CHAPTER IX
Promptly at eight o'clock the next evening Mr. John Stapleton left hishouse in the Avenue Kleber, in a big French touring car, with Francoisat the wheel.
The car presented no points of peculiarity, being like a thousand othersto be seen any evening upon the streets of Paris. It was of large size,high powered, and painted a green so dark as to be almost black.
Mr. Stapleton sat in the tonneau, wearing a dark blue serge suit, and aPanama hat. In his left hand he clutched a small package, about the sizeof a cigar box. In the package were banknotes amounting to one hundredthousand dollars.
Close beside his right foot lay a rubber bulb, from which a short pipeextended through a hole bored in the side of the car. The end of thepipe held a small brass nozzle. It projected but a short distance beyondthe body of the car, and in the dim light of early evening was quiteinvisible.
Mr. Stapleton told his chauffeur to drive out the road towardVersailles. "I feel like getting some fresh air," he added. "It's ratherwarm, tonight." Inwardly he was burning up with excitement.
From Paris to Versailles is a matter of some fourteen miles. Mr.Stapleton's car proceeded slowly. He wanted to run no chances of missingthe car with the blue light.
At the Porte de Versailles he paused long enough to see Richard Duvall,standing in the shadow of the gateway. Then he passed outside of Paris.
There were many automobiles and other vehicles on the road. The eveningwas a pleasant one, and all Paris seemed out taking the air. Themajority of the vehicles were coming toward the city. He observed a car,some distance behind him, containing a single occupant, a man of middleage, but paid no attention to it. His eyes were strained to detect inthe cars approaching him some evidence of the signal light which was torouse him to sudden action.
He noticed that Francois, like himself, was carefully scrutinizing eachcar as it approached them. He wondered if the chauffeur could have anyidea of the purpose of his expedition; but presently dismissed thethought as entirely unlikely, and devoted himself to the passing cars.
He had proceeded perhaps four or five miles beyond the fortifications,when he saw a large car approaching slowly from the direction ofVersailles. It contained but two persons, the chauffeur, and a heavilyveiled woman.
The chauffeur, who was keenly observing the machine in which Mr.Stapleton sat, began to swerve to the right side of the road, so as topass as closely to the banker's car as possible. At the same momentthere showed through the gathering darkness a brilliant spot of bluelight in the tonneau where sat the woman.
Mr. Stapleton was on his feet in an instant. The two cars approachedeach other rapidly. It was necessary for him to act with greatquickness. He shifted the package containing the money from his lefthand to his right, and a moment later had tossed it lightly into theother car.
He saw at once that it landed safely within, and at the same instant hepressed his foot down hard upon the rubber bulb. In a moment the carwith the blue light had swept past, and was disappearing rapidly in thedirection of Paris.
Mr. Stapleton leaned forward and addressed Francois in a voice whichquivered with excitement. "Drive home at once," he commanded.
In a moment he was following the first car toward the city.
He did not notice, as he swept down the darkening road, the car whichhad been following him all the way from Paris. It continued on its waytoward Versailles. In it were two people. At the wheel sat a man whobore, in the semi-darkness, a striking resemblance to Francois, Mr.Stapleton's chauffeur, while in the rear sat a figure, in dark suit andPanama hat, which seemed for all the world like that of the bankerhimself. Had a casual observer not seen Mr. Stapleton turn back towardParis, he would have concluded that he was still on his way towardVersailles.
The occupants of this second car also appeared to be keenly watching thevarious automobiles which passed them, as though expecting some signal,some recognition; yet, in spite of their eager and expectant glances,they seemed doomed to disappointment.
At last Versailles was reached. The elderly man in the tonneau gave ashort command, his chauffeur turned the car about, and they began toreturn to Paris. Nothing further whatever happened on the Versaillesroad.
Meanwhile, Richard Duvall, at the Porte de Versailles, was carefullyscrutinizing the various incoming machines that passed the gate andentered the city. With a brilliant electric searchlight he examinedtheir bodies and wheels, looking always for the telltale red stainswhich would identify the kidnappers' car. Beside him stood Vernet, oneof the Prefect's assistants, with whom Duvall had become well acquaintedduring his former stay in Paris.
"Well, Monsieur Duvall," remarked the latter, "a most ingeniousplan--this of yours. I wonder if it will be successful?"
"I feel sure of it."
"I hope you are right." He looked at his watch. "Half past eight. Abouttime, I should think, from what you tell me. Here is a big fellow, now.A Pasquet, by her looks. Six-cylinder, too."
Duvall glanced at the oncoming car. A wagon which preceded it was justpassing the gates. The big Pasquet slowed up, and almost stopped.
The detective threw the rays of his searchlight on the body of the car,then started back with an exclamation. From one end to the other, thedark green finish of the sides and wheels was spattered and streakedwith bright red paint. Dust had settled in it, in places, especially onthe wheels; but above, on the doors, it was clear and unmistakable.
"Vernet," he shouted, excitedly, "it is the one! Quick! Don't let themget away."
Vernet stepped up to the quivering motor. At the wheel sat a young man,quite composed. In the tonneau, a veiled woman reclined at ease. In herhands she held a brown paper package.
