XXII. THE SCRAP OF PAPER
It was three o'clock when Juve arrived at the rue Levert, and he foundthe concierge of number 147 just finishing her coffee.
Amazed at the results achieved by the detective, the details of whichshe had learned from the sensational articles in the daily paper shemost affected, Mme. Doulenques had conceived a most respectfuladmiration for the Inspector of the Criminal Investigation Department.
"That man," she constantly declared to Madame Aurore, "it isn't eyes hehas in his head, it's telescopes, magnifying glasses! He sees everythingin a minute--even when it isn't there!"
She gave him an admiring "good afternoon, Inspector," as he came intoher lodge, and going to a board on which numbers of keys were hanging,took one down and handed it to him.
"So there's something fresh to-day?" she said. "I've just seen in thepaper that M. Gurn has been arrested. So it was my lodger who did it?What a dreadful man! Whoever would have thought it? It turns my bloodcold to think of him!"
Juve was never a man for general conversation, and he was still lessinterested in the garrulity of this loquacious creature. He took the keyand cut short her remarks by walking to the door.
"Yes, Gurn has been arrested," he said shortly; "but he has made noconfession, so nothing is known for certain yet. Please go on with yourwork exactly as though I were not in the house, Mme. Doulenques."
It was his usual phrase, and a constant disappointment to theconcierge, who would have asked nothing better than to go upstairs withthe detective and watch him at his wonderful work.
Juve went up the five floors to the flat formerly occupied by Gurn,reflecting somewhat moodily. Of course Gurn's arrest was a success, andit was satisfactory to have the scoundrel under lock and key, but inpoint of fact Juve had learned nothing new in consequence of the arrest,and he was obsessed with the idea that this murder of Lord Beltham wasan altogether exceptional crime. He did not yet know why Gurn had killedLord Beltham, and he did not even know exactly who Gurn himself was; allhe could declare was that the murder had been planned and carried outwith marvellous audacity and skill, and that was not enough.
Juve let himself into the flat and closed the door carefully behind him.The rooms were in disorder, the result of the searches effected by thepolice. The rent had not been paid for some time, and as no friend orrelation had come forward to assume control of Gurn's interests, thefurniture and ornaments of the little flat were to be sold by auction.
The detective walked through the rooms, then flung himself into anarm-chair. He did not know precisely why he had come. He had searchedthe place a dozen times already since his discovery of the corpse withinthe trunk, and had found nothing more, no tell-tale marks or freshdetail, to assist in the elucidation of the mystery. He would have givenvery much to be able to identify Gurn with some other of the manycriminals who had passed through his hands, and still more to be able toidentify him with that one most mysterious criminal whose fearful deedshad shocked the world so greatly. Somehow the particular way in whichthis murder was committed, the very audacity of it, led him to think, to"sense," almost to swear that----
Juve got up. It was little in accord with his active temperament to sitstill. Once more he went all round the flat.
"The kitchen? Let me see: I have been through everything? The stove? Thecupboards? The saucepans? Why, I went so far as to make sure that therewas no poison in them, though it seemed a wild idea. The anteroom?Nothing there: the umbrella stand was empty, and the one interestingthing I did see, the torn curtain, has been described and photographedofficially." He went back into the dining-room. "I've searched all thefurniture: and I went through all the parcels Gurn had done up before heleft, and would, no doubt, have come back for at his leisure, had it notbeen for my discovery of the body, and the unfortunate publicity thenewspapers gave to that fact." In one corner of the room was a heap ofold newspapers, crumpled and torn, and thrown down in disorder. Juvekicked them aside. "I've looked through all that, even read the agonycolumns, but there was nothing there." He went into the bedroom andcontemplated the bed, that the concierge had stripped, the chairs setone on top of another in a corner, and the wardrobe that stood empty,its former contents scattered on the floor by the police during theirsearch. There, too, nothing was to be found.
Against the wall, near the fireplace, was a little escritoire with acupboard above it, containing a few battered books.
"My men have been all through that," Juve muttered; "it's most unlikelythat they missed anything, but perhaps I had better see."
He sat down before it and began methodically to sort the scatteredpapers; with quick, trained glance he scanned each document, putting oneafter another aside with a grimace expressive of disappointment. Almostthe last document he picked up was a long sheet of parchment, and as heunfolded it an exclamation escaped his lips. It was an official noticeof Gurn's promotion to the rank of sergeant when fighting under LordBeltham in the South African War. Juve read it through--he knew Englishwell--and laid it down with a gesture of discouragement.
"It is extraordinary," he muttered. "That seems to be perfectlyauthentic; it is authentic, and it proves that this fellow was a decentfellow and a brave soldier once; that is a fine record of service." Hedrummed his fingers on the desk and spoke aloud. "Is Gurn really Gurn,then, and have I been mistaken from start to finish in the littleromance I have been weaving round him? How am I to find the key to themystery? How am I to prove the truth of what I feel to be so very closeto me, but which eludes me every time, just as I seem to be about tograsp it?"
He went on with his search, and then, looking at the bookcase, took thevolumes out and, holding each by its two covers, shook it to make surethat no papers were hidden among the leaves. But all in vain. He did thesame with a large railway time-table and several shipping calendars.
"The odd thing is," he thought, "that all these time-tables go to provethat Gurn really was the commercial traveller he professed to be. It'sexactly things such as these one would expect to find in the possessionof a man who travelled much, and always had to be referring to the datesof sailing to distant parts of the world."
In the bookcase was a box, made to represent a bound book, andcontaining a collection of ordnance maps. Juve took them out to makesure that no loose papers were included among them, and one by oneunfolded every map.
Then a sharp exclamation burst from his lips.
"Good Lord! Now there----"
In his surprise he sprang up so abruptly that he pushed back his chair,and overturned it. His excitement was so great that his hands wereshaking as he carefully spread out upon the desk one of the ordnancemaps he had taken from the case.
"It's the map of the centre district all right: the map which showsCahors, and Brives, and Saint-Jaury and--Beaulieu! And the missingpiece--it is the missing piece that would give that precise district!"
Juve stared at the map with hypnotised gaze; for a piece had been cutout of it, cut out with a penknife neatly and carefully, and that piecemust have shown the exact district where the chateau stood which hadbeen occupied by the Marquise de Langrune.
"Oh, if I could only prove it: prove that the piece missing from thismap, this map belonging to Gurn, is really and truly the piece I foundnear Verrieres Station just after the murder of the Marquise deLangrune--what a triumph that would be! What a damning proof! Whatastounding consequences this discovery of mine might have!"
Juve made a careful note of the number of the map, quickly andnervously, folded it up again, and prepared to leave the flat.
He had made but a step or two towards the door when a sharp ring at thebell made him jump.
"The deuce!" he exclaimed softly; "who can be coming to ring Gurn upwhen everybody in Paris knows he has been arrested?" and he feltmechanically in his pocket to make sure that his revolver was there.Then he smiled. "What a fool I am! Of course it is only Mme. Doulenques,wondering why I am staying here so long."
He strode to the door, flung it wide open, and then
recoiled inastonishment.
"You?" he exclaimed, surveying the caller from top to toe. "You? CharlesRambert! Or, I should say, Jerome Fandor! Now what the deuce does thismean?"
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