“They didn’t turn up the slightest clue? Not even footprints?”
“No. They just found an open window.”
“That’s too bad,” Ethel King murmured. “You should have contacted me at that time. If the criminal had left footprints, the comings and goings of the policemen would have blotted them out. It’s a waste of time for me to investigate that house.”
“The last attempt was made last night. I went to the club, but, feeling tired, I left about 11 p.m. On returning home, I saw nothing suspicious. James was already in bed. I remained several minutes in my study, then I went into my bedroom. I started to get undressed when I noticed something. It was something insignificant in itself, but I found it unpleasant because it upset my habits.
“My servant hadn’t prepared my bed by removing the coverlet. I could have taken the trouble to lift it off the top of the bed myself, but I’m a little cranky and I make it a principle not to let my butler get by with anything so that he doesn’t, in the long run, pick up the habit of negligence. I went out into the hallway and called James. He answered me immediately. Two minutes later, he was in my bedroom. I showed him my bed and reproached him for his forgetfulness, but he lifted his arms to heaven and swore by all the gods that he had removed the coverlet, as he did every evening before going to bed.
“I remembered my enemies. Was there again another bomb under the coverlet?
“I took a revolver out of the night stand and ordered James to pull back the coverlet carefully, and then to immediately jump back. The event should prove to what extent my prudence was justified, because, when the servant pulled back the coverlet, two poisonous snakes hidden under it, raised up hissing.
“Both of us let out a cry of terror. Giving way to my first emotion, I fired several times and killed one of them. Just as I fired my last bullet, my bathroom door suddenly opened. A masked man with a raised knife jumped out into my bedroom and threw himself on me. I instinctively jumped back, but I managed to grab the man’s wrists and thus avoided the mortal blow. I fought several seconds with the villain. My butler, who had recovered from his stupor, intervened. He picked up a chair and used it as a bludgeon. The murderer, finding he was no longer the strongest, dropped his knife, jerked loose from my hold, and jumped out the open window. He slid down using the lightning conductor cable and took to his heels.
“James and I looked at each other, terrified. Finally, I armed myself with a cane and killed the snake, which was still in the bed. After that, I made the decision to come see you, Miss King, because the regular police are incapable of protecting me. I have unlimited confidence in you.”
On the Trail
The great detective had gotten up and was walking up and down.
“Will you help me, Miss King, in my fight against my persecutors?”
“Yes, but on condition that you tell me everything without reserve.”
“But I have told you everything,” the young man replied.
“You’ve told me what has happened to you here in Philadelphia. You’ve been silent on what made you decide to leave France. Now, I have a feeling that the enmity of your enemies began in Paris and not in the United States.”
Boyssel lowered his head.
“But I swear to you, Miss King…”
“It would be better not to swear anything. Either you tell me why you left France or I refuse to take on your case.”
The visitor hesitated a moment and then said in a worried voice:
“All right, Miss King, since you insist, I’ll tell you that story. I don’t like to tell it because I know it doesn’t show me in a good light. Here it is!
“Three years ago, in Paris, I met a Russian dancer, an adventuress. She was beautiful. As to her character…my word, Miss King, it was almost like that of the one you sketched from the handwriting of the anonymous letter.
“I fell in love with that woman. What can I say about that love? That sacred name can’t apply to a passion like mine. An absolute vertigo took hold of me. I lost the use of my reason. I was mad about Wanda Baranowsky and, I must admit, she responded to my passion.”
Ethel King seemed surprised. She knew Wanda Baranowsky was in Philadelphia because that woman had been indirectly involved in a case the great detective had had to solve. There had even been serious suspicions about the Russian dancer, but as they possessed no proof against her, she was easily vindicated.
“I gave up everything for Wanda,” Boyssel continued. “I neglected my business. I displeased my superiors; I went into debt to satisfy my mistress’s caprices. My creditors were hounding me; my possessions were seized. The bailiff became a frequent visitor to my house. I began to realize my folly, and little by little, I came to discern Wanda’s true character better.
“One fine day I decided to break it off. That took place following a quarrel I had with the dancer in the presence of her brother. It was in vain that Wanda declared to me that a child was to be born from our love. I told her straight out that our liaison was over.
“That decision was painful to me but I still had enough mind left not to spoil hopelessly all the rest of my existence.
“Wanda showed the baseness of her character. She called me the vilest insults and her brother called me a rogue. Carried away by anger, I struck the Russian. The next day, he sent me his seconds as witness to a duel. A meeting with pistols was agreed on and two days later I killed the brother of my former mistress. I was arrested and brought to trial. My lawyer obtained my acquittal, but I lost my job and I found only a badly paid position in a small bank. It goes without saying that I didn’t like my new situation, and I feared Wanda Baranowsky’s revenge.
“So I wrote to my friend in New York, and, as he had influential relatives, he was able to get me the position of Director at the Philadelphia Mercantile Bank. I breathed a sigh of relief when I left Le Havre on the steamer that would take me to America.
