CHAPTER XVII
ENTER M. ARMAND
I got back to the office to find that M. Felix Armand, of Armand etFils, had called, and, finding me out, had left his card with thepencilled memorandum that he would call again Monday morning. Therewas another caller, who had awaited my return--a tall, angular man,with a long moustache, who introduced himself as Simon W. Morgan, ofOsage City, Iowa.
"Poor Philip Vantine's nearest living relative, sir," he added. "Icame as soon as possible."
"It was very good of you," I said. "The funeral will be at teno'clock to-morrow morning, from the house."
"You had a telegram from me?"
"Yes," I answered.
He hitched about in his chair uneasily for a moment. I knew what hewanted to say, but saw no reason to help him.
"He left a will, I suppose?" he asked, at last.
"Oh, yes; we have arranged to probate it Monday. You can examine itthen, if you wish."
"Have you examined it?"
"I am familiar with its provisions. It was drawn here in the office."
He was pulling furiously at his moustache.
"Cousin Philip was a very wealthy man, I understand," he managed tosay.
"Comparatively wealthy. He had securities worth about a million and aquarter, besides a number of pieces of real property--and, of course,the house he lived in. He owned a very valuable collection of artobjects--pictures, furniture, tapestries, and such things; but whatthey are worth will probably never be known."
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because he left them all to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Outsideof a few legacies to old servants, he left his whole fortune to thesame institution."
I put it rather brutally, no doubt, but I was anxious to end theinterview.
Mr. Morgan's face grew very red.
"He did!" he ejaculated. "Ha--well, I have heard he was rathercrazy."
"He was as sane as any man I ever knew," I retorted drily. And then Iremembered the doubts which had assailed me that last day, whenVantine was fingering the Boule cabinet. But I kept those doubts tomyself.
"Ha--we'll have to see about that!" said my visitor, threateningly.
"By all means, Mr. Morgan," I assented heartily. "If you have anydoubt about it, you should certainly look into it. And now, if youwill pardon me, I have many things to do, and we close early to-day."
He got to his feet and went slowly out; and that was the last I eversaw of him. I suppose he consulted an attorney, learned the hopelessnature of his case, and took the first train back to Osage City. Hedid not even wait for the funeral.
Few people, indeed, put themselves out for it. There was a sprinklingof old family friends, representatives of the museum and of variouscharities in which Vantine had been interested, a few friends of hisown, and that was all. He had dropped out of the world with scarcelya ripple; of all who had known him, I dare say Parks felt hisdeparture most. For Vantine had been, in a sense, a solitary man; notmany men nodded oftener during a walk up the Avenue, and yet not manydined oftener alone; for there was about him a certain self-detachmentwhich discouraged intimacy. He was a man, like many another, withacquaintances in every country on the globe, and friends in none.
All this I thought over a little sadly, as I sat at home that night;and not without some self-questioning as to my own place in theworld. Most of us, I think, are a little saddened when we realise ourunimportance; most of us, no doubt, would be a little shocked couldwe return a day or two after our death and see how merrily the worldwags on! I would be missed, I knew, scarcely more than Vantine. Itwas not a pleasant thought, for it seemed to argue some deficiency inmyself.
Then, too, the mystery of Vantine's death had a depressing effectupon me. So long as there seemed some theory to build on, so long asthere was a ray of light ahead, I had hoped that the tragedy would beexplained and expiated; but now my theory had crumbled to pieces; Iwas left in utter darkness, from which there seemed no way out. Neverbefore, in the face of any mystery, had I felt so blind and helpless,and the feeling took such a grip upon me that it kept me awake for along time after I got to bed. It seemed, in some mysterious way, thatI was contending with a power greater than myself, a powerthreatening and awful, which could crush me with a turn of the wrist.
Vantine's will was probated next morning. He had directed that hiscollection of art objects be removed to the museum, and that thehouse and such portion of its contents as the museum did not care forbe sold for the museum's benefit. I had already notified Sir CasparPurdon Clarke of the terms of the will, and the museum's attorney waspresent when it was read. He stated that he had been requested to askme to remain in charge of things for a week or two, untilarrangements for the removal could be made. It would also benecessary to make an inventory of Vantine's collection, and theassistant director of the museum was to get this under way at once.
I acquiesced in all these arrangements, but I was feeling decidedlyblue when I started back to the office. Vantine's collection hadalways seemed to me somehow a part of himself; more especially a partof the house in which it had been assembled. It would lose much ofits beauty and significance ticketed and arranged stiffly along thewalls of the museum, and the thought came to me that it would be asplendid thing for New York if this old house and its contents couldbe kept intact as an object lesson to the nervous and hurryingyounger generation of the easier and more finished manner of life ofthe older one; something after the fashion that the beautiful oldPlantin-Moretus mansion at Antwerp is a rebuke to those present-daypublishers who reckon literature a commodity, along with soap andcheese.
