The Detective Megapack

by Various Writers

  “Could you form any explanation for what you saw in her face? What caused it?”

  “Something unexpected, I believe, some shock, or the sight of something shocking. That was how it struck me, and so forcibly that I turned to look over my shoulder, expecting to find the reason there. And it was.”

  “That reason—?”

  “Was the entrance of the Italian, who came just behind me. I am certain of this; he almost told me so himself, not in words, but the mistakable leer he gave her in reply. It was wicked, sardonic, devilish, and proved beyond doubt that there was some secret, some guilty secret perhaps, between them.”

  “And was that all?” cried both the Judge and M. Floçon in a breath, leaning forward in their eagerness to hear more.

  “For the moment, yes. But I was made so interested, so suspicious by this, that I watched the Italian closely, awaiting, expecting further developments. They were long in coming; indeed, I am only at the end now.”

  “Explain, pray, as quickly as possible, and in your own words.”

  “It was like this, monsieur. When we were all seated, I looked round, and did not at first see our Italian. At last I discovered he had taken a back seat, through modesty perhaps, or to be out of observation—how was I to know? He sat in the shadow by a door, that, in fact, which leads into this room. He was thus in the background, rather out of the way, but I could see his eyes glittering in that far-off corner, and they were turned in our direction, always fixed upon the lady, you understand. She was next me, the whole time.

  “Then, as you will remember, monsieur, you called us in one by one, and I, with M. Lafolay, was the first to appear before you. When I returned to the outer room, the Italian was still staring, but not so fixedly or continuously, at the lady. From time to time his eyes wandered towards a table near which he sat, and which was just in the gangway or passage by which people must pass into your presence.

  “There was some reason for this, I felt sure, although I did not understand it immediately. “Presently I got at the hidden meaning There was a small piece of paper, rolled up or crumpled up into a ball, lying upon this table, and the Italian wished, nay, was desperately anxious, to call the lady’s attention to it. If I had had any doubt of this, it was quite removed after the man had gone into the inner room. As he left us, he turned his head over his shoulder significantly and nodded very slightly, but still perceptibly, at the ball of paper.

  “Well, gentlemen, I was now satisfied in my own mind that this was some artful attempt of his to communicate with the lady, and had she fallen in with it, I should have immediately informed you, the proper authorities. But whether from stupidity, dread, disinclination, a direct, definite refusal to have any dealings with this man, the lady would not—at any rate did not—pick up the ball, as she might have done easily when she in her turn passed the table on her way to your presence.

  “I have no doubt it was thrown there for her, and probably you will agree with me. But it takes two to make a game of this sort, and the lady would not join. Neither on leaving the room nor on returning would she take up the missive.”

  “And what became of it, then?” asked the detective in breathless excitement. “I have it here.” M. Devaux opened the palm of his hand and displayed the scrap of paper in the hollow rolled up into a small tight ball.

  “When and how did you become possessed of it?”

  “I got it only just now, when I was called in here. Before that I could not move. I was tied to my chair, practically, and ordered strictly not to move.”

  “Perfectly. Monsieur’s conduct has been admirable. And now tell us—what does it contain? Have you looked at it?”

  “By no means. It is just as I picked it up. Will you gentlemen take it, and if you think fit, tell me what is there? Some writing—a message of some sort, or I am greatly mistaken.”

  “Yes, here are words written in pencil,” said the detective, unrolling the paper, which he handed on to the Judge, who read the contents aloud—

  “Be careful. Say nothing. If you betray me, you will be lost too.”

  A long silence followed, broken first by the Judge, who said at last solemnly to Devaux:

  “Monsieur, in the name of justice I beg to thank you most warmly. You have acted with admirable tact and judgment, and have rendered us invaluable assistance. Have you anything further to tell us?”

  “No, gentlemen. That is all. And you—you have no more questions to ask? Then I presume I may withdraw?”