She leaned toward Vernet, and spoke a single word to him. Duvall did nothear what it was; but its effect upon the Prefect's man wasinstantaneous--electrical. He stepped back and raised his hat. "Pardon,Madame," he said, and the Pasquet rolled through the gate and into thestreets of Paris unmolested.
Duvall had sprung forward, and, as he did so, swept the occupants of thecar with his electric searchlight. Suddenly he drew back in amazement,just as Vernet allowed the car to pass on. He could scarcely believethat what he saw was a reality. There was the big black car, its bodyand wheels plentifully bespattered with the identifying red stain--andthere, at the wheel, sat Alphonse Valentin, while the veiled woman inthe rear was--Grace!
He did not know it was Grace--he did know that it was the woman who hadbeen with Valentin in his room, who had brought the message from thekidnappers to Mr. Stapleton, who, in some far off and intangible way,reminded him of Grace.
There she sat, in her hand the package containing Mr. Stapleton'smoney--and Vernet doffed his cap to her, and permitted her to go on! Wasthis woman, then, hoodwinking even the police?
He sprang to Vernet's side. "Stop them!" he cried, in a hoarse voice."They are the ones I am after."
Vernet shook his head. "Impossible, Monsieur. They are given safeconduct by Monsieur the Prefect himself."
"But--they are thieves--kidnappers!"
Vernet shrugged his shoulders. "It may be so, Monsieur Duvall; but myorders are to let them pass."
The detective ground his teeth, helpless. His scheme for identifyingthe criminals had worked perfectly. He had found them, only to see boththem and Mr. Stapleton's hundred thousand dollars as well slip quietlythrough his fingers. He cursed the whole police force of Paris roundly,in his anger.
The arrival of another car distracted his attention. It was Mr.Stapleton, hurrying home, in the hope of finding his boy. Duvall did notstop him. The banker was evidently thinking of nothing but his lost son.
Several other cars passed. Duvall had no interest in them. He was aboutto turn away, with the intention of hunting up Mr. Stapleton andlearning whether or not the boy had been returned to him, when he hearda familiar voice calling him by name. He turned. It was MonsieurLefevre, in a big dark green car.
"Mon Dieu! Duvall!" the Prefect cried, in pretended surprise. "You here!I
n Paris! Or do my eyes deceive me?"
The detective looked a bit sheepish. He realized that in not calling onhis old friend before now, he had been guilty of an apparent rudenesswhich Monsieur Lefevre might justly resent. "Monsieur," he cried, "it isindeed I." He put out his hand, and grasped that of his old chiefwarmly. "A little matter of business brought me to Paris. I have onlyjust arrived."
"Indeed." The Prefect's eyes twinkled. "I hope, my dear fellow, thatyour other engagements will permit you to come and see me before long."
"I shall come this very evening, Monsieur. In fact, I have a matter ofthe utmost importance to discuss with you. Shall you be at liberty?"
"In an hour, _mon ami_. Until then I have other things to occupy me.Come to the Prefecture in an hour. I shall be waiting for you. For thepresent, adieu." He called an order to his chauffeur, and drove rapidlyoff into the darkness.
Duvall turned on his heel and began to look for a taxicab. "Good night,Vernet," he called out, as he went up the street.
In half an hour, he had reached Mr. Stapleton's house. He found theunfortunate banker striding up and down his library in a towering rage."The fellows have deceived me!" he cried. "They have not brought back myboy. Did you see anything of them? Tell me!" He grasped Duvall nervouslyby the arm.
"The car into which you threw the package of money contained, besidesthe chauffeur, but one occupant, a woman, did it not?"
"Yes--yes! Did you get her?"
"No."
"Why not? Did your scheme to identify the car fail to work?"
"On the contrary, it worked perfectly. I stopped the car at the barrier.The woman in it had the package of money in her hand."
"And you did not arrest her! In Heaven's name, why not?"
"The police would not permit me to do so. The woman was the same one whobrought you the message last night, the supposed agent of the police.They allowed her to pass the gates."
"What?" the banker fairly shouted his question. "This is ridiculous! Isthe woman a criminal, or is she a detective? She cannot be both, and ifshe is the latter why was she in that car, with my money in her hand?"
"I do not know. But I mean to find out very shortly."
"How? I'd like to know!"
"I am going to see the Prefect of Police at once."
Mr. Stapleton sank into a chair, and groaned. "I had hoped to have Jackwith me by now. His poor mother is distracted. Isn't there anything, Mr.Duvall, that you can do?"
"I hope to answer that question better, Mr. Stapleton, after I have seenMonsieur Lefevre. If this woman, and her companion, Valentin, are reallythe kidnappers, they are in Paris, and we shall be able to lay our handson them without difficulty. If they are not, your money, at least issafe. I must leave you now; but as soon as I learn anything, I willreport to you at once. Good night."
He left the house, more mystified than he had ever been in his life.From the start, this case had apparently been one in which all the cluesled to absurd contradictions, or else to nothing at all.
In fifteen minutes he was at the Prefecture.
Monsieur Lefevre sent out word that he would be occupied for a fewmoments, and the detective sat down as patiently as possible, to wait.
The Blue Lights: A Detective Story Page 9
