The Detective Megapack

by Various Writers

  “By the same door as that through which you had seen the skirt pass?”

  “No, by the other. My brother went back to his berth, but I paused in the corridor to finish my cigarette after the train had gone on. By this time every one but myself had returned to his berth, and I was on the point of lying down again for half an hour, when I distinctly heard the handle turned of the compartment I knew to be vacant all through the run.”

  “That was the one with berths 11 and 12?”

  “Probably. It was next to the Countess. Not only was the handle turned, but the door partly opened—”

  “It was not the porter?”

  “Oh, no, he was in his seat—you know it, at the end of the car—sound asleep, snoring; I could hear him.”

  “Did any one come out of the vacant compartment?”

  “No; but I was almost certain, I believe I could swear that I saw the same skirt, just the hem of it, a black skirt, sway forward beyond the door, just for a second. Then all at once the door was closed again fast.”

  “What did you conclude from this? Or did you think nothing of it?”

  “I thought very little. I supposed it was that the maid wished to be near her mistress as we were approaching Paris, and I had heard from the Countess that the porter had made many difficulties. But you see, after what has happened, that there was a reason for stopping the train.”

  “Quite so,” M. Floçon readily admitted, with a scarcely concealed sneer.

  He had quite made up his mind now that it was the Countess who had rung the alarm-bell, in order to allow of the escape of the maid, her confederate and accomplice.

  “And you still have an impression that some one—presumably this woman—got off the car, somehow, during the stoppage?” he asked.

  “I suggest it, certainly. Whether it was or could be so, I must leave to your superior judgment.”

  “What! A woman climb out like that? Bah! Tell that to some one else!”

  “You have, of course, examined the exterior of the car, dear colleague?” now said the Judge.

  “Assuredly, once, but I will do it again. Still, the outside is quite smooth, there is no foot-board. Only an acrobat could succeed in thus escaping, and then only at the peril of his life. But a woman—oh, no! it is too absurd.”

  “With help she might, I think, get up on to the roof,” quickly remarked Sir Charles. “I have looked out of the window of my compartment. It would be nothing for a man, nor much for a woman if assisted.”

  “That we will see for ourselves,” said the detective, ungraciously.

  “The sooner the better,” added the Judge, and the whole party rose from their chairs, intending to go straight to the car, when the policeman on guard appeared at the door, followed close by an English military officer in uniform, whom he was trying to keep back, but with no great success. It was Colonel Papillon of the Embassy.

  “Halloa, Jack! you are a good chap,” cried the General, quickly going forward to shake hands. “I was sure you would come.”

  “Come, sir! Of course I came. I was just going to an official function, as you see, but his Excellency insisted, my horse was at the door, and here I am.”

  All this was in English, but the attaché turned now to the officials, and, with many apologies for his intrusion, suggested that they should allow his friend, the General, to return with him to the Embassy when they had done with him.

  “Of course we will answer for him. He shall remain at your disposal, and will appear whenever called upon.” He returned to Sir Charles, asking, “You will promise that, sir?”

  “Oh, willingly. I had always meant to stay on a bit in Paris. And really I should like to see the end of this. But my brother? He must get home for next Sunday’s duty. He has nothing to tell, but he would come back to Paris at any time if his evidence was wanted.”

  The French Judge very obligingly agreed to all these proposals, and two more of the detained passengers, making four in all, now left the station.

  Then the officials proceeded to the car, which still remained as the Chief Detective had left it.

  Here they soon found how just were the General’s previsions.

  CHAPTER XI

  The three officials went straight to where the still open window showed the particular spot to be examined. The exterior of the car was a little smirched and stained with the dust of the journey, lying thick in parts, and in others there were a few great splotches of mud plastered on.

  The detective paused for a moment to get a general view, looking, in the light of the General’s suggestion, for either hand or foot marks, anything like a trace of the passage of a feminine skirt, across the dusty surface.

  But nothing was to be seen, nothing definite or conclusive at least. Only here and there a few lines and scratches that might be encouraging, but proved little.

  Then the Commissary, drawing nearer, called attention to some suspicious spots sprinkled about the window, but above it towards the roof.

  “What is it?” asked the detective, as his colleague with the point of his long fore-finger nail picked at the thin crust on the top of one of these spots, disclosing a dark, viscous core.

  “I could not swear to it, but I believe it is blood.”

  “Blood! Good Heavens!” cried the detective, as he dragged his powerful magnifying glass out of his pocket and applied it to the spot. “Look, M. le Juge,” he added, after a long and minute examination. “What say you?”

  “It has that appearance. Only medical evidence can positively decide, but I believe it is blood.”

  “Now we are on the right track, I feel convinced. Some one fetch a ladder.”

  One of these curious French ladders, narrow at the top, splayed out at the base, was quickly leaned against the car, and the detective ran up, using his magnifier as he climbed.

  “There is more here, much more, and something like—yes, beyond question it is—the print of two hands upon the roof. It was here she climbed.”

