It was not difficult to make him talk. A few glasses of 1914 Bollinger and the cork was out of his bottle. Before we reached the entremets we were in possession of his life's whole history, the most of which I would blush to set down.
Mme Storey was looking superb, completely dressed in a certain shade of cold red that becomes her so well. Rochechouart made open love to her. It was nothing to him that he was engaged to marry another woman. My mistress listened with amused tolerance. Me he ignored, except when he remembered his manners with a start. I did not mind. I was well content to watch and listen to the comedy.
"I understand that you are to be congratulated," said Mme Storey.
"Well, I don't know," said the youthful cynic; "I'm going to marry Mrs. J. Eben Smith if that's what you mean. Were you surprised when you heard it?"
"Well, yes, rather."
"Ah, if you would only have me!" he said. "But, no! I don't want to marry you. You are too glorious. I would wish to stand in a dearer relation to you than that of husband!"
"Nobody attaches the slightest weight to what you say, Hélie," said Mme Storey teasingly.
"I know it!" he cried gaily. "So I can say whatever I like! How terrible to be held accountable!"
"What will your father say?" asked Mme Storey.
"Oh, he will make one noble gesture of indignation—and thankfully pocket the miserable sum he has been allowing me. What would you? I've got to marry. My father cannot support us both in the best society. He was disappointed in his marriage, as you may remember. My mother was an angel from heaven, but her dot was small. Just before her papa died he went bankrupt—expressly to embarrass us, I have no doubt. So it's up to me to look out for myself."
I forgot to mention that young Hélie talked good American, scarcely to be distinguished from that of Times Square.
"She's a good bit older than you," ventured Mme Storey.
"Oh, well, marriage is not the serious matter it used to be. This will do very well for a while."
"But how does she regard that?"
"She's a woman of the world. She has no illusions."
"Are there no younger heiresses to be had?"
"I don't want an heiress," he said drily, "but a possessor.... If you mean a French girl," he went on, "mon dieu! dear lady, I couldn't marry a French bourgeoise. For why? Her vulgarities are my vulgarities. I should die of it! But an American girl, her vulgarity is the engaging naïveté of the savage. Quite a different thing, you perceive. Trés-chic....
"I have made my tour of America as you know. I looked them over, as they say over there. But nothing came of it. It appears that French titles do not command the best price in the American market because, forsooth, they are not recognized by the French state. I had a bad press. Indeed, such was my innocence, I failed to realize the importance of engaging an American press agent. Nevertheless, there were several sweet little things who intimated their willingness to become La Princesse de Rochechouart. But obstacles always arose. I myself became coy. Because it appeared that an American girl expects to possess her husband! Is that not an unnatural and a disconcerting thing? Then there was always the difficulty of the dot. You would not believe how difficult it is to persuade Americans to treat such matters seriously. Indeed, they affected to be horrified that one should wish to talk about settlements at all at such a time. A strange race! The papas of all these sweet young things were fabulously rich, but they baulked at handing any of it over with their daughters. In America, it appears, the young people are expected to exist on the charity of their elders until the elders die. That did not appeal to me. I will be old myself then, and have less use for money. So I returned as single as I went."
He drained his glass. When he set it down his blue eyes were swimming happily. "Ah, how beautiful you are!" he said to Mme Storey. "You carry about with you an aura of golden light!"
"That's the champagne you have drunk," said Mme Storey drily.... "How does the situation of Mrs. Smith differ from these others?"
"Mrs. Smith has no papa," he said, laughing. "At least, I don't know whether she has or not. At any rate, he doesn't figure. She has the money."
"But you know nothing about her. None of us knows anything about her. She may be a—she may be anything at all!"
"What do I care, my dear lady? She has the money. Besides, she has, what do you say? made good in Paris. She is a success."
"In certain circles," Mme Storey put in.
"Ah, nowadays one circle's about as good as another," he said with a shrug. "The great thing is to get your head above the crowd; to become known. What does it matter how you accomplish it? ... I'll introduce her to the Faubourg St. Germain if she's interested in that stupid lot. They don't count at all any more.... Mrs. Smith is famous. She's more famous than I am. She will become more famous. I may be blamed for marrying her, but I will not be despised."
"Moreover, you are wrong," he went on. "I do know something about her. She has told me her story. It is not at all a grand story, and I see no reason to disbelieve it. Her name is not Mrs. Smith, and she has never been near that place with the droll name, what do you call it? Hipsolanti. She has not been married before, one might guess from her virginal air. Her real name is Margaret Gowan."
I do not often see my astute mistress astonished by a piece of information, but I knew by the quiver of her eyelids that she was astonished then. Needless to say, I shared it. What on earth could have induced the canny Mrs. Smith to tell her fiancé the truth about herself?
And this was not all. Rochechouart went on: "For seven long years she served one of your great money barons as, what is the word? private secretary. By the aid of confidential information supplied by her employer, what they call tips, she was able to speculate with her savings, and year by year to double, to quadruple, to multiply the amount, until, when he finally died last year, she found herself a rich woman in her own right."
"Hm," said Mme Storey ironically. "I should call that quite a grand story."
