‘Ingenious devil,’ he muttered. ‘It must go round pulleys under the floor. And now he has cut off the current at the meter.’
‘Come on, Mallet,’ La Touche called. ‘Don’t waste time. We must get out of this.’
Together they threw themselves on the door with all the weight of their shoulders. Again they tried, and again, but to no purpose. It was too strong.
‘What does it mean, do you think?’ panted Mallet.
‘Gas, I expect. Perhaps charcoal.’
‘Any use shouting at the window?’
‘None. It’s too closely shuttered, and it only opens into a courtyard.’
And then suddenly they perceived a faint odour which, in spite of their hardened nerves, turned their blood cold and set them working with ten times more furious energy at the door. It was a very slight smell of burning wood.
‘My God!’ cried Mallet, ‘he’s set the house on fire!’
It seemed impossible that any door could withstand so furious an onslaught. Had it opened outwards, hinges and lock must long since have given way, but the men could not make their strength tell. They worked till the sweat rolled in great drops down their foreheads. Meanwhile the smell increased. Smoke must be percolating into the room.
‘The torch here,’ cried La Touche suddenly.
Taking his pistol, he fired a number of shots on the bolt of the lock.
‘Don’t use them all. How many have you?’
‘Two more.’
‘Keep them.’
The lock seemed shattered, but still the door held. The men’s efforts were becoming frenzied when Mallet had an idea. Along the farther wall of the room stood a heavy, old-fashioned sofa.
‘Let’s use the couch as a battering-ram.’
The room was now thick with smoke, biting and gripping the men’s throats. Hampered by coughing and bad light, they could not work fast. But at last they got the couch across the room and planted end on to the door. Standing one at each side, they swung it back and then with all their strength drove it against the timber. A second time they drove, and a third, till at the fourth blow there was a sound of splitting wood, and the job was done.
Or so they thought. A moment later they found their mistake. The right bottom panel only was gone.
‘The left panel! Then the bar between!’
Though the men worked feverishly, their operations took time. The smoke was now increasing rapidly. And then suddenly La Touche heard a terrible, ominous sound. Crackling was beginning somewhere not far off.
‘We haven’t much time, Mallet,’ he gasped, as the sweat poured down his face.
Desperately they drove the couch against the bar. Still it held. The terrible fear that the couch would come to pieces was in both their hearts.
‘The torch!’ cried Mallet hoarsely. ‘Quick, or we’re done!’
Drawing his magazine pistol and holding it close to the door, he fired its full charge of seven shots at the vertical bar. La Touche instantly grasped his idea, and emptied his two remaining shots at the same place. The bar was thus perforated by a transverse line of nine holes.
There was a singing in the men’s ears and a weight on their chests as, with the energy of despair, they literally hurled the heavy couch against the weakened bar. With a tearing sound it gave way. They could get through.
‘You for it, Mallet! Quick!’ yelled La Touche, as he staggered drunkenly back. But there was no answer. Through the swirling clouds the detective could see his assistant lying motionless. That last tremendous effort had finished him.
La Touche’s own head was swimming. He could no longer think connectedly. Half unconsciously he pulled the other’s arms to the hole. Then, passing through, he turned to draw his confrère out. But the terrible roaring was swelling in his ears, the weight on his chest was growing insupportable, and a black darkness was coming down over him like a pall. Insensible, he collapsed, half in and half out of the doorway.
As he fell there was a lurid flicker and a little dancing flame leaped lightly from the floor.
CHAPTER XXX
CONCLUSION
WHEN La Touche’s senses returned he found himself lying in the open air, with Farol, his other assistant, bending over him. His first thought was for his companion in misfortune.
‘Mallet?’ he whispered feebly.
‘Safe,’ answered Farol. ‘We got him out just in time.’
‘And Boirac?’
‘The police are after him.’
La Touche lay still. He was badly shaken. But the fresh air rapidly revived him, and he was soon able to sit up.
‘Where am I?’ he asked presently.
‘Just round the corner from Boirac’s. The firemen are at work.’
‘Tell me about it.’
Farol’s story was short. It seemed that Boirac had returned home that afternoon about three. Shortly after, the detective had been surprised to observe a regular exodus of servants from the house. Cabs and taxis took away two men and four women, all with luggage. Lastly, about four o’clock, came François, also with luggage, and with him Boirac. François closed and locked the door, handing the key to his master. The two then shook hands and, stepping into separate vehicles, were driven away. It was evident the house was being closed for a considerable period.
