CHAPTER XIII
It was nearly ten o'clock when the taxicab containing Grace Duvallstopped alongside the road, at a point some four miles beyond the city,in the direction of Versailles. She had been unable to give the driverthe exact location at which she desired to be put down, but had directedhim to drive on until she told him to stop.
The spot was quite familiar to her, owing to the hours she had spent inthe vicinity with the searching party the day before.
The taxicab driver seemed rather surprised to see her alight at thissomewhat lonely spot; but he shrugged his shoulders with true Parisianindifference, pocketed the tip she gave him, and drove rapidly off inthe darkness.
Left to herself by the roadside, Grace began to fear that she had, afterall, done a rather foolish thing. Now that she was here, she hardly knewhow to begin.
All about her she saw the dark outlines of cottages among the trees,with here and there a straggling light which betokened some householdlate in getting to bed. The country people in this vicinity--growers offlowers and vegetables or dairymen for the most part--were asleep withtheir cows about the time that Paris began to dine.
Occasionally the silence about her was broken by the mournful howling ofa dog; but otherwise all was still.
The night was cloudless, and the lightening of the sky toward the easttold her that before long a moon would rise above the trees.
Near the road she found a little rustic bench, and upon this she satdown to think.
The howling of the dog had suggested to her mind a possible clue to thehouse within which Mr. Stapleton's boy had been, for a time at least,confined. She could remember nothing of the garden, and but little ofthe room in which she had been confined; but the dog, playing upon thegrass with the child, had fixed itself in her memory. She recollecteddistinctly that he was a poodle, mostly black, with fine curling hair,like astrakhan fur, and a pointed nose.
There were many dogs of this sort, she well knew, and yet there was onepeculiarity which had impressed itself upon her memory, which wouldinevitably serve to identify this particular dog, should she ever seehim again. His long and bushy tail, black for the most part like therest of his body, terminated in a plume of white hair.
It was a most unusual marking in a French poodle. She had never seen itbefore, and she was a great lover of dogs, and knew them thoroughly. Itwas this fact, no doubt, which had caused her to notice the animal, at atime when her mind was filled with matters of vastly greater importance.
She had sought carefully for such a dog, on the occasion of the previoussearch, but had not found him. The tale about the escaped cobra hadcaused the country folk to lock up their pets without loss of time.
Now she hoped to find this dog, and through him discover the location ofthe house in which she had been confined. After that--well, she would dothe best she could.
It occurred to her that she was not at all likely to discover thewhereabouts of the black poodle by sitting here on a bench; yet shedared not start out until the moon had risen sufficiently high to lightup her way.
In about an hour, the rim of the golden disk showed itself above thetreetops, and a little later the black shadows about her began to growluminous, and resolve themselves into white-walled cottages, hedges, andoutbuildings of various sorts.
A narrow lane ran off from the main road, bordered on each side bylindens and poplars.
Along this lane the houses of the little hamlet were set, some near theroad, others quite a distance back. She rose, and began to walk slowlyalong the lane.
As she had expected, dogs of various sorts and sizes, to judge by theirvoices, began barking as soon as she came opposite the first house. Asmall fox terrier ran through the gateway of a garden, yelping sharply.The deep-toned baying of a hound sounded farther up the street. A smallwhite poodle, and a black one of the same size, ran after her, as shewent along, making friendly attempts to play. The one she sought,however, seemed nowhere in evidence.
The lane ascended a gently sloping hill, at the top of which stood ahouse, somewhat larger than the others, whose outbuildings and pasturesproclaimed it to be a dairy farm. There was a hedge of roses along theroadside, and a little wooden gate.
Grace heard a sharp bark on the other side of the gate as she passed it,and, stopping, glanced over. In the shadow stood a black poodle; butwhether his tail showed the markings for which she sought she was unableto tell on account of the darkness. She gave the gate a gentle push, andit slowly opened. The dog ran out into the road. As he crossed a patchof moonlight, she saw that her search was ended. This, she wasconvinced, was the dog--and the house!
Her next problem was how to get inside. Try as she would, she couldthink of no excuse which would adequately account for her presence inthis little frequented locality at such a time of night. That theoccupants of the house had long ago retired was evidenced by theblackness of the windows, the silence which brooded over the wholeplace.
She looked about her. Just across the lane from the little gate abuilding loomed formless against a shadowy clump of trees. She wentover to it, and found that it was a small shed. The door stood open.Inside stood a tumbledown old wagon, dust covered, and quite evidentlyunused for a long time. The shelter of the shed seemed grateful--asthough she had arrived somewhere, instead of being a wanderer in thenight.
There seemed nothing to do, now, but wait for daylight. She climbed intothe creaking wagon and sat upon the seat. There was a back to it, which,like the seat, was covered with old and torn velveteen. She leaned backin the shadow and closed her eyes. Her walk, the night air, had made hertired. In the distance she heard, after a long time, the faint boomingof a bell. She looked at her watch. It was midnight.