That, of course, it would be impossible to do; the last barrier tothe commercial invasion of the Avenue would be removed; that heroicrear-guard of the old order of things would be destroyed; in a yearor two, a monster of steel and stone would rise on the spot wherethree generations of Vantines had lived their lives; and thecollection, so unified and coherent, to which the last Vantine haddevoted his life, would be merged and lost in the vast collections ofthe museum. It was a sad ending.
"Gentleman to see you, sir," said the office-boy, as I sat down at mydesk, and a moment later, M. Felix Armand was shown in to me.
I have only to close my eyes to call again before me that strikingpersonality, for Felix Armand was one of the most extraordinary men Iever had the pleasure of meeting. Ruddy-faced, bright-eyed, with darkfull beard and waving hair almost jet black--hair that crinkled abouthis ears in a way that I can describe by no other word thanfascinating--he gave the impression of tremendous strength andvirility. There was about him, too, an air of culture not to bemistaken; the air of a man who had travelled much, seen much, andmixed with many people, high and low; the air of a man at homeanywhere, in any society. It is impossible for me, by mere words, toconvey any adequate idea of his vivid personality; but I confessthat, from the first moment, I was both impressed and charmed by him.And I am still impressed; more, perhaps, than at first, now that Iknow the whole story--but you shall hear.
"I speak English very badly, sir," he said, as he sat down. "If youspeak French...."
"Not half so well as you speak English," I laughed. "I can tell thatfrom your first sentence."
"In that event, I will do the best that I can," he said, smiling,"and you must pardon my blunders. First, Mr. Lester, on behalf ofArmand et Fils, I must ask your pardon for this mistake, soinexcusable."
"It _was_ a mistake, then?" I asked.
"One most embarrassing to us. We can not find for it an explanation.Believe me, Mr. Lester, it is not our habit to make mistakes; we havea reputation of which we are very proud; but the cabinet which waspurchased by Mr. Vantine remained in our warehouse, and this otherone was boxed and shipped to him. We are investigating most rigidly."
"Then Mr. Vantine's cabinet is still in Paris?"
"No, Mr. Lester; the error was discovered some days ago and thecabinet belonging to Mr. Vantine was shipped to me here. It shouldarrive next Wednesday on _La Provence_. I shall myself recei
ve it,and deliver it to Mr. Vantine."
"Mr. Vantine is dead," I said. "You did not know?"
He sat staring at me for a moment, as though unable to comprehend.
"Did I understand that you said Mr. Vantine is dead?" he stammered.
I told him briefly as much as I knew of the tragedy, while he satregarding me with an air of stupefaction.
"It is curious you saw nothing of it in the papers," I added. "Theywere full of it."
"I have been visiting friends at Quebec," he explained, "It was therethat the message from our house found me, commanding me to hastenhere. I started at once, and reached this city Saturday. I drove heredirectly from the station, but was so unfortunate as to miss you."
"I am sorry to have caused you so much trouble," I said.
"But, my dear Mr. Lester," he protested, "it is for us to taketrouble. A blunder of this sort we feel as a disgrace. My father, whois of the old school, is most upset concerning it. But this death ofMr. Vantine--it is a great blow to me. I have met him many times. Hewas a real connoisseur--we have lost one of our most valued patrons.You say that he was found dead in a room at his house?"
"Yes, and death resulted from a small wound on the hand, into whichsome very powerful poison had been injected."
"That is most curious. In what manner was such a wound made?"
"That we don't know. I had a theory...."
"Yes?" he questioned, his eyes gleaming with interest.
"A few hours previously, another man had been found in the same room,killed in the same way."
"Another man?"
"A stranger who had called to see Mr. Vantine. My theory was thatboth this stranger and Mr. Vantine had been killed while trying toopen a secret drawer in the Boule cabinet. Do you know anything ofthe history of that cabinet, Monsieur Armand?"
"We believe it to have been made for Madame de Montespan by MonsieurBoule himself," he answered. "It is the original of one now in theLouvre which is known to have belonged to the Grand Louis."
"That was Mr. Vantine's belief," I said. "Why he should have arrivedat that conclusion, I don't know--"
"Mr. Vantine was a connoisseur," said M. Armand, quietly. "There arecertain indications which no connoisseur could mistake."
"It was his guess at the history of the cabinet," I explained, "whichgave me the basis for my theory. A cabinet belonging to Madame deMontespan would, of course, have a secret drawer; and, since it wasmade in the days of de Brinvilliers and La Voisin, what more naturalthan that it should be guarded by a poisoned mechanism?"