Farol, entering the taxi he kept in waiting, followed. They drove to the Gare St Lazare, where the manufacturer dismissed his vehicle and entered the station. But instead of taking a ticket, he simply walked about the concourse and in a few minutes left by another door. Travelling by the Metro, he reached Alma Station, walked down the Avenue, and, with a hurried look round, re-entered his house. To Farol it was obvious that something was in the wind. He withdrew to some distance and watched.
His surprise at these strange proceedings was not lessened when he saw La Touche and Mallet drive up to the door and ring. He hurried forward to warn them, but before he could do so the door opened and they disappeared within. Growing more and more anxious, Farol waited till, after a considerable time, he saw Boirac leave the house alone. Now certain that something was wrong, he decided he must let the manufacturer go, while he telephoned his suspicions to the Sûreté. A car with some men was sent immediately, and they drove up to the door just as Farol returned to it on foot. Smoke was beginning to issue from the upper windows, and one man was sent for the fire brigade, while the others attempted to break into the house. In this they succeeded only after considerable trouble. Through the smoke they saw La Touche’s body lying half in the hall and half in François’s room. Only just in time they got the men out, the back of the hall being a sheet of flame before they reached the open air.
‘We better go to the Sûreté,’ said La Touche, who, by this time, had practically recovered.
Twenty minutes later M. Chauvet was in possession of the facts, and operations for the tracing of Boirac had begun.
La Touche then confidentially told the Chief all that he had learnt about the mystery. M. Chauvet was utterly astounded, and chagrined beyond measure at the blunder he and his men had fallen into.
‘Clever devil!’ he exclaimed. ‘He knew that nothing but the absolute truth would put you off your guard. But we’ll get him, M. La Touche. He can’t get out of the city. By now, every route will be barred.’
The Chief’s prophecy was fulfilled earlier than even he expected. Only an hour later they had news. Evidently believing himself secure in the destruction of the only two men who, so far as he was aware, knew enough to convict him, Boirac, after setting the house on fire, had gone openly to his club. A detective who went there to make inquiries, found him calmly sitting smoking in the lounge. He had, it appeared, made a desperate effort to escape arrest, and attempted to shoot the officer. Then, seeing it was all up with him, he turned the revolver upon himself, and, before he could be stopped, shot himself through the head.
So perished one of the most callous and cold-blooded criminals of the century.
In a curious manner Felix receiv
ed his reparation. Heppenstall, who had learnt to respect and appreciate his client, engaged him to paint a portrait of his wife. While thus occupied the artist made the acquaintance of the K.C.’s daughter. The two young people promptly fell in love. Six months later they were quietly married, and, his bride bringing a not inconsiderable dot, Felix threw up his appointment and moved to a new St Malo on the sunny shores of the Mediterranean. Here he divided his attention between his young wife and the painting of that masterpiece which had so long remained an unattainable dream.
THE END
About the Book
‘THE DETECTIVE STORY CLUB is a clearing house for the best detective and mystery stories chosen for you by a select committee of experts. Only the most ingenious crime stories will be published under the THE DETECTIVE STORY CLUB imprint. A special distinguishing stamp appears on the wrapper and title page of every THE DETECTIVE STORY CLUB book—the Man with the Gun. Always look for the Man with the Gun when buying a Crime book.’
Wm. Collins Sons & Co. Ltd., 1929
Now the Man with the Gun is back in this series of COLLINS CRIME CLUB reprints, and with him the chance to experience the classic books that influenced the Golden Age of crime fiction.
THE DETECTIVE STORY CLUB
LIST OF TITLES
THE MAYFAIR MYSTERY • FRANK RICHARDSON
THE PERFECT CRIME • ISRAEL ZANGWILL
CALLED BACK • HUGH CONWAY
THE MYSTERY OF THE SKELETON KEY • BERNARD CAPES
THE GRELL MYSTERY • FRANK FROËST
DR JEKYLL AND MR HYDE • R. L. STEVENSON
THE RASP • PHILIP MACDONALD
THE HOUSE OPPOSITE • J. JEFFERSON FARJEON
THE PONSON CASE • FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS
THE TERROR • EDGAR WALLACE
THE MYSTERY AT STOWE • VERNON LODER
THE BLACKMAILERS • ÉMILE GABORIAU
THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD • AGATHA CHRISTIE
THE CRIME CLUB • FRANK FROËST & GEORGE DILNOT
THE NOOSE • PHILIP MACDONALD
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE • ANNA K. GREEN
FURTHER TITLES IN PREPARATION
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
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Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
http://www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Canada
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Toronto, ON, M4W, 1A8, Canada
http://www.harpercollins.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited
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Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London, SE1 9GF
http://www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
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New York, NY 10007
http://www.harpercollins.com
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