The next thing that Grace remembered was the loud barking of a dog. Shesat up, feeling stiff and cold. Her neck and left shoulder achedpainfully. A glance through the open door of the shed told her that itwas still night; but there was a gray radiance in the air, a soft palelight, that betokened the coming of dawn.
She crept stiffly down from the wagon, and again consulted her watch. Itmarked the hour of four. Through a dusty window in the side of the shedshe saw the eastern sky, rose streaked and bright, heralding the sun.
As the light increased, she saw the dog that had disturbed her sleeprunning about on the grass in front of the house opposite. The houseseemed much nearer, in the daylight, than it had appeared at night. Sheexamined the dog closely. The white tip of his tail, waving gaily in themorning light, showed her that it was the one she had sought.
She crouched in the dim shadow of the half-open door and watched thescene before her. There was a man, moving about among the smallbuildings to the right. She heard him performing some task--she couldnot at first make out what. Presently the lowing of cattle, the rattleof a bucket, as it was drawn up by a creaking windlass, told her thatthe man was tending his cows.
Quite half an hour later she saw him going toward the house, a pail,evidently well filled, in each hand.
Then ensued another long silence. The curling wisp of smoke from thechimney of the cottage indicated breakfast, and Grace suddenly realizedthat she felt cold, and hungry. For the first time in her life sherealized how important one's breakfast is, in beginning the day.
Presently the man reappeared and went toward a small building whichGrace took to be the barn. She could see him clearly now; for the sunhad risen above the trees and lit up the whole scene brilliantly. He wasa small, wizened man, with gray hair and a slight stoop. She was quitecertain that she had never seen him before.
He went to the barn, and she saw that he was engaged in harnessing ahorse, which he presently attached to a farm wagon. She noted the wagonparticularly. It was a low two-wheeled affair, with a dingy canvas top.A large patch in the canvas showed yellow-white in the sunlight. Thehorse was white.
In a little while the man began to put in the cart a variety of objectswhich he brought from the barn. They appeared to be baskets ofvegetables or fruit, and cans of milk. Presently he stop
ped, and wenttoward the house. In a few minutes he returned. This time a woman waswith him. They carried between them a large wicker basket, whichappeared to be quite heavy. There was a top on the basket. Gracewondered if it could be filled with laundry.
The couple placed the basket in the wagon, putting it in from the front,so that it occupied a position close beside the driver. In getting it upover the wheel the woman let her end of it slip, and the man cursed herwith such sudden sharpness that Grace was startled and crouched backinto the shed. She wondered what the basket could contain, that made theman so careful, and the thought came to her, might it not be Mr.Stapleton's boy?
The idea possessed her completely. As the man drove out into the lane,and rattled down the hill toward the main road, she suddenly realizedthat she must follow; yet how could she hope to do so, on foot? Thewoman had gone back into the house. Regardless of consequences, Graceran out into the lane, and after the wagon at full speed.
When she reached the main road the vehicle had already turned into itand was some distance away, headed for Paris, at a speed which, slow fora horse, was still much faster than she could possibly walk.
She looked up and down the road helplessly. There were several otherwagons approaching, all going in the same direction--cityward. Sherealized that they were country people, farmers, taking their vegetablesand flowers to the markets.
The first one to reach her was driven by a buxom-looking young woman,wearing a plaid shawl. Grace hailed her. "Will you be so good, Madame,as to take me to Paris?"
The woman glanced at her shrewdly. "I have a heavy load, Mademoiselle,"she replied. Her voice was cold, uninterested.
"I will pay you five francs--"
The words had barely left Grace's lips, before the woman had pulled upher horse. "Five francs, Mademoiselle? That is another matter. Get in."
Grace clambered up beside the woman and glanced down the road ahead. Thecanvas-covered wagon was still in sight--mounting a hill some three orfour hundred yards ahead.
The woman looked at her curiously, noting her dress, her hands, hershoes. "You are not of the country, Mademoiselle," she remarked,pleasantly.
"No. I belong in Paris." She turned to her companion. "I should like toreturn there as quickly as possible."
"My Susette does not care to go above a walk," the woman remarked,gazing at her horse, plodding along with mechanical steps, as thoughutterly unconcerned as to whether or not they ever reached Paris. Thewagon ahead was now out of sight, over the brow of the hill.
"Would you like to make a louis?" Grace took a gold piece from her purseand held it in the sunlight. It glistened brightly.
The woman drew back, regarding her companion suspiciously. "A louis? Whowould not? What do you mean, Mademoiselle?"
"There is a wagon ahead of us, a canvas-covered wagon, with a whitehorse. I am following it. If you will keep that wagon in sight until weget to Paris, I will give you this louis."
She turned the gold piece about, making it sparkle in the sun. The womanglanced first at her face, then more carefully at the coin, then,reaching over, took it in her fingers, and raised it to her mouth. Gracewondered what she was about to do. In a moment she had sunk her teethinto it, then returned it to her companion. "It shall be as you say,Mademoiselle," she exclaimed as she pulled in the reins. "Allons,Susette!"