“I hadn’t let it be known where I was going. There were scarcely a few friends who knew my destination. I began work enthusiastically. I became a different man. I was completely cured of my insane passion for Wanda Baranowsky. Nothing remained but for me to repent of my past mistakes.
“There you are, Miss King. Now you know everything. You will understand why I don’t like to speak of the motives which forced me to leave France. But it’s better, I agree, that you know about it.”
Ethel King had listened in silence. After a moment she said:
“Wanda Baranowsky has learned that you are in Philadelphia. She has followed you to take revenge on your abandoning her and for having killed her brother in a duel.”
“However, I haven’t seen Wanda once in Philadelphia,” Boyssel answered.
“Nevertheless, she’s here. It so happens that I had indirect business with her. If you had followed the news items in the newspapers, you would have read her name there. A terrible crime instigated by that woman was committed lately. They were unfortunately unable to bring sufficient charges against her to convict her. I hope this time, with your help, to free society of that dangerous creature. Wanda wishes your death and she has faithful followers that she has charged with murdering you. Until now you have miraculously escaped all her attempts. But your former mistress won’t become discouraged. Her first failures only excited her rage. She will put everything in operation to annihilate you. Be on your guard. I’ll try to save you from your terrible enemy, but I can’t promise you immediate success. A new attack might very well be directed toward you before we have taken effective measures against your persecutors.”
“Naturally, Miss King, I never go out without a weapon. From now on, every evening I’ll search my apartment to be sure an assassin isn’t hidden there. My butler will sleep in my bedroom. We both sleep very lightly. We will wake up at the slightest noise.”
“Good. Take every imaginable precaution. First of all, I’m going with you to your apartment to inspect the area; then I’ll get to work.”
The house where Paul Boyssel lived on th
e second floor, was an elegant building inhabited only by rich people. The Frenchman paid the coachman and went with the detective to his apartment. The police, alerted by James Billings, were there. They had to finish their investigations. Mr. Golding, the police Chief, who had come in person, told Ethel King that he had discovered no interesting clue. He was staying, however, to help in his friend’s investigation.
Ethel King first questioned the butler.
“Did you hear nothing suspicious this evening before going to bed?”
“No, Miss. That would have put me on my guard. Since my master has been harried by mysterious enemies, I’ve been extremely cautious.”
“In your opinion, how did the murderer get into the apartment?”
“He climbed up by the lightning rod cable and jumped into the bedroom through the window.”
“Did you see his face?”
“No, he was thin and of middle height, almost like you Mr. Boyssel.”
“So you didn’t notice anything suspicious?”
“Nothing. But when Mr. Boyssel got me out of bed to tell me I hadn’t turned back the covers of his bed I had a presentiment of danger. I told myself that it was probably a new criminal attempt against my master. What happened following that certainly proved that I wasn’t wrong.”
“Listen carefully. Here’s an important question. Have you noticed, in the last few days a very beautiful woman who would have come to wander around the house or who appeared interested in Mr. Boyssel in whatever way?”
The butler shook his head.
“No, Miss.”
“No one came to the door during your master’s absence to ask for information on his habits?”
The domestic reflected a moment.
“Tell me, James, the Director of the Mercantile Bank observed, didn’t you speak to me once about an insurance agent who came to get information about me?”
“Yes, I did, in fact, sir. He was a thin man, clean shaven. He said he came to speak to you about life insurance. He asked me all kinds of things. He especially wanted to know if you had a mistress. I finally showed the fellow the door.”
“But he had probably learned what he wanted to know,” Ethel King said.
“Yes, I must admit that the scoundrel got me to talking. He presented himself so cleverly!”
“If we arrested the aggressive fellow who came to your door, we would perhaps recognize in him the one who claimed to be an insurance salesman.”
Ethel King pursued her investigations, but she found nothing either that put her on the trail of the criminal. She would have put surveillance on Wanda Baranowsky—she knew her address—but the Russian woman had moved since the previous affair. She must have entrenched herself in the hideout she had chosen, since no one seemed to have seen her again.
“I don’t see anything else to do except to have Wanda Baranowsky looked for all over Philadelphia tomorrow,” Ethel King whispered in Boyssel’s ear. And she added out loud:
“I advise you not to spend the night here. It would be a great deal better if you went to stay in a hotel for some time.”
“I’ll take your advice, Miss. I too believe I’ll be too exposed by staying here. Besides, my apartment is going to stay under surveillance by the police.”
“No, that’s not necessary,” she said, and speaking to Inspector Golding, she said:
“I’ll ask you to remove your men, inspector. That apartment is actually the bait by which we can hope to catch the murderers. If we scare them with a great deployment of police, they won’t come.”
“It will be as you like, Miss King,” the Chief answered.
“I know by experience that you never make a decision lightly.”
“Let’s leave now. I’ll watch the house from the outside,” the detective said. “As for the butler, he can go to bed in his own bedroom without worrying. No one will harm him.”
James was brave. He made no objection. He retired into his bedroom while Ethel King went down the stairs with Paul Boyssel, Golding, and the policemen.
