*CHAPTER IX*
*STE. MARIE GOES UPON A JOURNEY AND RICHARD HARTLEY PLEADS FOR HIM*
It may as well be admitted at the outset that neither Ste. Marie norRichard Hartley proved themselves to be geniuses, hitherto undeveloped,in the detective science. They entered upon their self-appointed taskwith a fine fervour, but, as Miss Benham had suggested, with no otherqualifications in particular. Ste. Marie had a theory that when engagedin work of this nature you went into questionable parts of the city, ateand drank cheek by jowl with questionable people; if possible got themdrunk while you remained sober (difficult feat), and sooner or laterthey said things which put you on the right road to your goal, or elseconfessed to you that they themselves had committed the particular crimein which you were interested. He argued that this was the way ithappened in books, and that surely people didn't write books aboutthings of which they were ignorant.
Hartley, on the other hand, preferred the newer or scientific methods.You sat at home with a pipe and a whisky and water--if possible in along dressing-gown with a cord round its middle. You reviewed all theknown facts of the case, and you did mathematics about them with Xs andYs and many other symbols, and in the end, by a system of elimination,you proved that a certain thing must infallibly be true. The chiefdifficulty for him in this was, he said, that he had been at Oxfordinstead of at Cambridge, and so the mathematics was rather beyond him.
In practice, however, they combined the two methods, which was doubtlessas well as if they hadn't, because for some time they accomplishednothing whatever, and so neither one was able to sneer at the other'sstupidity.
This is not to say that they found nothing in the way of clues. Theyfound an embarrassment of them, and for some days went about in a feverof excitement over these; but the fever cooled when clue after clueturned out to be misleading. Of course Ste. Marie's first efforts weredirected towards tracing the movements of the Irishman, O'Hara, but theefforts were altogether unavailing. The man seemed to have disappearedas noiselessly and completely as had young Arthur Benham himself. Hewas unable even to settle with any definiteness the time of the man'sdeparture from Paris. Some of O'Hara's old acquaintances maintainedthat they had seen the last of him two months before, but a shifty-eyedperson in rather cheaply smart clothes came up to Ste. Marie one eveningin Maxim's, and said he had heard that Ste. Marie was making inquiriesabout M. O'Hara. Ste. Marie said he was, and that it was an affair ofmoney, whereupon the cheaply smart individual declared that M. O'Harahad left Paris six months before to go to the United States of America,and that he had had a picture postal card, some weeks since, from NewYork. The informant accepted an expensive cigar and a Dubonnet by wayof reward, but presently departed into the night, and Ste. Marie wasleft in some discouragement, his theory badly damaged.
He spoke of this encounter to Richard Hartley, who came on later to joinhim, and Hartley, after an interval of silence and smoke, said--
"That was a lie. The man lied."
"Name of a dog, why?" demanded Ste. Marie, but the Englishman shruggedhis shoulders.
"I don't know," he said. "But I believe it was a lie. The man came toyou, sought you out to tell his story, didn't he? And all the othershave given a different date? Well, there you are! For some reason thisman or some one behind him--O'Hara himself, probably--wants you tobelieve that O'Hara is in America. I dare say he's in Paris all thewhile."
"I hope you're right," said the other. "And I mean to make sure, too.It certainly was odd, this strange being hunting me out to tell me that.I wonder, by the way, how he knew I'd been making inquiries aboutO'Hara. I've questioned only two or three people, and then in the mostcasual way. Yes, it's odd."
It was about a week after this--a fruitless week, full of the alternatebrightness of hope and the gloom of disappointment--that he met CaptainStewart, to whom he had been more than once on the point of appealing.He happened upon him quite by chance one morning in the Rue Royale.Captain Stewart was coming out of a shop, a very smart-looking shop,devoted, as Ste. Marie, with some surprise and much amusement, observed,to ladies' hats, and the price of hats must have depressed him, for helooked in an ill humour and older and more yellow than usual. But hisface altered suddenly when he saw the younger man, and he stopped, andshook Ste. Marie's hand with every evidence of pleasure.
"Well met! well met!" he exclaimed. "If you are not in a hurry, comeand sit down somewhere and tell me about yourself."
They picked their way across the street to the terrace of the _TaverneRoyale_, which was almost deserted at that hour, and sat down at one ofthe little tables well back from the pavement, in a corner.
"Is it fair?" queried Captain Stewart, "is it fair as a rivalinvestigator to ask you what success you have had?" Ste. Marie laughedrather ruefully and confessed that he had as yet no success at all.