"You do not believe it," he said, undisturbed. "But she has her winnings to show for it."
"How much?"
"Eighteen millions of francs."
"About a million in our money. A tidy sum, eh, Bella? The goal that every money maker sets himself.... Are you sure she has it?"
"Ah, be sure, dear lady, I have not neglected so important a matter," he said with a smile. "I have accompanied my fiancée to her bankers'—she employs no less than five; all French houses of the solidest, and I have seen her wealth in her own strong boxes and have handled it. American securities, all—what is it they say?—gilt-edged, as even I could see. Liberty bonds, railway bonds, and others. On the morning of our wedding day one third of it is to be placed in my hands."
"I do congratulate you," said Mme Storey.
VI
Next morning, in our delicious little salon at the Crillon which looked out upon the glorious prospect of the Place de la Concorde, I was packing my bags preparatory to catching the boat train for Cherbourg. I was to board the Leviathan that night. My heart was rather heavy at the thought of leaving that intoxicating town—I had had but three dreamlike days of it—but Mme Storey had promised me that I should come back with her for a real vacation. Meanwhile, there was highly important work for me to do in America. We no longer had any doubt of Margaret Gowan's guilt; for, as Mme Storey said:
"One does not make a million by tips alone."
The next thing we had to do was to prove her guilt, and this promised to be no easy matter, for the trail was eight months' old now. We guessed, too, from her perfect composure, that it was cleverly hidden. All the evidence was in America; hence the overnight decision to send me home.
"This time we are opposed by a remarkable woman, my Bella," Mme Storey had said. "It is very stimulating. Conceive of the plain little stenographer who became the most-talked-about woman in Paris and set out to marry a prince!"
"Yes, and a precious pair they will make!" I said indignantly.
"Well, w
hat can you do better with a pair like that than marry them off to each other?" said Mme Storey, smiling. "It will save some better man and woman from a ghastly fate, maybe. No, I do not feel that we are called upon to interfere to prevent that marriage."
"He might get away with his share of the loot," I suggested.
"I will guard against it," said Mme Storey. "How strange she should have told him so much of the truth about herself!"
"Why do you suppose she made her term of service with Mr. Greenfield seven years instead of twelve?" I asked.
"Oh, that's easy," said Mme Storey. "Have a heart, Bella. She's going to be married. Let her knock off a few years from her ostensible age. But why did she tell him at all? Since obviously it made no difference to him. That, I cannot explain to myself."
"Just a slip, perhaps," I suggested.
"Never," said Mme Storey. "She had a motive in it, as she has had a motive in everything she has done. It will appear before we are through with her."
"I will remain in Paris," Mme Storey had said, "and while I am amusing myself I will keep an eye on her. If she ever suspected our activities, she and her million would vanish into thin air. You go back to New York and work up the case against her. I will give you daily instructions by cable, and you will report to me daily. It will cost a bit of money in tolls, but I suppose the Greenfield estate can afford it. From Nederhal of the United States Trust I will obtain two copies of the private code they use in cabling between their New York and Paris offices. We'll base our messages on that. Let Esmé be the code word for the woman and Leo for Mr. Greenfield. Register our New York address at the cable office, so I can save that seventy-five cents of each message. Address yours to the Crillon.
"There is a lot of patient spade work to be undertaken, Bella. This was no hasty and ill-considered crime. My guess is that cold, patient, determined little creature has been years about it. And struck like a viper when the moment was ripe. We will have to go back to the beginning. Take Mrs. Greenfield fully into your confidence. She will be your principal source of information. If Crider has not already done so, get from her the little notebook in which her husband entered the list of his assets and liabilities. That notebook must serve as the cornerstone of our structure. You had better cable me a copy of the statement and follow it with a copy by mail. Also get Mrs. Greenfield to give you several authentic specimens of her husband's handwriting—say, one or more of his private letters to her. Take letters and notebook to Cardozo, the handwriting expert, and find out if the entries in the notebook, or any part of them, may be a forgery.
"Next, with the aid of the correspondence in the dead man's files, trace back as many of the transactions entered on his balance sheet as you are able. I mean find out when and under what circumstances Mr. Greenfield purchased the securities he set down on one side, and when and under what circumstances he acquired the debts that he put down on the other side. If you find copies of his letters that seem to lead to anything, you must if possible obtain the originals from the men they were addressed to. But I do not need to tell you to exercise the greatest prudence. This case when it breaks will cause an extraordinary sensation. The merest hint of such a case would be good for scareheads. Any premature disclosure would ruin our chances of success.
"Through Rochechouart I will get additional information as to the securities the woman holds. But if, as I suspect, she has been clever enough to put the whole million into non-registered bonds of enormous issues, such as Liberty bonds, it will be almost impossible to trace them.
"Send me a detailed report of all the circumstances surrounding Mr. Greenfield's death.
"The first thing you should do upon landing is to hasten Crider's report on the woman's antecedents. I cannot wait for it to come by mail. Cable it. That report will suggest our next moves.
"Really, the only wasted time will be your six days at sea. I can reach you by wireless if I think of anything additional. Once you are in New York we can communicate as freely as if we were next door to each other. Great is Science! I'll use all the influence I possess to see that our cables are dispatched and delivered promptly. Don't forget the difference in time. When you're going to bed I'll be almost ready to get up next morning.