  “No doubt. I can see it now exactly. She would sit on the window ledge, the lower limbs inside the car here and held there. Then with her hands she would draw herself up to the roof,” said the Judge.

  “But what nerve! what strength of arm!”

  “It was life and death. Within the car was more terrible danger. Fear will do much in such a case. We all know that. Well! what more?”

  By this time the detective had stepped on to the roof of the car.

  “More, more, much more! Footprints, as plain as a picture. A woman’s feet. Wait, let me follow them to the end,” said he, cautiously creeping forward to the end of the car.

  A minute or two more, and he rejoined his colleagues on the ground level, and, rubbing his hands, declared joyously that it was all perfectly clear.

  “Dangerous or not, difficult or not, she did it. I have traced her; have seen where she must have lain crouching ever so long, followed her all along the top of the car, to the end where she got down above the little platform exit. Beyond doubt she left the car when it stopped, and by arrangement with her confederate.”

  “The Countess?”

  “Who else?”

  “And at a point near Paris. The English General said the halt was within twenty minutes’ run of the station.”

  “Then it is from that point we must commence our search for her. The Italian has gone on the wrong scent.”

  “Not necessarily. The maid, we may be sure, will try to communicate with her mistress.”

  “Still, it would be well to secure her before she can do that,” said the Judge. “With all we know now, a sharp interrogation might extract some very damaging admissions from her,” went on the detective, eagerly. “Who is to go? I have sent away both my assistants. Of course I can telephone for another man, or I might go myself.”

  “No, no, dear colleague, we cannot spare you just yet. Telephone by all means. I presume you would wish to be present at the rest of the interrogatories?”

  “Certainly, you are righ
t. We may elicit more about this maid. Let us call in the porter now. He is said to have had relations with her. Something more may be got out of him.”

  The more did not amount to much. Groote, the porter, came in, cringing and wretched, in the abject state of a man who has lately been drugged and is now slowly recovering. Although sharply questioned, he had nothing to add to his first story.

  “Speak out,” said the Judge, harshly. “Tell us everything plainly and promptly, or I shall send you straight to gaol. The order is already made out;” and as he spoke, he waved a flimsy bit of paper before him.

  “I know nothing,” the porter protested, piteously.

  “That is false. We are fully informed and no fools. We are certain that no such catastrophe could have occurred without your knowledge or connivance.”

  “Indeed, gentlemen, indeed—”

  “You were drinking with this maid at the buffet at Laroche. You had more drink with her, or from her hands, afterwards in the car.”

  “No, gentlemen, that is not so. I could not—she was not in the car.”

  “We know better. You cannot deceive us. You were her accomplice, and the accomplice of her mistress, also, I have no doubt.”

  “I declare solemnly that I am quite innocent of all this. I hardly remember what happened at Laroche or after. I do not deny the drink at the buffet. It was very nasty, I thought, and could not tell why, nor why I could not hold my head up when I got back to the car.”

  “You went off to sleep at once? Is that what you pretend?”

  “It must have been so. Yes. Then I know nothing more, not till I was aroused.”

  And beyond this, a tale to which he stuck with undeviating persistence, they could elicit nothing.

  “He is either too clever for us or an absolute idiot and fool,” said the Judge, wearily, at last, when Groote had gone out. “We had better commit him to Mazas and hold him there in solitary confinement under our hands. After a day or two of that he may be less difficult.”

  “It is quite clear he was drugged, that the maid put opium or laudanum into his drink at Laroche.”

  “And enough of it apparently, for he says he went off to sleep directly he returned to the car,” the Judge remarked.

  “He says so. But he must have had a second dose, or why was the vial found on the ground by his seat?” asked the Chief, thoughtfully, as much of himself as of the others.

  “I cannot believe in a second dose. How was it administered—by whom? It was laudanum, and could only be given in a drink. He says he had no second drink. And by whom? The maid? He says he did not see the maid again.”

  “Pardon me, M. le Juge, but do you not give too much credibility to the porter? For me, his evidence is tainted, and I hardly believe a word of it. Did he not tell me at first he had not seen this maid after Amberieux at 8 P.M.? Now he admits that he was drinking with her at the buffet at Laroche. It is all a tissue of lies, his losing the pocket-book and his papers too. There is something to conceal. Even his sleepiness, his stupidity, are likely to have been assumed.”

  “I do not think he is acting; he has not the ability to deceive us like that.”

  “Well, then, what if the Countess took him the second drink?”

  “Oh! oh! That is the purest conjecture. There is nothing whatever to suggest or support that.”

  “Then how explain the finding of the vial near the porter’s seat?”

  “May it not have been dropped there on purpose?” put in the Commissary, with another flash of intelligence.

  “On purpose?” queried the detective, crossly, foreseeing an answer that would not please him.

  “On purpose to bring suspicion on the lady?”

  “I don’t see it in that light. That would imply that she was not in the plot, and plot there certainly was; everything points to it. The drugging, the open window, the maid’s escape.”