"I've just come," said he, "from pricking one bubble that promised well,and Hartley is up in Montmartre destroying another, I fancy. Oh well,we didn't expect it to be child's play."
Captain Stewart raised his little glass of dry vermouth in anold-fashioned salute, and drank from it.
"You," said he, "you were--ah, full of some idea of connecting this man,this Irishman, O'Hara, with poor Arthur's disappearance. You've foundthat not so promising, as you went on, I take it."
"Well, I've been unable to trace O'Hara," said Ste. Marie. "He seems tohave disappeared as completely as your nephew. I suppose you have noclues to spare? I confess I'm out of them, at the moment."
"Oh, I have plenty," said the elder man. "A hundred. More than I canpossibly look after." He gave a little chuckling laugh.
"I've been waiting for you to come to me," he said. "It was a littleungenerous perhaps, but we all love to say, 'I told you so.' Yes, Ihave a great quantity of clues, and, of course, they all seem to be ofthe greatest and most exciting importance. That's a way clues have." Hetook an envelope from an inner pocket of his coat, and sorted severalfolded papers which were in it.
"I have here," said he, "memoranda of two chances, shall I callthem?--which seem to me very good, though, as I have already said, everyclue seems good. That is the maddening, the heart-breaking part of suchan investigation. I have made these brief notes from letters received,one yesterday, one the day before, from an agent of mine who has beensearching the _bains de mer_ of the north coast. This agent writes thatsome one very much resembling poor Arthur has been seen at Dinard andalso at Deauville, and he urges me to come there, or to send a man thereat once to look into the matter. You will ask, of course, why thisagent himself does not pursue the clue he has found. Unfortunately hehas been called to London upon some pressing family matter of his own;he is an Englishman."
"Why haven't you gone yourself?" asked Ste. Marie. But the elder manshrugged his shoulders and smiled a tired deprecatory smile.
"Oh, my friend," said he, "if I should attempt personally to investigateone half of these things, I should be compelled to divide myself intotwenty parts. No, I must stay here. There must be, alas! the spider atthe centre of the web. I cannot go, but if you think it worth while Iwill gladly turn over the memoranda of these last clues to you. Theymay be the true clues, they may not. At any rate, some one must lookinto them. Why not you and your partner--or shall I say assistant?"
"Why, thank you!" cried Ste. Marie. "A thousand thanks. Of course Ishall be--we shall be glad to try this chance. On the face of it, itsounds very reasonable. Your nephew, from what I remember of him, ismuch more apt to be in some place that is amusing--some place ofgaiety--than hiding away where it is merely dull, if he has his choicein the matter, that is--if he is free. And yet----" he turned andfrowned thoughtfully at the elder man.
"What I want to know," said he, "is how the boy is supporting himselfall this time. You say he had no money, or very little, when he wentaway. How is he managing to live, if your theory is correct--that he isstaying away of his own accord? It
costs a lot of money to live as helikes to live."
Captain Stewart nodded.
"Oh, that," said he, "that is a question I have often proposed tomyself. Frankly it's beyond me. I can only surmise that poor Arthur,who had scattered a small fortune about in foolish loans, managed,before he actually disappeared (mind you, we didn't begin to look forhim until a week had gone by), managed to collect some of this money,and so went away with something in pocket. That, of course, is only aguess."
"It is possible," said Ste. Marie doubtfully, "but--I don't know. It isnot very easy to raise money from the sort of people I imagine yournephew to have lent it to. They borrow but they don't repay."
He glanced up with a half-laughing half-defiant air.
"I can't," said he, "rid myself of a belief that the boy is here inParis and he is not free to come or go. It's only a feeling, but it isvery strong in me. Of course I shall follow out these clues you've beenso kind as to give me. I shall go to Dinard and Deauville, and Hartley,I imagine, will go with me; but I haven't great confidence in them."
Captain Stewart regarded him reflectively for a time, and in the end hesmiled.
"If you will pardon my saying it," he said, "your attitude is just alittle womanlike. You put away reason for something vaguely intuitive.I always distrust intuition myself." Ste. Marie frowned a little andlooked uncomfortable. He did not relish being called womanlike--few mendo--but he was bound to admit that the elder man's criticism was more orless just.
"Moreover," pursued Captain Stewart, "you altogether ignore the point ofmotive--as I may have suggested to you before. There could be nopossible motive, so far as I am aware, for kidnapping or detaining or inany way harming my nephew except the desire for money; but, as you know,he had no large sum of money with him, and no demand has been made uponus since his disappearance. I'm afraid you can't get round that."