"What more natural, indeed!" breathed my companion, and I fanciedthat he looked at me with a new interest in his eyes. "It is goodreasoning, Mr. Lester."
"It seemed to explain a situation for which no other explanation hasbeen found," I said. "And it had also the merit of picturesqueness."
"It is unique," he agreed eagerly, his eyes burning like two coals offire, so intense was his interest. "I have been from boyhood," headded, noticing my glance, "a lover of tales of mystery. They havefor me a fascination I cannot explain; there is in my blood somethingthat responds to them. I feel sometimes that I would have made agreat detective--or a great criminal. Instead of which, I am merely adealer in curios. You can understand how I am fascinated by a storyso outre as this."
"Perhaps you can assist us," I suggested, "for that theory of minehas been completely disproved."
"Disproved? In what way?" he demanded.
"The secret drawer has been found...."
"_Comment?_" he cried, his voice sharp with surprise. "Found? Thesecret drawer has been found?"
"Yes, and there was no poisoned mechanism guarding it."
He breathed deeply for an instant; then he pulled himself togetherwith a little laugh.
"Really," he said, "I must not indulge myself in this way. It is akind of intoxication. But you say that the drawer was found and thatthere was no poison? Was the drawer empty?"
"No, there was a packet of letters in it."
"Delicious! Love letters, of a certainty! _Billets-doux_ from thegreat Louis to the Montespan, perhaps?"
"No, unfortunately they were of a much more recent date. They havebeen restored to their owner. I hope that you agree with me that thatwas the right thing to do?"
He sat for a moment regarding me narrowly, and I had an uneasyfeeling that, since he undoubtedly knew of whom the cabinet had beenpurchased, he was reconstructing the story more completely than Iwould have wished him to do.
"Since the letters have been returned," he said, at last, a littledrily, "it is useless to discuss the matter. But no doubt I shouldapprove if all the circumstances were known to me. Especially if itwas to assist a lady."
"It was," I said, and I saw from his face that he understood.
"Then you did well," he said. "Has no other explanation been foundfor the death of Mr. Vantine and of this stranger?"
"I think not. The coroner will hold his inquest to-morrow. He hasdeferred it in the hope that some new evidence would be discovered."
"And none has been discovered?"
"I have heard of none."
"You do not even know who this stranger was?"
"Oh, yes, we have discovered that. He was a worthless fellow namedDrouet."
"A Frenchman?"
"Yes, living in an attic in the Rue de la Huchette, at Paris."
M. Armand had been gazing at me intently, but now his look relaxed,and I fancied that he drew a deep breath as a man might do whenrelieved of a burden. At the back of my brain a vague and shadowysuspicion began to form--a suspicion that perhaps M. Armand knew moreof this affair than he had as yet acknowledged.
"You did not, by any chance, know him?" I asked carelessly.
"No, I think not. But there is one thing I do not understand, Mr.Lester, and you will pardon me if I am indiscreet. But I do notunderstand what this Drouet, as you call him, was doing in the houseof Mr. Vantine."
"He was trying to get possession of the letters," I said.
"Oh, so it was that!" and my companion nodded. "And in trying to getthose letters, he was killed?"
"Yes, but what none of us understands, M. Armand, is how he waskilled. Who or what killed him? How was that poison administered? Canyou suggest an explanation?"
He sat for a moment staring thoughtfully out of the window.
"It is a nice problem," he said, "a most interesting one. I willthink it over, Mr. Lester. Perhaps I may be able to make asuggestion. I do not know. But, in any event, I shall see you againWednesday. If it is agreeable to you, we can meet at the house of Mr.Vantine and exchange the cabinets."
"At what time?"
"I do not know with exactness. There may be some delay in getting thecabinet from the ship. Perhaps it would be better if I called foryou?"
"Very well," I assented.
"Permit me to express again my apologies that such a mistake shouldhave been made by us. Really, we are most careful; but even wesometimes suffer from careless servants. It desolates me to thinkthat I cannot offer these apologies to Mr. Vantine in person. TillWednesday, then, Mr. Lester."
"Till Wednesday," I echoed, and watched his erect and perfectly-garbedfigure until it vanished through the doorway. A fascinatingman, I told myself as I turned back to my desk, and one whom Ishould like to know more intimately; a man with a hobby for themysteries of crime, with which I could fully sympathise; and I smiledas I thought of the burning interest with which he had listened tothe story of the double tragedy. How naively he had confessed histhought that he would have made a great detective--or a greatcriminal; and here he was only a dealer in curios. Well, I had hadthe same thought, more than once--and here was I, merely anot-too-successful lawyer. Decidedly, M. Armand and myself had muchin common!