  “A plot, no doubt, but organized by whom? These two women only? Could either of them have struck the fatal blow? Hardly. Women have the wit to conceive, but neither courage nor brute force to execute. There was a man in this, rest assured.”

  “Granted. But who? That fire-eating Sir Collingham?” quickly asked the detective, giving rein once more to his hatred.

  “That is not a solution that commends itself to me, I must confess,” declared the Judge. “The General’s conduct has been blameworthy and injudicious, but he is not of the stuff that makes criminals.”

  “Who, then? The porter? No? The clergyman? No? The French gentlemen?—well, we have not examined them yet; but from what I saw at the first cursory glance, I am not disposed to suspect them.”

  “What of that Italian?” asked the Commissary.

  “Are you sure of him? His looks did not please me greatly, and he was very eager to get away from here. What if he takes to his heels?”

  “Block is with him,” the Chief put in hastily, with the evident desire to stifle an unpleasant misgiving. “We have touch of him if we want him, as we may.”

  How much they might want him they only realized when they got further in their inquiry!

  CHAPTER XII

  Only the two Frenchmen remained for examination. They had been left to the last by pure accident. The exigencies of the inquiry had led to the preference of others, but these two well-broken and submissive gentlemen made no visible protest. However much they may have chafed inwardly at the delay, they knew better than to object; any outburst of discontent would, they knew, recoil on themselves. Not only were they perfectly patient now when summoned before the officers of justice, they were most eager to give every assistance to the law, to go beyond the mere letter, and, if needs be, volunteer information.

  The first called in was the elder, M. Anatole Lafolay, a true Parisian bourgeois, fat and comfortable, unctuous in speech, and exceedingly deferential.

  The story he told was in its main outlines that which we already know, but he was further questioned, by the light of the latest facts and ideas as now elicited.

  The line adroitly taken by the Judge was to get some evidence of collusion and combination among the passengers, especially with reference to two of them, the two women of the party. On this important point M. Lafolay had something to say.

  Asked if he had seen or noticed the lady’s maid on the journey, he answered “yes” very decisively and with a smack of the lips, as though the sight of this pretty and attractive person had given him considerable satisfaction.

  “Did you speak to her?”

  “Oh, no. I had no opportunity. Besides, she had her own friends—great friends, I fancy. I caught her more than once whispering in the corner of the car with one of them.”

  “And that was—?”

  “I think the Italian gentleman; I am almost sure I recognized his clothes. I did not see his face, it was turned from me—towards hers, and very close, I may be permitted to say.”

  “And they were friendly?”

  “More than friendly, I should say. Very intimate indeed. I should not have been surprised if—when I turned away as a matter of fact—if he did not touch, just touch, her red lips. It would have been excusable—forgive me, messieurs.”

  “Aha! They were so intimate as that? Indeed! And did she reserve her favours exclusively for him? Did no one else address her, pay her court on the quiet—you understand?”

  “I saw her with the porter, I believe, at Laroche, but only then. No, the Italian was her chief companion.”

  “Did any one else notice the flirtation, do you think?”

  “Possibly. There was no secrecy. It was very marked. We could all see.”

  “And her mistress too?”

  “That I will not say. The lady I saw but little during the journey.”

  A few more questions, mainly personal, as to his address, business, probable presence in Paris for the next few weeks, and M. Lafolay was permitted to depart.

  The examination of the younger Frenchman, a smart, alert young man, of pleasant, insinuating address, w
ith a quick, inquisitive eye, followed the same lines, and was distinctly corroborative on all the points to which M. Lafolay spoke. But M. Jules Devaux had something startling to impart concerning the Countess.

  When asked if he had seen her or spoken to her, he shook his head.

  “No; she kept very much to herself,” he said. “I saw her but little, hardly at all, except at Modane. She kept her own berth.”

  “Where she received her own friends?”

  “Oh, beyond doubt. The Englishmen both visited her there, but not the Italian.”

  “The Italian? Are we to infer that she knew the Italian?”

  “That is what I wish to convey. Not on the journey, though. Between Rome and Paris she did not seem to know him. It was afterwards; this morning, in fact, that I came to the conclusion that there was some secret understanding between them.”

  “Why do you say that, M. Devaux?” cried the detective, excitedly. “Let me urge you and implore you to speak out, and fully. This is of the utmost, of the very first, importance.”

  “Well, gentlemen, I will tell you. As you are well aware, on arrival at this station we were all ordered to leave the car, and marched to the waiting-room, out there. As a matter of course, the lady entered first, and she was seated when I went in. There was a strong light on her face.”

  “Was her veil down?”

  “Not then. I saw her lower it later, and, as I think, for reasons I will presently put before you. Madame has a beautiful face, and I gazed at it with sympathy, grieving for her, in fact, in such a trying situation; when suddenly I saw a great and remarkable change come over it.”

  “Of what character?”

  “It was a look of horror, disgust, surprise—a little perhaps of all three; I could not quite say which, it faded so quickly and was followed by a cold, deathlike pallor. Then almost immediately she lowered her veil.”