"No," said Ste. Marie, "I'm afraid I can't. Indeed, leaving that aside(and it can't be left aside), I still have almost nothing with which toprop up my theory. I told you it was only a feeling."
He took up the memoranda which Captain Stewart had laid upon themarble-topped table between them, and read the notes through.
"Please," said he, "don't think I am ungrateful for this chance. I amnot. I shall do my best with it, and I hope it may turn out to beimportant." He gave a little wry smile.
"I have all sorts of reasons," he said, "for wishing to succeed as soonas possible. You may be sure that there won't be any delays on my part.And now I must be going on. I am to meet Hartley for lunch on the otherside of the river, and, if we can manage it, I should like to startnorth this afternoon or evening.
"Good!" said Captain Stewart, smiling. "Good! that is what I call truepromptness. You lose no time at all. Go to Dinard and Deauville, byall means, and look into this thing thoroughly. Don't be discouraged ifyou meet with ill success at first. Take Mr. Hartley with you and doyour best." He paid for the two glasses of aperatif, and Ste. Mariecould not help observing that he left on the table a very small tip.The waiter cursed him audibly as the two walked away.
"If you have returned by a week from to-morrow," he said, as they shookhands, "I should like to have you keep that evening--Thursday--for me. Iam having a very informal little party in my rooms. There will be twoor three of the opera people there, and they will sing for us, and theothers will be amusing enough. All young. All young. I like youngpeople about me." He gave his odd little mewing chuckle. "And theladies must be beautiful as well as young. Come if you are here! I'lldrop a line to Mr. Hartley also." He shook Ste. Marie's hand and wentaway down the street towards the Rue du Faubourg St. Honore, where helived.
Ste. Marie met Hartley as he expected to do, at lunch, and they talkedover the possibilities of the Dinard and Deauville expedition. In theend they decided that Ste. Marie should go alone, but that he was totelegraph, later on, if the clue looked promising. Hartley had two orthree investigations on foot in Paris, and stayed on to complete these.Also he wished, as soon as possible, to see Helen Benham and explainSte. Marie's ride on the galloping pigs. Ten days had elapsed sincethat evening, but Miss Benham had gone into the country the next day tomake a visit at the de Saulnes' chateau on the Oise.
So Ste. Marie packed a portmanteau with clothes and things, and departedby a mid-afternoon train to Dinard, and, towards five, Richard Hartleywalked down to the Rue de l'Universite. He thought it just possiblethat Miss Benham might by now have returned to town, but if not he meantto have half an hour's chat with old David Stewart, whom he had not seenfor some weeks.
At the door he learnt that Mademoiselle was that very day returned andwas at home. So he went in to the drawing-room, reserving his visit toold David until later. He found the room divided into two camps. Atone side Mrs. Benham conversed in melancholic monotones with two elderlyFrench ladies, who were clad in depressing black of a dowdinesssurpassed only in English provincial towns. It was as if the threemourned together over the remains of some dear one who lay dead amongstthem. Hartley bowed low with an uncontrollable shiver, and turned tothe tea-table, where Miss Benham sat in the seat of authority, flankedby a young American lady, whom he had met before, and by Baron de Vries,whom he had not seen since the evening of the de Saulnes' dinner party.
Miss Benham greeted him with evident pleasure, and to his great delightremembered just how he liked his tea--three pieces of sugar and no milk.It always flatters a man when his little tastes of this sort areremembered. The four fell at once into conversation together, and theyoung American lady asked Hartley why Ste. Marie was not with him.
"I thought you two always went about together," she said. "Were neverseen apart and all that--a sort of modern Damon and Phidias." Hartleycaught Baron de Vries' eye and looked away again hastily.
"My--ah, Phidias," said he, resisting an irritable desire to correct thelady, "got mislaid to-day. It shan't happen again, I promise you. He'sa very busy person just now, though. He hasn't time for socialdissipation. I'm the butterfly of the pair." The lady gave a suddenlaugh.
"He was busy enough the last time I saw him," she said, crinkling hereyelids. She turned to Miss Benham.
"Do you remember that evening we were going home from the _Madrid_, andmotored round by Montmartre to see the _fete_?"
"Yes," said Miss Benham, unsmiling, "I remember."
"Your friend, Ste. Marie," said the American lady to Hartley, "wasdistinctly the lion of the _fete_--at the moment we arrived, anyhow. Hewas riding a galloping pig and throwing those paper streamerthings--what do you call them?--with both hands, and a genial lady in ablue hat was riding the same pig and helping him out. It was just likethe _Vie de Boheme_ and the other books. I found it charming."
