose it will be in the papers to-morrow, andDorise and her mother will know of my nocturnal visit to the house of anotorious woman."
"Don't let that worry you, my dear chap. Here, they keep the news of alltragedies out of the papers, because shooting affairs may be thought bythe public to be due to losses at the Rooms. Recollect that of all thesuicides here--the dozens upon dozens of poor ruined gamesters who areyearly laid to rest in the Suicides' Cemetery--not a single report hasappeared in any newspaper. So I think you may remain assured that LadyRanscomb and her daughter will not learn anything."
"I sincerely hope they won't, otherwise it will go very hard with me,"Hugh said in a low, intense voice. "Ah! What a night it has been forme!"
"And if Mademoiselle dies the assailant, whoever he was, will be guiltyof wilful murder; while you, on your part, will never know the truthconcerning your father's death," remarked the elder man, running hisfingers through his hair.
"Yes. That is the position of this moment. But further, I am suspectedof the crime!"
Brock dressed while his friend sat upon the edge of the bed, pale-facedand agitated. Suppose that the assailant had flung his pistol into thebushes, and the police eventually discovered it? Then, no doubt, hewould be put across the frontier to be arrested by the police of theDepartment of the Alpes Maritimes.
Truly, the situation was most serious.
Together the two men strolled out into the early morning air and satupon a seat on the terrace of the Casino watching the sun as it roseover the tideless sea.
For nearly an hour they sat discussing the affair; then they ascendedthe white, dusty road to the beautiful Villa Amette, the home of themysterious Mademoiselle.
Old Giulio Cataldi opened the door.
"Alas! m'sieur, Mademoiselle is just the same," he replied in responseto Hugh's eager inquiry. "The police have gone, but Doctor Leneveu isstill upstairs."
"Have the police searched the garden?" inquired Hugh eagerly.
"Yes, m'sieur. They made a thorough examination, but have discovered nomarks of footprints except those of yourself, myself, and a tradesman'slad who brought up a parcel late last night."
"Then they found no weapon?" asked the young Englishman.
"No, m'sieur. There is no clue whatever to the assailant."
"Curious that there should be no footmarks," remarked Brock. "Yet theyfound yours, Hugh."
"Yes. The man must surely have left some trace outside!"
"One would certainly have thought so," Brock said. "I wonder if we maygo into the room where the tragedy happened?" he asked of the servant.
"Certainly, m'sieur," was the courteous reply, and he conducted themboth into the apartment wherein Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo had beenshot down.
"Did you accompany Mademoiselle when she went to London, Giulio?"asked young Henfrey of the old Italian, after he had described to Brockexactly what had occurred.
"Yes, m'sieur," he replied. "I was at Cromwell Road for a short time.But I do not care for London, so Mademoiselle sent me back here to lookafter the Villa because old Jean, the concierge, had been taken to thehospital."
"When in London you knew some of Mademoiselle's friends, I suppose?"
"A few--only a few," was the Italian's reply.
"Did you ever know a certain Mr. Benton?"
The old fellow shook his head blankly.
"Not to my knowledge, m'sieur," he replied. "Mademoiselle had reallyvery few friends in London. There was a Mrs. Matthews and her husband,Americans whom she met here in Monte Carlo, and Sir George Cave-Knight,who died a few weeks ago."
"Do you remember an elderly gentleman named Henfrey calling?" askedHugh.
Old Cataldi reflected for a moment, and then answered:
"The name sounds familiar to me, m'sieur, but in what connexion I cannotrecollect. That is your name, is it not?" he asked, remembering the cardhe had taken to his mistress.
"Yes," Hugh replied. "I have reason to believe that my late father wasacquainted with your mistress, and that he called upon her in London."
"I believe that a gentleman named Henfrey did call, because whenI glanced at the card you gave me last night the
name struck me asfamiliar," the servant said. "But whether he actually called, or whethersomeone at table mentioned his name I really cannot recollect."
"Ah! That's a pity," exclaimed Hugh with a sigh. "As a matter of fact itwas in order to make certain inquiries regarding my late father that Icalled upon Mademoiselle last night."
Giulio Cataldi turned in pretence of rearranging a chair, but in realityto avert his face from the young man's gaze--a fact which Hugh did notfail to notice.
Had he really told the truth when he declared that he could notrecollect his father calling?
"How long were you in London with Mademoiselle?" asked Henfrey.
"About six weeks--not longer."
Was it because of some untoward occurrence that the old Italian did notlike London, Hugh wondered.
"And you are quite sure that you do not recollect my father calling uponyour mistress?"
"As I have said, m'sieur, I do not remember. Yet I recall the name, asit is a rather unusual one."
"And you have never heard of Mr. Benton?"
Cataldi shook his head.
"Well," Hugh went on, "tell me whether you entertain any suspicionsof anyone who might be tempted to kill your mistress. Mademoiselle hasenemies, has she not?"
"Who knows?" exclaimed the man with the grey moustache and small, blackfurtive eyes.
"Everyone has enemies of one sort or another," Walter remarked. "Andno doubt Mademoiselle has. It is for us to discover the enemy who shother."