  Beyond doubt it had been reserved for the last witness to produce facts that constituted the very essence of the inquiry.

  CHAPTER XIII

  The examination was now over, and, the dispositions having been drawn up and signed, the investigating officials remained for some time in conference.

  “It lies with those three, of course—the two women and the Italian. They are jointly, conjointly concerned, although the exact degrees of guilt cannot quite be apportioned,” said the detective.

  “And all three are at large!” added the Judge.

  “If you will issue warrants for arrest, M. le Juge, we can take them—two of them at any rate—when we choose.”

  “That should be at once,” remarked the Commissary, eager, as usual, for decisive action.

  “Very well. Let us proceed in that way. Prepare the warrants,” said the Judge, turning to his clerk. “And you,” he went on, addressing M. Floçon, “dear colleague, will you see to their execution? Madame is at the Hôtel Madagascar; that will be easy. The Italian Ripaldi we shall hear of through your inspector Block. As for the maid, Hortense Petitpré, we must search for her. That too, sir, you will of course undertake?”

  “I will charge myself with it, certainly. My man should be here by now, and I will instruct him at once. Ask for him,” said M. Floçon to the guard whom he called in.

  “The inspector is there,” said the guard, pointing to the outer room. “He has just returned.”

  “Returned? You mean arrived.”

  “No, monsieur, returned. It is Block, who left an hour or more ago.”

  “Block? Then something has happened—he has some special information, some great news! Shall we see him, M. le Juge?”

  When Block appeared, it was evident that something had gone wrong with him. His face wore a look of hot, flurried excitement, and his manner was one of abject, cringing self-abasement.

  “What is it?” asked the little Chief, sharply. “You are alone. Where is your man?”

  “Alas, monsieur! how shall I tell you? He has gone—disappeared! I have lost him!”

  “Impossible! You cannot mean it! Gone, now, just when we most want him? Never!”

  “It is so, unhappily.”

  “Idiot! Triple idiot! You shall be dismissed, discharged from this hour. You are a disgrace to the force.” M. Floçon raved furiously at his abashed subordinate, blaming him a little too harshly and unfairly, forgetting that until quite recently there had been no strong suspicion against the Italian. We are apt at times to expect others to be intuitively possessed of knowledge that has only come to us at a much later date.

  “How was it? Explain. Of course you have been drinking. It is that, or your great gluttony. You were beguiled into some eating-house.”

  “Monsieur, you shall hear the exact truth. When we started more than an hour ago, our fiacre took the usual route, by the Quais and along the riverside. My gentleman made himself most pleasant”

  “No doubt,” growled the Chief.

  “Offered me an excellent cigar, and talked—not about the affair, you understand—but of Paris, the theatres, the races, Longchamps, Auteuil, the grand restaurants. He knew everything, all Paris, like his pocket. I was much surprised, but he told me his business often brought him here. He had been employed to follow up several great Italian criminals, and had made a number of important arrests in Paris.”

  “Get on, get on! come to the essential.”

  “Well, in the middle of the journey, when we were
about the Pont Henri Quatre, he said, ‘Figure to yourself, my friend, that it is now near noon, that nothing has passed my lips since before daylight at Laroche. What say you? Could you eat a mouthful, just a scrap on the thumb-nail? Could you?’”

  “And you—greedy, gormandizing beast!—you agreed?”

  “My faith, monsieur, I too was hungry. It was my regular hour. Well—at any rate, for my sins I accepted. We entered the first restaurant, that of the ‘Reunited Friends,’ you know it, perhaps, monsieur? A good house, especially noted for tripe à la mode de Caen.” In spite of his anguish, Block smacked his fat lips at the thought of this most succulent but very greasy dish.

  “How often must I tell you to get on?”

  “Forgive me, monsieur, but it is all part of my story. We had oysters, two dozen Marennes, and a glass or two of Chablis; then a good portion of tripe, and with them a bottle, only one, monsieur, of Pontet Canet; after that a beefsteak with potatoes and a little Burgundy, then a rum omelet.”