"Time to start now. On your way to the Gare St. Lazare you can drop me at the Ritz. It is time for my appointment with Mrs. Smith."
"Horrible woman!" I exclaimed. "How can you bring yourself to sit down with her?"
"I'm afraid I'm an unmoral soul, my Bella," said Mme Storey, smiling. "I shall enjoy her. I do not know when I have had so fascinating a subject."
VII
I append a selection from the cablegrams that Mme Storey and I exchanged. Those that did not lead anywhere I have omitted. What an interesting illustration these messages afford of the way in which her remarkable mind bridged a three-thousand-mile gap!
BRICKLEY, Leviathan (via wireless) June 17th.
Margaret was born in Weddinsboro, Ind. Let Crider follow that up as soon as he is able.
STOREY.
STOREY, Crillon, Paris June 20th.
Crider reports Margaret lived for seven years in boarding house Mrs. Pettigrew, —— West 57th Street. Crider took a room there. Landlady refers to Margaret friendly manner, but never seems to have become intimate with her. Margaret very highly spoken of by all. A guest, Miss Bowlby, middle-aged woman independent means, regards herself as Margaret's most intimate friend. Appears, though, Margaret never really took her into her confidence. Miss Bowlby says Margaret came there death of her mother heart disease. Margaret living time Mother's death flat —— West 82nd Street. Before that had cheap flat corner 135th Street, Columbus Avenue. Mentioned to Miss Bowlby had a hard struggle upon first coming to New York. Never said where she came from.
Miss Bowlby hinted romance in Margaret's life, but upon pinning her down it seemed there was nothing more in it than a young man who called on her twice and then came no more. No other man in Margaret's life. Margaret rarely went out. She and Miss Bowlby played rummy evenings. Went to a play every Saturday night. Margaret a great reader. Got her books from main branch Public Library, 42nd Street. Margaret has not written Miss Bowlby since leaving New York. Crider has now gone to Weddinsboro.
BRICKLEY, New York June 20th.
See if Margaret's card is on file at the library. If so, hold it for future instructions. STOREY.
BRICKLEY, New York June 20th.
Mr. Greenfield's statement received. Disregard assets. Concentrate on tracing notes of hand outstanding at time of death. Obtain assistance Ladbroke, United States Trust. I have numbered notes in order as listed. Refer to numbers in replying. Were these notes saved when paid by the estate? STOREY.
STOREY, Crillon, Paris June 20th.
Notes were destroyed when paid. BRICKLEY.
BRICKLEY, New York June 21st.
By whose authority were notes destroyed?
STOREY.
STOREY, Crillon, Paris June 21st.
All persons concerned deny responsibility for destruction notes. BRICKLEY.
STOREY, Crillon, Paris June 22d.
Mr. Greenfield occupied two offices Cosmopolitan Life Building for past twenty-five years. As his lease has not run out, the estate is trying to sublet with furniture remaining as it was. All records, papers, etc., removed to Continental Storage Warehouse. I am mailing plan of the two offices. In addition to Margaret, Mr. Greenfield employed Henry Besson as clerk for more than twenty years. Am in touch with Besson through Mrs. Greenfield. He looked after the details of Mr. Greenfield's real estate, personal and household expenses, check books, etc. Was not in Mr. Greenfield's confidence. Besson timid, conventional old man; afraid to commit himself to any positive statements. Speaks of Margaret in highest terms, but fancy there was friction there. Mr. Greenfield left Besson legacy with which he has purchased annuity. What questions shall I put to Besson? There was also a junior clerk, a lad, Frank Carter. Have not yet found him.
BRICKLEY.
BRICKL
EY, New York June 22d.
Let me have Besson's account of Mr. Greenfield's death in his own words. STOREY.
STOREY, Crillon, Paris June 23d.
Quote Besson:
"It was on a Tuesday that Mr. Greenfield died; Tuesday the twelfth of October last year. That day which ended so dreadful for all of us began like any one of a hundred days before. All I can remember about the beginning of it is that it was raining. I know that because Mr. Greenfield did not go out to his lunch. He came in about eleven, as was customary. I did not see him because he entered his private office direct from the corridor. Often a whole day might pass without my seeing him, because he always went in and out by his own door to avoid the chance of meeting beggars or cranks in the outer office. We were considerably troubled by such gentry. But of course I always knew when Mr. Greenfield was in. Not having seen him, I cannot tell you if he looked any different from ordinary that day.
"He would get in along about eleven, read the mail Miss Gowan had ready for him, and dictate his answers. Then he'd go out to lunch at the Bankers' Club where we could find him if need be. Along about three or a little after, he'd drop back to sign his letters and see if there was anything new. Then go on home. 'I earned the right to take my ease, Besson,' he'd say to me, and then add with a laugh, 'but I guess I'd take it anyhow.' And often he'd urge me to close up early and go home. But I didn't. Not that I had too much work to do, but I wouldn't have known what to do with myself if I'd 'a' gone home early.
MRS3 The Velvet Hand Page 4