"Ah! yes, it is, m'sieur," exclaimed the servant. "The poor Signorina! Ido hope that the police will discover who tried to kill her."
"For aught we know the attempt upon the lady's life may prove successfulafter all," said Hugh despairingly. "The doctors hold out no hope of herrecovery."
"None. A third doctor has been in consultation--Doctor Bazin, fromBeaulieu. He only left a quarter of an hour ago. He told me that thepoor Signorina cannot possibly live! Ah! messieurs, how terrible allthis is--_povera Signorina_! She was always so kind and considerate tous all." And the old man's voice trembled with emotion.
Walter Brock gazed around the luxurious room and at the long open windowthrough which streamed the bright morning sun, with the perfume of theflowers outside. What was the mystery concerning Mademoiselle Yvonne?What foundation had the gossips for those constant whisperings which hadrendered the handsome woman so notorious?
True, the story of the death of Hugh's father was an unusually strangeone, curious in every particular--and stranger still that the secret washeld by this beautiful, but mysterious, woman who lived in such luxury,and who gambled so recklessly and with invariable good fortune.
As they walked back to the town Hugh's heart sank within him.
"She will die," he muttered bitterly to himself. "She'll die, and Ishall never learn the truth of the poor guv'nor's sad end, or the reasonwhy I am being forced to marry Louise Lambert."
"It's an iniquitous will, Hugh!" declared his friend. "And it'sinfernally hard on you that just at the very moment when you could havelearnt the truth that shot was fired."
"Do you think the woman had any hand in my father's death?" Hugh asked."Do you think that she had repented, and was about to try and atone forwhat she had done by confessing the whole affair?"
"Yes. That is just the view I take," answered Brock. "Of course, we haveno idea what part she played in the business. But my idea is that shealone knows the reason why this marriage with Louise is being forcedupon you."
"In that case, then, it seems more than likely that I've been followedhere to Monte Carlo, and my movements watched. But why has she beenshot? Why did not her enemies shoot me? They could have done so twentytimes during the past few days. Perhaps the shot which hit her wasreally intended for me?"
"I don't think so. There is a monetary motive behind your marriage withLouise. If you died, your enemy would gain nothing. That seems clear."
"But who can be my secret enemy?" asked the young man in dismay.
"Mademoiselle alone knows that, and it was undoubtedly her intention towarn you."
"Yes. But if she dies I shall remain in ignorance," he declared ina hard voice. "The whole affair is so tangled that I can see nothingclearly--only that my refusal to marry Louise will mean ruin to me--andI shall lose Dorise in the bargain!"
Walter Brock, older and more experienced, was equally mystified. Thepessimistic attitude of the three doctors who had attended the injuredwoman was, indeed, far from reassuring. The injury to the head caused bythe assailant's bullet was, they declared, most dangerous. Indeed, thethree medical men marvelled that she still lived.
The two men walked through the palm-lined garden, bright with flowers,back to their hotel, wondering whether news of the tragedy had yet gotabroad. But they heard nothing of it, and it seemed true, as WalterBrock had declared, that the police make haste to suppress any tragichappenings in the Principality.
Though they were unconscious of it, a middle-aged, well-dressedFrenchman had, during their absence from the hotel, been making diligentinquiries regarding them of the night concierge and some of the staff.
The concierge had recognized the visitor as Armand Buisson, of thepolice bureau at Nice. It seemed as though the French police were undulyinquisitive concerning the well-conducted young Englishman and hiscompanion.
Now, as a matter of fact, half an hour after Hugh had left the VillaAmette, Ogier had telegraphed to Buisson in Nice, and the latter hadcome along the Corniche road in a fast car to make his own inquiriesand observations upon the pair of Englishmen. Ogier strongly suspectedHenfrey of firing the shot, but was, nevertheless, determined to remaininactive and leave the matter to the Prefecture of the Departmentof Alpes Maritimes. Hence the reason that the well-dressed Frenchmanlounged in the hall of the hotel pretending to read the "Phare duLittoral."
Just before noon Hugh went to the telephone in the hotel and inquired ofCataldi the progress of his mistress.
"She is just the same, m'sieur," came the voice in broken English."_Santa Madonna!_ How terrible it all is! Doctor Leneveu has left, andDoctor Duponteil is now here."
"Have the police been again?"
"No, m'sieur. Nobody has been," was the reply.
So Hugh rang off and crossed the hall, little dreaming that thewell-dressed Frenchman had been highly interested in his questions.
Half an hour later he went along to the Metropole, where he had anengagement to lunch with Dorise and her mother.
When they met, however, Lady Ranscomb exclaimed:
"Why, Hugh, you look very pale. What's the matter?"
"Oh, nothing," he laughed forcedly. "I'm not very bright to-day. I thinkit was the sirocco of yesterday that has upset me a little, that's all."
Then, while they were seated at table, Dorise suddenly exclaimed:
"Oh! do you know, mother, that young French lady over yonder, MadameJacomet, has just told me something. There's a whisper that themysterious woman, Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo, was shot during the nightby a discarded lover!"
"Shot!" exclaimed Lady Ranscomb. "Dear me! How very dreadful. Whatreally happened?"