  “Great Heavens! you should be the fat man in a fair, not an agent of the Detective Bureau.”

  “It was all this that helped me to my destruction. He ate, this devilish Italian, like three, and I too, I was so hungry—forgive me, sir—I did my share. But by the time we reached the cheese, a fine, ripe Camembert, had our coffee, and one thimbleful of green Chartreuse, I was plein jusqu’au bec, gorged up to the beak.”

  “And what of your duty, your service, pray?”

  “I did think of it, monsieur, but then, he, the Italian, was just the same as myself. He was a colleague. I had no fear of him, not till the very last, when he played me this evil turn. I suspected nothing when he brought out his pocketbook—it was stuffed full, monsieur; I saw that and my confidence increased—called for the reckoning, and paid with an Italian bank-note. The waiter looked doubtful at the foreign money, and went out to consult the manager. A minute after, my man got up, saying:

  “‘There may be some trouble about changing that bank-note. Excuse me one moment, pray.’ He went out, monsieur, and piff-paff, he was no more to be seen.”

  “Ah, nigaud (ass), you are too foolish to live! Why did you not follow him? Why let him out of your sight?”

  “But, monsieur, I was not to know, was I? I was to accompany him, not to watch him. I have done wrong, I confess. But then, who was to tell he meant to run away?”

  M. Floçon could not deny the justice of this defence. It was only now, at the eleventh hour, that the Italian had become inculpated, and the question of his possible anxiety to escape had never been considered.

  “He was so artful,” went on Block in further extenuation of his offence. “He left everything behind. His overcoat, stick, this book—his own private memorandum-book seemingly—”

  “Book? Hand it me,” said the Chief, and when it came into his hands he began to turn over the leaves hurriedly.

  It was a small brass-bound note-book or diary, and was full of close writing in pencil.

  “I do not understand, not more than a word here and there. It is no doubt Italian. Do you know that language, M. le Juge?”

  “Not perfectly, but I can read it. Allow me.”

  He also turned over the pages, pausing to read a passage here and there, and nodding his head from time to time, evidently struck with the importance of the matter recorded.

  Meanwhile, M. Floçon continued an angry conversation with his offending subordinate.

  “You will have to find him, Block, and that speedily, within twenty-four hours—to-day, indeed—or I will break you like a stick, and send you into the gutter. Of course, such a consummate ass as you have proved yourself would not think of searching the restaurant or the immediate neighbourhood, or of making inquiries as to whether he had been seen, or as to which way he had gone?”

  “Pardon me, monsieur is too hard on me. I have been unfortunate, a victim to circumstances, still I believe I know my duty. Yes, I made inquiries, and, what is more, I heard of him.”

  “Where? how?” asked the Chief, gruffly, but obviously much interested.

  “He never spoke to the manager, but walked out and let the change go. It was a note for a hundred lire, a hundred francs, and the restaurant bill was no more than seventeen francs.”

  “Hah! that is greatly against him indeed.”

  “He was much pressed, in a great hurry. Directly he crossed the threshold he called the first cab and was driving away, but he was stopped—”

  “The devil! Why did they not keep him, then?”

  “Stopped, but only for a moment, and accosted by a woman.”

  “A woman?”

  “Yes, monsieur. They exchanged but three words. He wished to pass on, to leave her, she would not consent, then they both got into the cab and were driven away together.”

  The officials were now listening with all ears.

  “Tell me,” said the Chief, “quick, this woman—what was she like? Did you get her description?”

  “Tall, slight, well formed, dressed all in black. Her face—it was a policeman who saw her, and he said she was good-looking, dark, brunette, black hair.”

  “It is the maid herself!” cried the little Chief, springing up and slapping his thigh in exuberant glee. “The maid! the missing maid!”

