XV
NEWS FROM FRANCE
For the next three days the impatience of the public met with nothingbut disappointment. The police were reticent,--more reticent far thanusual,--and the papers, powerless to add to the facts already published,had little but conjectures to offer.
The hunt for Madame Duclos continued, joined in now by the generalpublic. But for all the efforts made, aided by a careful search throughher entire baggage, there was as little known concerning her as on themorning of her disappearance.
Nor did any better success follow the exhibition at the morgue of thepoor little victim's innocent body. The mystery covering the whole affairseemed to be impenetrable, and the rush made on the museum upon its firstreopening to the public was such as to lead to its being closed againtill some limit could be put upon the attendance.
And thus matters stood when one morning the country was startled, andthe keenest interest again aroused in this remarkable case, by anannouncement received from France to the effect that the young lady sounfortunately killed in one of the public buildings in New York City was,from the description sent, not the ward of the woman Antoinette Duclos,but her own child, Angeline Duclos. That the two were well known in St.Pierre sur Loire, where they had lived for many years in the relationshipmentioned. At the convent where she was educated, she had been registeredunder the name of Duclos--also at the hotel where she and her mother hadspent a few days before leaving for England. Though of pure Frenchdescent, the father being a Breton, they could not furnish herbirth-certificate, as she had not been born in France. According to therecords to be seen at the convent, the father, Achille Duclos, was aprofessor of languages, whom her mother had met in England and married inFrance before going to the States. So far as known, their story was asimple one, affording no reason, so far as could be learned, for anychange of name on the part of the young woman, in her visit to America.
This was supplemented by a word from Scotland Yard, England, received afew hours after the other, to the effect that Madame Duclos and MissWilletts arrived at the Ritz from Dover, on the morning of May 16th, andleft the next morning for Southampton. They spent the evening at thetheater with friends who called for them in a public automobile. Thesepeople had not been found, but they had been advertised for and might yetshow up. Nothing more could be learned of either of them.
Now here was an astonishing discovery! That two women known andrecognized as mother and daughter in France should pass for unrelatedcompanions on leaving that country to enter ours. What were we Americansto think of this, especially in the light of the tragic event which sosoon terminated this companionship.
That the French records, imperfect as they were, were to be relied uponas stating the truth as to the exact nature of the connection betweenthese two, there could be no doubt. But granting this, what freshcomplexities were thus brought into an affair already teeming withincongruities--nay, absolute contradictions.
Madame Duclos' conduct, as shown toward her young charge, had seemedsufficiently strange and inconsistent when looked upon as that ofgoverness or guardian. But for a mother, and a French mother at that, toallow a young and inexperienced girl to go alone to a strange museum onthe very day of their arrival, and then, with or without knowledge ofwhat had happened to her there, to efface herself by flight withoutpromise of return, was inconceivable to anyone acquainted with the mostordinary of French conventions.
Some sinister secret, despite the seeming harmlessness of their lives,must hide behind such unnatural conduct! Was it one connected with orentirely dissociated from the tragedy which had terminated the poorchild's existence? This was the great question. This was what gave newzest to the search for the dark-skinned Frenchwoman, with her droopingeyelid and hesitating walk, and led Sweetwater to whisper into Gryce'sear, as they stepped out that same day from Headquarters:
"No more nonsense now. We must find that woman or her dead body beforethe next twenty-four hours have elapsed. With our fingers on that end ofthe string----"
"We will get hold of some family secret, but not of the immediate onewhich especially concerns us. Madame Duclos sent her daughter unattendedto the museum, but she did not direct the shaft which killed her. Thatwas the work of our friend X. Let us then make sure that we fit the rightman to this algebraic symbol, and trust to her testimony to convict him."
By this time they had reached the taxi which was to convey Mr. Grycehome. But though Sweetwater lent his arm to help the old man in, he didit with such an air of hesitation that it caused the other to remark:
"You have not ended your argument. There is something more you want tosay. What is it? Speak up."
"No, no. I am quite satisfied, so far as the Duclos matter is concerned.It is only--would you mind stepping aside for a moment till I tell you abit of gossip which has just come to my ears? Thank you, sir. Forbes isall right" (Forbes was the chauffeur), "but confidences are sacred andthis thing was told me in confidence."
The humorous twist of his features as he said this quite transformed hisvery plain countenance. Mr. Gryce, noting it, began to stare at the firstisolated object handy, which in this case happened to be the crooked endof his umbrella--a sign, to those who knew him well, of awakenedinterest.
"Well? Let's hear," he said.
"It doesn't sound like much; but it will probably be news to you, as itcertainly was to me. It's this, Mr. Gryce: A certain gentleman we knowhas been contemplating matrimony; but since this accident happened at themuseum,--that is, within the last two days,--the engagement has beenbroken off."
"So! But I thought he had not got so far as an engagement. You mean youngCorrey----"
"No, Mr. Gryce, I do not. I mean--_the other_."
"The other! Well, that's worth listening to. Engaged, eh, and now all ofa sudden free again? At whose instance, Sweetwater, his or hers? Did youhear?"
"Not exactly, but--it's quite a story, sir. I had it from his chauffeurand will tell it to you later if you are in a hurry to go home."
"Home! Come back with me into Headquarters. I've got to sleep to-night."
Sweetwater laughed, and together they retraced their steps.
