CHAPTER XXIV
CONCERNING CARL FEDERMAN
Next morning, as Allerdyke was leaving the hotel with the intention ofgoing down to Gresham Street, one of the hall-porters ran after andhailed him.
"You're wanted at the telephone, sir," he said. "Call for you justcome through."
Allerdyke went back, to find himself hailed by Blindway. Would he driveon to the Yard at once and bring Mr. Fullaway with him?--both werewanted, particularly in connection with the Perrigo information.
Allerdyke promised for himself, and went upstairs to find Fullaway. Hemet him coming down, and gave him the message. Fullaway looked undecided.
"You know what I told you yesterday, Allerdyke," he said. "I didn't wantto be bothered further with these police chaps. Van Koon and I are on aline of our own, and--"
"As you like," interrupted Allerdyke, "but all the same, if I were inyour place I shouldn't refuse a chance of acquiring information. Even ifyou don't want to tell the police anything, that's no reason why youshouldn't learn something from them."
"There's that in it, certainly," assented Fullaway. "All right. You get ataxi and I'll join you in a minute or two."
As they got out of one cab at the police headquarters Celia Lennardappeared in another. She made a little grimace as the two mengreeted her.
"Again!" she exclaimed, "What are we going to be treated to now? More oldwomen with vague stories, I suppose. What good is it at all? And when amI going to hear something about my jewels?"
"You never know what you're going to hear when you visit these palatialhalls," answered Fullaway. "You may be going to have the biggest surpriseof your life, you know. They sent for you?"
"Rang me up in the middle of my breakfast," answered Celia. "Well--let'sfind out what new sensation this is. Some extraordinary creature on viewagain, of course."
The creature on view proved to be a little fat man, obviously French orSwiss, who sat, his rotund figure tightly enveloped in a frock-coat, thelapel of which was decorated with a bit of ribbon, on the edge of a chairfacing the chief's desk. He was a nervous, alert little man; hiscarefully trimmed moustache and pointed beard quivered with excitement;his dark eyes blazed. And at sight of the elegantly attired lady hebounced out of his chair, swept his silk hat to the ground, and executeda deep bow of the most extreme politeness.
"This," observed the chief, with a smile at his visitors, "is MonsieurAristide Bonnechose. M. Bonnechose believes that he can tell ussomething. It is a supplement to what Mrs. Perrigo told us yesterday. Itrelates, of course to the young man whom Mrs. Perrigo told us of--theyoung man who led pugs in Kensington Gardens."
"The pogs of Madame, my spouse," said M. Bonnechose, with a bow and asolemn expression. "Two pogs--Fifi and Chou-Chou."
"M. Bonnechose," continued the chief, regarding his company with yetanother smile, "is the proprietor of a--what is your establishment,monsieur?"
"Cafe-restaurant, monsieur," replied M. Bonnechose, promptly andpolitely. "Small, but elegant. Of my name, monsieur--the Cafe Bonnechose,Oxford Street. Established nine years--I succeeded to a formerproprietor, Monsieur Jules, on his lamented decease."
"I think M. Bonnechose had better tell us his history in his ownfashion," remarked the chief, looking around. "You are aware, Mr.Allerdyke, and you, too, Mr. Fullaway, and so I suppose are you MissLennard, that after hearing what Mrs. Perrigo had to tell us I put out abill asking for information about the young man Mrs. Perrigo described,and the matter was also mentioned in last night's and this morning'spapers. M. Bonnechose read about it in his newspaper, and so he came hereat once. He tells me that he knew a young man who was good enough duringthe early spring, to occasionally take out Madame Bonnechose's prize dogsfor an airing. That seems to have been the same man referred to by Mrs.Perrigo. Now, M. Bonnechose, give us the details."
M. Bonnechose set down his tall, very Parisian hat on the edge ofthe chief's desk, and proceeded to use his hands in conjunction withhis tongue.