Baron de Vries emitted an amused chuckle.
"That was very like Ste. Marie," he said. "Ste. Marie is a veryexceptional young man. He can be an angel one moment, a child playingwith toys the next, and--well, a rather commonplace social favourite thethird. It all comes of being romantic--imaginative. Ste. Marie--I knownothing about this evening of which you speak--but Ste. Marie is quitecapable of stopping on his way to a funeral to ride a galloping pig--oron his way to his own wedding.
"And the pleasant part of it is," said Baron de Vries, "that the ladwould turn up at either of these two ceremonies not a bit the worse,outside or in, for his ride."
"Ah, now that's an oddly close shot," said Hartley. He paused a moment,looking towards Miss Benham, and said--
"I beg pardon! Were you going to speak?"
"No," said Miss Benham, moving the things about on the tea-table beforeher, and looking down at them. "No, not at all!"
"You came oddly close to the truth," the man went on, turning back toBaron de Vries. He was speaking for Helen Benham's ears, and he knewshe would understand that, but he did not wish to seem to be watchingher.
"I was with Ste. Marie on that evening," he said. "No! I wasn't ridinga pig, but I was standing down in the crowd throwing
serpentines at thepeople who were. And I happen to know that he--that Ste. Marie was onthat day, that evening, more deeply concerned about something, moreabsolutely wrapped up in it, devoted to it, than I have ever known himto be about anything since I first knew him. The galloping pig was anincident that made, except for the moment, no impression whatever uponhim." Hartley nodded his head.
"Yes," said he, "Ste. Marie can be an angel one moment and a childplaying with toys the next. When he sees toys he always plays withthem, and he plays hard, but when he drops them they go completely outof his mind."
The American lady laughed.
"Gracious me!" she cried. "You two are emphatic enough about him,aren't you?"
"We know him," said Baron de Vries. Hartley rose to replace his emptycup on the tea-table. Miss Benham did not meet his eyes, and as he movedaway again she spoke to her friend about something they were going to doon the next day, so Hartley went across to where Baron de Vries sat at alittle distance, and took a place beside him on the chaise longue. TheBelgian greeted him with raised eyebrows and the little half-sadhalf-humorous smile which was characteristic of him in his gentlermoments.
"You were defending our friend with a purpose," he said in a low voice."Good! I am afraid he needs it--here." The younger man hesitated amoment. Then he said--
"I came on purpose to do that. Ste. Marie knows that she saw him onthat confounded pig. He was half wild with distress over itbecause--well, the meeting was singularly unfortunate, just then. Ican't explain----"
"You needn't explain," said the Belgian gravely. "I know. Helen told mesome days since, though she did not mention this encounter. Yes, defendhim with all your power, if you will. Stay after we others have goneand--have it out with her. The Phidias lady (I must remember that _mot_,by the way) is preparing to take her leave now, and I will follow her atonce. She shall believe that I am enamoured--that I sigh for her.
"Eh!" said he, shaking his head. And the lines in the kindly old faceseemed to deepen, but in a sort of grave tenderness. "Eh, so love hascome to the dear lad at last! Ah! of course, the hundred other affairs!Yes, yes. But they were light. No seriousness in them. The ladies mayhave loved. He didn't very much. This time, I'm afraid----"
Baron de Vries paused as if he did not mean to finish his sentence, andHartley said--
"You say 'afraid'! Why, afraid?"
The Belgian looked up at him reflectively.
"Did I say 'afraid'?" he asked. "Well--perhaps it was the word Iwanted. I wonder if these two are fitted for each other. I am fond ofthem both. I think you know that, but--she's not very flexible, thischild. And she hasn't much humour. I love her, but I know those thingsare true. I wonder if one ought to marry Ste. Marie without flexibilityand without humour."
"If they love each other," said Richard Hartley, "I expect the otherthings don't count. Do they?"
Baron de Vries rose to his feet, for he saw that the Phidias lady wasgoing.
"Perhaps not," said he; "I hope not. In any case, do your best for himwith Helen. Make her comprehend if you can. I am afraid she is unhappyover the affair." He made his adieux and went away with the Americanlady, to that young person's obvious excitement. And after a moment thethree ladies across the room departed also, Mrs. Benham explaining thatshe was taking her two friends up to her own sitting-room to show themsomething vaguely related to the heathen. So Hartley was left alonewith Helen Benham.