"I don't know. Madame Jacomet was told by her husband, who heard it inCiro's this morning."
"How terrible!" remarked Hugh, striving to remain calm.
"Yes. But women of her class invariably come to a bad end," remarked thewidow. "How pleased I am, Dorise, that you never spoke to her. She's amost dreadful person, they say."
"Well, she evidently knows how to win money at the tables, mother," saidthe girl, lifting her clear blue eyes to those of her lover.
"Yes. But I wonder what the scandal is all about?" said the widow of thegreat engineer.
"Oh! don't trouble to inquire Lady Ranscomb," Hugh hastened to remark."One hears scandal on every hand in Monte Carlo."
"Yes. I suppose so," replied the elder woman, and then the subject wasdropped.
So the ugly affair was being rumoured. It caused Hugh a good deal ofapprehension, for he feared that his name wo
uld be associated with thatof the mysterious Mademoiselle. Evidently one or other of the servantsat the Villa Amette had been indiscreet.
At that moment, in his private room at the bureau of police downin Monaco, Superintendent Ogier was carefully perusing a dossier ofofficial papers which had been brought to him by the archivist.
Between his thin lips was a long, thin, Swiss cigar--his favoritesmoke--and with his gold-rimmed pince-nez poised upon his aquilinenose he was reading a document which would certainly have been ofconsiderable interest to Hugh Henfrey and his friend Walter Brock couldthey have seen it.
Upon the pale yellow paper were many lines of typewriting in French--acarbon copy evidently.
It was headed: "Republique Francaise. Department of Herault. Prefectureof Police. Bureau of the Director of Police. Reference Number 20197.B.,"and was dated nearly a year before.
It commenced:
"Copy of an 'information' in the archives of the Prefecture of theDepartment of Herault concerning the woman Marie Mignot, or Leullier,now passing under the name of Yvonne Ferad and living at the VillaAmette at Monte Carlo.
"The woman in question was born in 1884 at Number 45 Rue des Etuves,in Montpellier, and was the daughter of one Doctor Rigaud, a notedtoxicologist of the Faculty of Medicine, and curator of the UniversityLibrary. At the age of seventeen, after her father's death, she becamea school teacher at a small school in the Rue Morceau, and at nineteenmarried Charles Leullier, a good-looking young scoundrel who posedas being well off, but who was afterwards proved to be an expertinternational thief, a member of a gang of dangerous thieves whocommitted robberies in the European express trains.
"This fact was unknown to the girl, therefore at first all wentsmoothly, until the wife discovered the truth and left him. She thenjoined the chorus of a revue at the Jardin de Paris, where she met awell-to-do Englishman named Bryant. The pair went to England, where shemarried him, and they resided in the county of Northampton. Six monthslater Bryant died, leaving her a large sum of money. In the meantimeLeullier had been arrested by the Italian police for a daring robberywith violence in a train traveling between Milan and Turin and beensentenced to ten years on the penal island of Gorgona. His wife, hearingof this from an Englishman named Houghton, who, though she was unawareof it, was following the same profession as her husband, returned toFrance. She rented an apartment in Paris, and afterwards played at MonteCarlo, where she won a considerable sum, with the proceeds of which shepurchased the Villa Amette, which she now occupies each season."
"Extracts of reports concerning Marie Leullier, alias Yvonne Ferad, areherewith appended:
"Criminal Investigation Department, New Scotland Yard, London--to thePrefecture of Police, Paris.
"Mademoiselle Yvonne Ferad rented a furnished house at Hove, nearBrighton, in June, 1918. Afterwards moved to Worthing and to Exeter,and later took a house in the Cromwell Road, London, in 1919. She wasaccompanied by an Italian manservant named Cataldi. Her conduct wassuspicious, though she was undoubtedly possessed of considerablemeans. She was often seen at the best restaurants with variousmale acquaintances, more especially with a man named Kenworthy. Herassociation with this person, and with another man named Percy Stendall,was curious, as both men were habitual criminals and had served severalterms of penal servitude each. Certain suspicions were aroused, andobservation was kept, but nothing tangible was discovered. It is agreed,however, that some mystery surrounds this woman in question. She leftLondon quite suddenly, but left no debts behind."
"Information from the Borough Police Office, Worthing, to the Prefectureof Police, Department of Herault.
"Mademoiselle Yvonne Ferad has been identified by the photograph sent ashaving lived in Worthing in December, 1918. She rented a small furnishedhouse facing the sea, and was accompanied by an Italian manservant and aFrench maid. Her movements were distinctly mysterious. A seriousfracas occurred at the house on the evening of December 18th, 1918. Amiddle-aged gentleman, whose name is unknown, called there about seveno'clock and a violent quarrel ensued between the lady and her visitor,the latter being very seriously assaulted by the Italian. The constableon duty was called in, but the visitor refused to prosecute, and afterhaving his injuries attended to by a doctor left for London. Three dayslater Mademoiselle disappeared from Worthing. It is believed by theChief Constable that the woman is of the criminal class."
Then Charles Ogier, inspector of the detective police of Monaco, smiled,laid down his cigar, and took up another and even more interestingdocument.