The horse, evidently awakened from his morning dreams, started forwardwith a suddenness which almost precipitated Grace from her seat. Thetrees along the roadside began to fly past them. In ten minutes theywere close behind the canvas-covered wagon, now moving along at a briskpace.
When they reached the fortifications, the two wagons were separated bynot more than a dozen feet. Grace's companion glanced at her sharply."From here I go to Grennelle, Mademoiselle," she exclaimed.
Grace looked at the wagon ahead. "Follow it, please," she said. "I willgive you another five francs."
The woman obeyed in silence. The wagon in front of them headed offtoward the northwest, going in the direction of Passy. Before a greatwhile it crossed the Pont de Passy, turned into the Rue Nicolo, and cameto a stop before a small brick house, standing in a little garden.
Grace jumped down at the corner, after giving the woman the louis andthe additional five francs. "Thank you," she said, and started slowly upthe street.
The wagon with the canvas cover stood quietly alongside the curb. Theold man who drove it had approached the door of the house, and wasringing the bell.
Presently one of the windows on the top floor was thrown open, and aman's head was thrust out. Grace could not see his face clearly. Helooked down at the man at the door, who at the same time looked up. Thewindow was instantly closed, and a few moments later the door of thehouse opened and the man came out.
He stood talking with the driver in low tones for a few moments. Gracehad walked on up the street, fearing to attract attention. Looking back,she saw that the two men were gazing after her. She dared not turn herhead again, but at the next corner turned into a cross street. Then shestopped, and cautiously peered around the corner. The two men had goneto the wagon and were lifting out the large basket. A few moments laterthey disappeared with it into the house.
After a time, the old man returned with the basket in his hands. Fromthe way he carried it Grace could see that it was empty. He tossed itcarelessly into the wagon, mounted the seat, and drove off.
Grace looked at her watch. It was half past seven. She felt cold andhungry, and determined to get something to eat at once. A little pastrycook's shop and restaurant on the opposite side of the street attractedher attention, and she crossed over, entered, and ordered rolls andcoffee. She could see the windows of the house into which the two menhad carried the basket, from where she sat.
She scarcely knew what to do next. It seemed almost certain that Mr.Stapleton's child was in the house across the way, and yet--it wasmerely an intuition, a guess, which might turn out to be entirely wrong.Yet she feared to go away, not knowing at what moment the child, if hewas indeed there, might be taken elsewhere, and the clue hopelesslylost.
She finished her rolls and coffee, taking as much time to consume themas she could. She had just made up her mind to go, when the door of thehouse across the street opened, and a man came out. He was dark, andheavily built, and dressed in the costume affected by artists. He headeddirectly for the pastry shop, and Grace realized that he was about toenter it.
She turned her face away, fearing lest he might have noticed her, as shewalked up the street. He did not even glance in her direction, however,but went at once to a counter at the rear of the place.
The proprietor came up to him with a smile, rubbing his hands togethercheerily. "Ah! Monsieur Durand. Up early this morning, I see. What can Ido for you?"
She did not catch the other's reply, nor did she dare to glance at hisface. She shrank back into her corner, and, picking up a newspaper whichlay in the window sill, began to read.
The new customer remained but a few moments. When he left, Grace sawthat he carried a large paper bag with him, which appeared to containrolls or bread.
He again entered the house, but this time remained inside but a fewmoments. A little later she left the shop, and watched him as hedisappeared down the street.
For half an hour she walked about, wondering whether she shouldtelephone Monsieur Lefevre now, or wait until she had made certain thatthe whole affair was, after all, not a wild goose chase. Suddenly shewas seized with a new determination. She went boldly up to the house,and rang the bell.
In a few moments a sleepy-looking maid opened the door, eying Grace withlazy indifference.
"I wish to see Monsieur Durand," the latter said.
"He's out."
"Then I must wait. I am a model. He instructed me to come at eighto'clock, and to wait until he returned."
The girl shrugged her shoulders, and pointed to the stairs. "Top floorfront," she grumbled, and turned away.
Grace lost no time in getting up the stairs. To her surp
rise, the doorof the studio, upon which was a card bearing Monsieur Durand's name, wasunlocked. She pushed her way boldly in, and looked about. The room wasscantily furnished, and contained little besides a couple of modelingstands, several large plaster figures and casts, two chairs, and acouch, evidently used as a bed. At the rear of the room was a closet.She turned to it and threw it open. It contained only an assortment ofclothes.
She felt completely baffled. There was no possible place, here, in whichthe child she was seeking could be hidden. Evidently she had been onthe wrong track. And yet--what had the wicker basket contained?
Suddenly she stopped, quivering with excitement. From somewhere in theroom--she could not tell where--there came a low sobbing sound, as of achild, crying to itself. It vibrated throughout the room, at one momentclose to her ears, the next far off, intangible, like a whispered echo.She stood, listening, every nerve tense with excitement, and still thatlow sobbing went on, coming from nowhere, evanescent as a dream.
The thing seemed unreal, horrifying. She gazed about helpless. Then sheheard the front door of the house suddenly slam, followed by the soundof heavy footsteps on the stairs.
The Blue Lights: A Detective Story Page 13