"With pleasure, monsieur," he responded. "It is this way, then. You willcomprehend that Madame, my spouse, and myself are of the busiest. We donot keep a great staff; accordingly we have much to do ourselves.Consequently we have not much time to go out, to take the air. Madame, myspouse, she has a love for the dogs--she keeps two, Fifi andChou-Chou--pogs. What they call pedigree dogs--valuable. Beautifulanimals--but needing exercise. It is a trouble to Madame that they cannotdisport themselves more frequently. Now, about the beginning of thisspring, a young man--compatriot of my own--a Swiss from the Vaudcanton--he begins coming to my cafe. Sometimes he comes for hislunch--sometimes he drops in, as they say, for a cup of coffee. We findout, he and I, that we come from the same district. In the event, webecome friendly."
"This young man's name, M. Bonnechose?" asked the chief.
"What we knew him by--Federman," replied M. Bonnechose. "Carl Federman.He told me he was looking out for a job as valet to a rich man. He hadbeen a waiter--somewhere in London--some hotel, I think--I did not paymuch attention. Anyway, while he was looking for his job he certainly hadplenty of money--plenty! He do himself very well with hislunches--sometimes he come and have his dinner at night. We are notexpensive, you understand--nice lunch for two shillings, nice dinner forthree--nothing to him, that--he always carry plenty of money in hispockets. Well, then, of course, having nothing to do, often he talks tome and Madame. One day we talk of the pogs, then walking about theestablishment. He remarks that they are too fat. Madame sighs and saysthe poor darlings do not get sufficient exercise. He is good-natured,this Federman--he say at once 'I will exercise them--I, myself,' So hecome next day, like a good friend, Madame puts blue ribbons on the pogs,and bids them behave nicely--away they go with Federman for theexcursion. Many days he thus takes them--to Hyde Park, to KensingtonGardens--out of the neighbourliness, you understand. Madame is muchobliged to him--she regards him as a kind young man--eh? And then, all ofa sudden, we do not see Federman any more--no. Nor hear of him untilmonsieur asks for news of him in the papers. I see that news lastnight--Madame sees it! We start--we look at each other--we regardourselves with comprehension. We both make the same exclamation--'It isFederman! He is wanted! He has done something!' Then Madame says,'Aristide, in the morning, you will go to the police commissary,' I say'It shall be done--we will have no mystery around the Cafe Bonnechose.'Monsieur, I am here--and I have spoken!"
"And that is all you know, M. Bonnechose?" asked the chief.
"All, monsieur, absolutely all!"
"About when was it that this young man first came to your cafe, then?"
"About the beginning of March, or end of February, monsieur--it was thebeginning of the good weather, you understand."
"And he left off coming--when?"
"Beginning of April, monsieur--after that we never see him again. Oftenwe say to ourselves, 'Where is Federman?' The pogs, they look at the seatwhich he was accustomed to take, as much as to ask the same question.But," concluded M. Bonnechose, with a dismal shake of his close-croppedhead, and a spreading forth of his hands, "he never visit us nomore--no!"
"Now, listen, M. Bonnechose," said the chief; "did this man ever give youany particulars about himself?"
"None but what I have told you, monsieur--and which I do not nowremember."
"Ever tell you where he lived in London---at the time he wasvisiting you?"
"No, monsieur--never."
"Did he ever come to your place accompanied by anybody? Bring anyfriends there?"
M. Bonnechose put himself into an attitude of deep thought. He remainedin it for a moment or two; then he exchanged it for one of joyfulrecollection.
"On one occasion, a lady!" he exclaimed. "A Frenchwoman. Tall--that is,taller than is usual amongst Frenchwomen--slender--elegant. Dark--dark,black eyes--not beautiful, you understand, but--engaging."
"Lisette!" muttered Celia.
"On only one occasion, you say, M. Bonnechose?" asked the chief."When was it?"
"About the time I speak of, monsieu
r. They came in one night--ratherlate. They had a light supper--nothing much."
"He did not tell you who she was?"
"Not a word, monsieur! He was, as a rule, very secretive, this Federman,saying little about his own affairs."
"You don't remember that he ever brought any one else there! No men, forinstance?"