It was not his way to beat about the bush, and he gave battle at once.He said, standing to say it more easily--
"You know why I came here to-day. It was the first chance I've hadsince that--unfortunate evening. I came on Ste. Marie's account."
Miss Benham said a weak--
"Oh!" And because she was nervous and overwrought and because the thingmeant so much to her, she said cheaply--
"He owes me no apologies. He has a perfect right to act as he pleases,you know."
The Englishman frowned across at her.
"I didn't come to make apologies," said he. "I came to explain. Well, Ihave explained--Baron de Vries and I together. That's just how ithappened, and that's just how Ste. Marie takes things. The point is,that you've got to understand it. I've got to make you."
The girl smiled up at him dolefully.
"You look," she said, "as if you were going to beat me if necessary.You look very warlike."
"I feel warlike," the man said, nodding. He said--
"I'm fighting for a friend to whom you are doing, in your mind, aninjustice. I know him better than you do, and I tell you you're doinghim a grave injustice. You're failing altogether to understand him."
"I wonder," the girl said, looking very thoughtfully down at the tablebefore her.
"I know," said he.
Quite suddenly she gave a little overwrought cry, and she put up herhands over her face.
"Oh, Richard!" she said, "that day when he was here! He left me----Oh, I cannot tell you at what a height he left me! It was something newand beautiful. He swept me to the clouds with him. And Imight--perhaps I might have lived on there. Who knows? But then thathideous evening! Ah, it was too sickening, the fall back to commonearth again!"
"I know," said the man gently, "I know. And he knew, too. Directlyhe'd seen you he knew how you would feel about it. I'm not pretendingthat it was of no consequence. It was unfortunate, of course. But--thepoint is it did not mean in him any slackening, any stooping, anyletting go. It was a moment's incident. We went to the wretched placeby accident after dinner. Ste. Marie saw those childish lunatics atplay, and for about two minutes he played with them. The lady in theblue hat made it appear a little more extreme, and that's all."
Miss Benham rose to her feet and moved restlessly back and forth.
"Oh, Richard!" she said, "the golden spell is broken--the enchantment helaid upon me that day. I'm not like him, you know. Oh, I wish I were!I wish I were! I can't change from hour to hour. I can't rise to theclouds again after my fall to earth. It has all--become somethingdifferent.
"Don't misunderstand me," she cried; "I don't mean that I've ceased tocare for him. No, far from that! But I was in such an exalted heaven,and now I'm not there any more. Perhaps he can lift me to it again. Ohyes, I'm sure he can when I see him once more; but I wanted to go onliving there so happily while he was away! Do you understand at all?"
"I think I do," the man said, but he looked at her very curiously and alittle sadly; for it was the first time he had ever seen her swept fromher superb poise by any emotion, and he hardly recognised her. It wasvery bitter to him to realise that he could never have stirred her tothis, never under any conceivable circumstances.
The girl came to him where he stood and touched his arm with her hand.
"He is waiting to hear how I feel about it all, isn't he?" she said."He is waiting to know that I understand. Will you tell him a littlelie for me, Richard? No! You needn't tell a lie; I will tell it. Tellhim that I said I understood perfectly. Tell him that I was shocked fora moment, but that afterwards I understood and thought no more about it.Will you tell him I said that? It won't be a lie from you, because Idid say it. Oh, I will not grieve him or hamper him now while he isworking in my cause! I'll tell him a lie rather than have him grieve."
"Need it be a lie?" said Richard Hartley. "Can't you truly believe whatyou've said?"
She shook her head slowly.
"I'll try," said she, "but--my golden spell is broken, and I can't mendit alone. I'm sorry."
He turned with a little sigh to leave her, but Miss Benham followed himtowards the door of the drawing-room.
"You're a good friend, Richard," she said, when she had come near."You're a good friend to him."
"He deserves good friends," said the man stoutly. "And besides," saidhe, "we're brothers in arms nowadays. We've enlisted together to fightfor the same cause."
The girl fell back with a little cry. "Do you mean," she said, after amoment, "do you mean tha
t you are working with him--to find Arthur?"
Hartley nodded.
"But," said she stammering, "but, Richard----"
The man checked her. "Oh, I know what I'm doing," said he. "My eyesare open. I know that I'm not--well, in the running. I work for noreward except a desire to help you and Ste. Marie. That's all. Itpleases me to be useful."
He went away with that, not waiting for an answer; and the girl stoodwhere he had left her, staring after him.
The Quest: A Romance Page 9
