Book Read Free

The Mystery of the Stolen Dowry (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 35)

Page 3

by Frank Howell Evans


  “Mademoiselle, you have not changed your mind?” Poiret asked, calmly, after the morning’s greetings.

  “Oh, no, Mr. Poiret,” she replied, with a bright laugh. “I’m determined to recover my diamonds.”

  “We must hurry, Poiret,” I said, “or we will be too late.”

  “There is the plenty of time,” he remarked calmly, and he proved to be right, because when we came in sight of the church, the clock displayed half-past seven.

  “Now,” she said to me, “I shall wait here with Mr. Poiret, until you creep up to the church and look in through one of the windows. I should not for the world arrive before Mr. Ficks and his pretend priest are there.”

  I did as requested, and saw two men, one old, one young standing together in the center aisle, one in the full robes of a clergyman, the other in his ordinary dress, whom I took to be Master Theodosius Ficks. I must admit there was very little of the madman in the calm expression of his face. His was a well-cut face, clean shaven, and strikingly manly. I returned to my companions and told them what I had seen. The smile on the face of the young woman spoke a thousand words. Poiret took Miss Caroline’s arm and together we escorted her to the church. There we were introduced to Mr. Ficks and his friend, the fake clergyman. The ceremony was at once performed, and, though he was a man of the world, this enactment of private theatricals in a church, seemed to bring a tear to Poiret’s eye. When he and I were asked to sign the book as witnesses, I said, rather amusedly, “By Jove, surely this is carrying it a little too far?”

  Poiret replied, “Mon ami, who is Poiret to object to the romance between a woman and the man, who loves her?” and with that he proffered me the pen, whereupon I scrawled my signature on the book. The reputed man of the cloth, shook hands with the groom and after a hearty, “Dear boy, God bless you both,” he left, leaving us standing in front of the church.

  “Monsieur Ficks, Poiret, he insists on the diamonds as part of the agreement.”

  The young man laughed. He unfastened his high neck collar, then there was a snap, and he drew out a dazzling, shimmering necklace, which seemed to turn the whole bleak winter landscape silver as with a touch of snow. With a smile, he handed Poiret the celebrated Birstall Diamonds.

  “There is the treasure, Mr. Poiret,” he cried.

  “Non, Monsieur, the treasure, it stands before you,” said Poiret, looking for a moment at the young woman. “It is the time for the goodbye.”

  “Will you not walk me home?” she asked.

  Poiret shook his head. “Non, Madame, that is the duty of the husband.”

  She looked at him, then looked at the clock up on the chapel wall. It was half-past seven. She looked again at Poiret and the young man, she had supposedly married. He too was stupefied by what was happening. I looked at my watch.

  “Hullo! It’s five past nine!”

  “Was the ceremony genuine then?” she asked.

  “I like to know that too! Who was that man in the robes of a vicar?” demanded Master Theodosius Ficks.

  “The vicar!” said Poiret. He took Miss Caroline’s hand and put the diamond necklace in it. “This, it will give to you the money to spend. The wedding ceremony, it was the present from Poiret to you, Madame.”

  He bowed, took off his homburg hat, held it in the air for a moment, and put it back on. Then the little man turned around and walked away. I followed him quickly, stupefied by what had taken place. At a safe distance I looked back. Miss Caroline had turned to the young man, and placed her two hands on his shoulders.

  “Oh, Theodosius, Theodosius!” she cried.

  He kissed her twice on the lips.

  “Was the ceremony genuine then?” she asked.

  “Ah, Caroline,” said the young man, patting his wife affectionately on the shoulder, “nothing on earth can be more genuine than my love for you.”

  And the volatile Miss Caroline snuggled closer to him, hiding her rosy face against him, and over my shoulder I could see the happiness Poiret had dreamed of come true.

  THE END

  A Jules Poiret Mystery Series

  Murder in John o’Groats

  The Kirkbride Collection

 

 

 


‹ Prev