"You see, sir," the young detective began as they drew their chairstogether in an unoccupied corner, "you gave me a task the other day whichcalled for the help of a friend--one at court, I mean, a fellow who notonly knows the gentleman but has access to his person _and_ his wardrobe.X does not keep a man-servant--men of his intellectual type seldomdo--but does own a limousine and consequently employs a chauffeur. Tomeet and make this chauffeur mine took me just two days. I don't know howI did it. I never know how I do it," he added with a sheepish smile asMr. Gryce gave utterance to his old-fashioned "Umph!" "I don't flatterand I don't bring out my pocketbook or offer drinks or even cigars, butI get 'em, as you know, and get 'em strong, perhaps because I don't makeany great effort.
"After an evening spent in the garage with this man, he was ready totalk, and this is what slipped out, among a lot of nonsensical gossip.Mr. X, the real Mr. X this time, has, besides his apartment in NewYork, a place on Long Island. The latter has been recently bought and,though fine enough, is being added to and refitted as no man at his agewould take the trouble of doing, if he hadn't a woman in mind. Thechauffeur--Holmes is his name--is no fool, and has seen for some timethat Mr. X, for all his goings to and fro and the many calls he is in thehabit of making on a certain young lady, did not expect him--that is,Holmes--to notice anything beyond the limits of his work, or to recognizein any way his employer's secret intentions. But fortunately for us, thisman Holmes is just one of those singularly meddlesome people whosecuriosity grows with every attempt at repression; and when, coincidentwith that disastrous happening at the museum, all these loverlikeattentions ceased and no calls were made and no presents sent, and gloominstead of cheer marked his employer's manner, he made up his mind tosacrifice a portion of his dignity rather than endure the fret of amystery he did not understand. This meant not only keeping his eyesopen,--this he
had always done,--but his ears as well.
"The young lady, whose name he never mentioned, lives not in the city butin that same Long Island village where Mr. X's country-house is in theprocess of renovation. If he, Holmes, should ever be so fortunate as tobe ordered to drive there again, he knew of a gravel walk running underthe balcony where the two often sat. He would make the acquaintance ofthat gravel walk instead of sitting out the hour somewhere in the rear,as he had hitherto been accustomed to do. What's the use of having earsif you don't use them? Nobody would be any the worse, and his mind wouldbe at rest.
"And do you know, sir, that he did actually carry this cowardlyresolution through. There came a night--I think it was Tuesday--when theorder came, and they took the road to Belport. Not a word did hisemployer utter the whole way. Solemn and still he sat, and when theyarrived he descended without a word, rang the bell and entered the house.It was very warm, that night, Holmes said, and before long he heard theglass doors open onto the balcony, and knew that his wished-for chancehad come. Leaving the limousine, he crept around to secure a place amongthe bushes, and what he heard while there seemed to compensate him forwhat he called his loss of dignity. The young girl was crying, and theman was talking to her kindly enough but in a way to end whatever hopesshe may have had.
"Holmes heard him say: 'It cannot be, now. Circumstances have changed forme lately, and much as I regret it I must ask you to be so good as toforgive me for giving up our plans.' Then he offered her money,--anannuity, I believe they call it,--but she cried out at that, saying itwas love she wanted, to be petted and cared for--money she could dowithout. When he showed himself again in front, he was stiffer and moresolemn than ever, and said 'Home,' in a dreary way which made thechauffeur feel decidedly uncomfortable.
"Of course Holmes is quite blind to what this all means, but you maypossibly see some connection between this sudden act of sacrifice on X'spart and the work of the arrow. At all events, I thought you ought toknow that Mr. X's closet holds a skeleton which he will doubtless takeevery pains to keep securely locked from general view. Holmes says thathis last word to the disappointed girl was in the way of warning. Nomention of this break in their plans was to be made without hissanction."
"Good work, Sweetwater! You have strengthened my hands wonderfully. Doesthis fellow Holmes know you for a police-detective?"
"Indeed not, sir. That would be fatal to our friendship, I am sure. Ihaven't even let him discover that what he was burning to tell had anyespecial interest for me. I let him ramble on with just a word here andthere to show I wasn't bored. He hasn't an idea----"
"Very good. Now, what do you propose to do next?"
"To take up my residence in Belport."
"Why Belport?"
"Because X proposes to move there, bag and baggage, this very week."
"Before his house is done?"
"Yes. He hates the city. Wants to have an eye to the changes being made.Perhaps he thinks a little work of this kind may distract him."
"And you?"
"Was a master carpenter once, you know."
"I see."
"And have a friend on the spot who promises to recommend me."
"Are workmen wanted there?"
"A good one, very much."
"I'm sure you'll fill the bill."
"I shall try to, sir."
"But for the risk you run of being recognized, I should bet on you,Sweetwater."
"I know; people will not forget the unfortunate shape of my nose."
"You were up and down the museum for hours. He must know your face like abook."
"It can't be helped, I shall keep out of sight as much as possiblewhenever he is around. I am an expert workman in the line wanted. Iunderstand my trade, and he will see that I do and doubt his eyes ratherthan stretch probabilities to the point of connecting me with the Force.Besides, I get quite another expression when my hands get in touch withthe wood; and I can look a man in the eye, if I have to, without a quiverof self-consciousness. His will drop before mine will."
"Your name as carpenter?"
"Jacob Shott. It's the name by which Holmes already knows me."
"Well, well, the game may be worth the candle. You can soon tell. I willkeep you posted."
The rest was business with which we need not concern ourselves.
BOOK III
STORM IN THE MOUNTAINS