The Frenchman again pointed out to Ethel King the hotel where he intended to register, then he walked away rapidly, while the inspector returned to the police station with his agents. Ethel King went to sit on a bench at the entry to East Park. From there, she could watch the door of the house and windows of Boyssel’s apartment.
An Atrocious Crime
Ethel King had been at her post for an hour when she saw a man turn the corner of 33rd Street and approach No. 72. That individual gave the impression of being an elegant gentleman. As he passed under the street lamp, the light fell on his face and Ethel King couldn’t hold back an exclamation of surprise. She had just recognized Paul Boyssel.
Why was the Frenchman returning to his house after having spent an hour at the hotel? The great detective thought for a moment of going up to him and asking him for an explanation. However, Ethel King changed her mind; the young man must have forgotten something. The detective didn’t want to be seen under any pretext, because it was possible that the criminals were in the neighborhood. She therefore remained on duty where she was and decided to wait until Boyssel came back down. She was sure no one had again entered the house.
James, the house servant, had stretched out on his bed fully clothed. The idea of remaining alone in an apartment where the owner was the target of persecutions by a band of murderers caused him anxiety he couldn’t control. He had armed himself with a revolver. He held it in his hand, not turning loose of it for an instant. The poor devil couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned nervously in his bed. From time to time, he lifted his head to listen. And although he had locked the door of his bedroom, he couldn’t throw off a feeling of terror. He heard 2 a.m. strike at the clock of a faraway church. The sound had barely receded when he sat up in his bed, his hand clinched on the butt of his revolver.
He had distinctly heard a noise in the corridor, as if someone had opened the door. He was not mistaken. The door closed again and steps could be heard in the hallway. James was brave; once his first emotion had passed, he got up, lit a candle, and opened the door. His revolver in one hand, his candlestick in the other, he went out into the hallway. The door to his master’s office was ajar and let filter through the light from a lamp with a rose shade which was lit on the work table.
James slipped noiselessly up to the door and looked through the crack. He made a movement of surprise on seeing a man walking up and down in the room. He pushed open the door and exclaimed:
“Ah! Mr. Boyssel, you’ve already returned. I thought that you were to stay at the hotel.”
James saw his master recoil with astonishment.
“It’s me Mr. Boyssel,” he said to reassure him. “It’s not an intruder.”
The Frenchman had recovered. He made a sign to his domestic to leave and told him in an almost inaudible voice:
“I didn’t stay at the hotel; I had second thoughts. Go back to bed, James.”
“But, Mr. Boyssel, if something happened to you…”
“It’s all right…leave me alone…I’m not afraid…”
“But nevertheless, I can’t…”
“Go back to bed, I tell you.”
These words were also pronounced in an indistinct voice, but in a sharp tone. The butler left, shaking his head. So what was wrong with his master? James found him strange, unusual, and Boyssel never spoke so low and curtly.
James Billing sat on the edge of his bed to think. He would never have gone back to bed at any price. He wanted to be ready to intervene if something happened to his master.
For what reason had Boyssel left the hotel to return to his apartment? Perhaps he had made a new plan with Ethel King. But why did he come back alone? The butler searched his brain in vain to find an explanation for his master’s conduct. And suddenly a strange circumstance struck him. He knew that Paul Boyssel, when he left was wearing a gray suit, but the one he was wearing now was black. Why had he changed suits before returning to his apartment? He hadn’t taken
a valise with him. Where had he procured this suit that James had never seen him wear?
It was probably on the advice of Miss Ethel King that Boyssel had acted in this way. James had a respect without limits for the famous detective, whose cases he followed with great interest in the newspapers. He didn’t doubt that Ethel King would shortly succeed in getting rid of his master’s terrible enemies.
“She’s decided it’s to be this way,” he murmured. “I don’t understand why she’s taken this measure, but Ethel King knows what she’s doing. I’ll get an explanation of the mystery later.
He interrupted his thoughts and raised his head. He quivered with terror. He had just heard, coming from the office, a plaintive moan, followed by a death rattle. For a moment he was paralyzed with terror. What had happened? Had a crime been committed? Had Boyssel been cut down by his ruthless enemies?
Still armed with his revolver, the butler rushed toward the door, but just as he was about to open it, he heard a small mechanism click over. Someone had turned the key in the door from the outside! He was locked in his room. Then he was no longer in doubt that something had happened in the apartment.
James Billing was desperate. Sunk in his own thoughts, he had not heard any criminal footsteps approach his door and activate the lock, so as to prevent him from going to help his master. On the other side of the hallway, separated from him only by two doorways, Paul Boyssel had just fallen by an assassin’s bullets, without his prisoner butler being able to do anything to help him. That thought put James in a mad rage.
He threw his whole strength against the door, which moved, cracked, but it was solid. It gave way only after several minutes of effort. He was sweating profusely. When one of the panels finally broke apart, he felt on the point of falling from exhaustion. He put his arm through the hole he had broken in the door. The key had been removed and James was forced to enlarge the opening to get through. He was able with some trouble to climb through the hole and run to the office door. That one was locked from the inside.
The Adventures of Ethel King, the Female Nick Carter Page 13