  CHAPTER XIV

  The joy of the Chief of Detectives at having thus come, as he supposed, upon the track of the missing maid, Hortense Petitpré, was somewhat dashed by the doubts freely expressed by the Judge as to the result of any search. Since Block’s return, M. Beaumont le Hardi had developed strong symptoms of discontent and disapproval at his colleague’s proceedings.

  “But if it was this Hortense Petitpré how did she get there, by the bridge Henri Quatre, when we thought to find her somewhere down the line? It cannot be the same woman.”

  “I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” interposed Block. “May I say one word? I believe I can supply some interesting information about Hortense Petitpré. I understand that some one like her was seen here in the station not more than an hour ago.”

  “Peste! Why were we not told this sooner?” cried the Chief, impetuously.

  “Who saw her? Did he speak to her? Call him in; let us see how much he knows.”

  The man was summoned, one of the subordinate railway officials, who made a specific report.

  Yes, he had seen a tall, slight, neat-looking woman, dressed entirely in black, who, according to her account, had arrived at 10.30 by the slow local train from Dijon.

  “Fichtre!” said the Chief, angrily; “and this is the first we have heard of it.”

  “Monsieur was much occupied at the time, and, indeed, then we had not heard of your inquiry.”

  “I notified the station-master quite early, two or three hours since, about 9 A.M. This is most exasperating!”

  “Instructions to look out for this woman have only just reached us, monsieur. There were certain formalities, I suppose.”

  For once the detective cursed in his heart the red-tape, roundabout ways of French officialism.

  “Well, well! Tell me about her,” he said, with a resignation he did not feel. “Who saw her?”

  “I, monsieur. I spoke to her myself. She was on the outside of the station, alone, unprotected, in a state of agitation and alarm. I went up and offered my services. Then she told me she had come from Dijon, that friends who were to have met her had not appeared. I suggested that I should put her into a cab and send her to her destination. But she was afraid of losing her friends, and preferred to wait.”

  “A fine story! Did she appear to know what had happened? Had she heard of the murder?”

  “Something, monsieur.”

  “Who could have told her? Did you?”

  “No, not I. But she knew.”

  “Was not that in itself suspicious? The fact has not yet been made public.”

  “It was in the air, monsieur. There was a general impression that something had happened. That was to be seen on every face, in the whispered talk, the
movement to and fro of the police and the guards.”

  “Did she speak of it, or refer to it?”

  “Only to ask if the murderer was known; whether the passengers had been detained; whether there was any inquiry in progress; and then—”

  “What then?”

  “This gentleman,” pointing to Block, “came out, accompanied by another. They passed pretty close to us, and I noticed that the lady slipped quickly on one side.”

  “She recognized her confederate, of course, but did not wish to be seen just then. Did he, the person with Block here, see her?”

  “Hardly, I think; it was all so quick, and they were gone, in a minute, to the cab-stand.”

  “What did your woman do?”

  “She seemed to have changed her mind all at once, and declared she would not wait for her friends. Now she was in quite a hurry to go.”

  “Of course! and left you like a fool planted there. I suppose she took a cab and followed the others, Block here and his companion.”

  “I believe she did. I saw her cab close behind theirs.”

  “It is too late to lament this now,” said the Chief, after a short pause, looking at his colleagues. “At least it confirms our ideas, and brings us to certain definite conclusions. We must lay hands on these two. Their guilt is all but established. Their own acts condemn them. They must be arrested without a moment’s delay.”

  “If you can find them!” suggested the Judge, with a very perceptible sneer.

  “That we shall certainly do. Trust to Block, who is very nearly concerned. His future depends on his success. You quite understand that, my man?”

  Block made a gesture half-deprecating, half-confident.

  “I do not despair, gentlemen; and if I might make so bold, sir, I will ask you to assist? If you would give orders direct from the Prefecture to make the round of the cab-stands, to ask of all the agents in charge the information we need? Before night we shall have heard from the cabman who drove them what became of this couple, and so get our birds themselves, or a point of fresh departure.”