M. Bonnechose shook his head. Then, once again, his face brightened.
"No!" he said. "But once--just once--I saw Federman talking to a man inthe street--Shaftesbury Avenue. A clean-shaven man, well built, brownhair--a Frenchman, I think. But, of course, a stranger to me."
The chief exchanged a glance with Allerdyke and Fullaway--both knew whatthat glance meant. M. Bonnechose's description tallied remarkably withthat of the man who had gone to Eastbourne Terrace Hotel with LisetteBeaurepaire.
"A clean-shaven man, with brown hair, and well built, eh?" said thechief. "And when--"
Just then an interruption came in the person of a man who entered theroom and gave evident signs of a desire to tell something to hissuperior. The chief left his chair, went across to the door, and receiveda communication which was evidently of considerable moment. He turned andbeckoned Blindway; the three went out of the room. Several minutespassed; then the chief came back alone, and looked at his visitors with aglance of significance.
"We have just got news of something that relates, I think, to thevery subject we were discussing," he said. "A young man has been founddead in bed at a City hotel this morning under very suspiciouscircumstances--circumstances very similar to those of the EastbourneTerrace affair. And," he went on, glancing at a scrap of paper which heheld in his hand, "the description of him very closely resembles that ofthis man Federman. Of course, it's not an uncommon type, but--"
"Another of 'em!" exclaimed Allerdyke. He had suddenly remembered whatChettle had said about the new bill being a possible death-warrant, andthe words started irrepressibly to his lips. "Good Lord!"
The chief gave him a quick glance; it seemed as if he instinctivelydivined what was passing in Allerdyke's mind.
"I'm sorry to trouble you," he said, without referring to Allerdyke'sinterruption, "but I'm afraid I must ask you--all of you--to run down tothis City hotel with me. We mustn't leave a stone unturned, and if any ofyou can identify this man--"
"Oh, you don't want me, surely!" cried Celia. "Please let me off--I do sohate that sort of thing!"
"Naturally," remarked the chief. "But I'm afraid I want you more thanany one, Miss Lennard--you and M. Bonnechose. Come--we'll go atonce--Blindway has gone down to get two cabs for us."
Blindway, M. Bonnechose, and Fullaway rode to the City in one cab; Celia,Allerdyke, and the chief in another. Their journey came to an end in aquiet old street near the Docks, and at the door of an old-fashionedlooking hotel. There was a much-worried landlord, and a detective or two,and sundry police to meet them, and inquisitive eyes looked out of doorsand round corners as they went upstairs to a door which was guarded bytwo constables. The chief turned to Celia with a word of encouragement.
"One look will answer the purpose," he said quietly. "But--look closely!"
The next moment all six were standing round a narrow bed on which waslaid out the dead body of a young man. The face, calm, composed, lookedmore like that of a man who lay quietly and peacefully asleep than onewho had died under suspicious circumstances.
"Well?" asked the chief presently. "What do you say, Miss Lennard?"
Celia caught her breath.
"This--this is the man who came to Hull," she whispered. "The man, youknow, who called himself Lisette's brother. I knew him instantly."
"And you, M. Bonnechose?" said the chief. "Do you recognize him?"
The cafe-keeper, who had been making inarticulate murmurs of surprise andgrief, nodded.
"Federman!" he said. "Oh, yes, monsieur--Federman, without doubt.Poor fellow!"
The chief turned to leave the room, saying quietly that that was all hewished. But Fullaway, who had been staring moodily at the dead man,suddenly stopped him. "Look here!" he said. "I know this man, too--butnot as Federman. I'm not mistaken about him, and I don't think MissLennard or M. Bonnechose are, either. But I knew him as Fritz Ebers. Heacted as my valet at the Waldorf from the beginning of April to about theend of the first week in May last. And--since we now know what wedo--it's my opinion that there--there in that dead man--is the last ofthe puppets! The Frenchwoman--Lydenberg--now this fellow--all three gotrid of! Now, then--where's the man who pulled the strings! Where's thearch-murderer!"