The Quest: A Romance

by Justus Miles Forman

  *CHAPTER XII*

  *THE NAME OF THE LADY WITH THE EYES: EVIDENCE HEAPS UP SWIFTLY*

  Ste. Marie drove home to the Rue d'Assas with his head in a whirl andwith a sense of great excitement beating somewhere within him, probablyin the place where his heart ought to be. He had a curiously surefeeling that at last his feet were upon the right path. He could nothave explained this to himself--indeed, there was nothing to explain,and if there had been, he was in far too great an inner turmoil tomanage it. It was a mere feeling--the sort of thing which he had oncetried to express to Captain Stewart, and had got laughed at for hispains.

  There was, in sober fact, no reason whatever why Captain Stewart'spossession of a photograph of the beautiful lady whom Ste. Marie hadonce seen in company with O'Hara should be taken as significant ofanything except an appreciation of beauty on the part of Miss Benham'suncle--not even if, as Mlle. Nilssen believed, Captain Stewart was inlove with the lady. But to Ste. Marie, in his whirl of reawakenedexcitement, the discovery loomed to the skies, and, in a series ofingenious but very vague leaps of the imagination, he saw himself, withthe aid of this new evidence (which was no evidence at all, if he hadbeen calm enough to realise it), victorious in his great quest, leadingyoung Arthur Benham back to the arms of an ecstatic family, and kneelingat the feet of that youth's sister to claim his reward. All of whichseems a rather startling flight of the imagination to have had itsbeginning in the sight of one photograph of a young woman. But then Ste.Marie was imaginative if he was anything.

  He fell to thinking of this girl whose eyes, after one sight of them,had so long haunted him. He thought of her between those two men, thehard-faced Irish adventurer and the other, Stewart, strange compound ofintellectual and voluptuary, and his eyes flashed in the dark and hegripped his hands together upon his knees. He said again--

  "I won't believe it! I won't believe it!" Believe what? one wonders.

  He slept hardly at all, only, towards morning, falling into an uneasydoze. And in the doze he dreamed once more the dream of the dim wasteplace and the hill, and the eyes and voice that called him back--becausethey needed him.

  As early as he dared, after his morning coffee, he took a fiacre anddrove across the river to the Boulevard de la Madeleine, where heclimbed a certain stair, at the foot of which were two glass casescontaining photographs of, for the most part, well-known ladies of theParisian stage. At the top of the stair he entered the reception-roomof a young photographer, who is famous now the world over, but who atthe beginning of his career, when he had nothing but talent and noacquaintance, owed certain of his most important commissions to M. Ste.Marie.

  The man, whose name was Bernstein, came forward eagerly from the studiobeyond to greet his visitor, and Ste. Marie complimented him chaffinglyupon his very sleek and prosperous appearance, and upon the newdecorations of the little salon, which were, in truth, excellently welljudged. But after they had talked for a little while of such matters hesaid--

  "I want to know if you keep specimen prints of all the photographs youhave made within the last few months, and if so I should like to seethem."

  The young Jew went to a wooden portfolio holder which stood in a cornerand dragged it out into the light.

  "I have them all here," said he, "everything that I have made within thepast ten or twelve months. If you will let me draw up a chair you canlook them over comfortably." He glanced at his former patron with alittle polite curiosity as Ste. Marie followed his suggestion, and beganto turn over the big portfolio's contents, but he did not show anysurprise nor ask questions. Indeed he guessed--to a certainextent--rather near the truth of the matter. It had happened before thatyoung gentlemen, and old ones too, wanted to look over his printswithout offering explanations, and they generally picked out all thephotographs there were of some particular lady, and bought them if theycould be bought.

  So he was by no means astonished on this occasion, and he moved aboutthe room putting things to rights, and even went for a few moments intothe studio beyond, until he was recalled by a sudden exclamation fromhis visitor, an exclamation which had a sound of mingled delight andexcitement.

  Ste. Marie held in his hands a large photograph, and he turned ittowards the man who had made it.

  "I am going to ask you some questions," said he, "that will sound ratherindiscreet and irregular, but I beg you to answer them if you can,because the matter is of great importance to a number of people. Do youremember this lady?"

  "Oh yes," said the Jew readily, "I remember her very well. I neverforget people who are as beautiful as this lady was." His eyes gleamedwith retrospective joy.

  "She was splendid!" he declared, "sumptuous! No! I cannot describe her.I have not the words. And I could not photograph her with any justiceeither. She was all colour--brown skin with a dull red stain under thecheeks, and a great mass of hair that was not black but very nearlyblack--except in the sun, and then there were red lights in it. She wasa goddess, that lady, a queen of goddesses: the young Juno beforemarriage, the----"

  "Yes," interrupted Ste. Marie, "yes, I see. Yes, quite evidently she wasbeautiful, but what I wanted in particular to know was her name, if youfeel that you have a right to give it to me (I remind you again that thematter is very important), and any circumstances that you can rememberabout her coming here; who came with her, for instance, and things ofthat sort."

  The photographer looked a little disappointed at being cut off in themiddle of his rhapsody, but he began turning over the leaves of anorder-book which lay upon a table near by.

  "Here is the entry!" he said after a few moments. "Yes, I thought so,the date was nearly three months ago--April 5. And the lady's name wasMlle. Coira O'Hara."

  "What?" cried the other man sharply. "What did you say?"

  "Mlle. Coira O'Hara was the name," repeated the photographer. "Iremember the occasion perfectly. The lady came here with threegentlemen, one tall thin gentleman with an eyeglass, an Englishman, Ithink, though he spoke very excellent French when he spoke to me. Amongthemselves they spoke, I think, English, though I do not understand itexcept a few words such as ''ow moch?' and 'sank you' and 'rady pleas'now.'"

  "Yes! Yes!" cried Ste. Marie impatiently. And the little Jew could seethat he was labouring under some very strong excitement, and he wonderedmildly about it, scenting a love affair.

  "Then," he pursued, "there was a very young man in strange clothes, atourist, I should think, like those Americans and English who come inthe summer with little red books and sit on the terrace of the Cafe dela Paix." He heard his visitor draw a swift sharp breath at that, buthe hurried on before he could be interrupted--

  "This young man seemed to be unable to take his eyes from the lady, andsmall wonder! He was very much _epris_, very much _epris_ indeed. Neverhave I seen a youth more so. Ah, it was something to see, that! Athing to touch the heart."

  "What did the young man look like?" demanded Ste. Marie. Thephotographer described the youth as best he could from memory, and hesaw his visitor nod once or twice, and at the end he said: "Yes, yes, Ithought so. Thank you."

  The Jew did not know what it was the other thought, but he went on--

  "Ah, a thing to touch the heart! Such devotion as that! Alas that thelady should seem so cold to it! Still, a goddess! What would you? Aqueen among goddesses. One would not have them laugh and make littlejokes--make eyes at lovesick boys. No indeed!" He shook his headrapidly and sighed.

  Ste. Marie was silent for a little space, but at length he looked up asif he had just remembered something.

  "And the third man?" he asked.

  "Ah yes, the third gentleman," said Bernstein. "I had forgotten him.The third gentleman I knew well. He had often been here. It was he whobrought these friends to me. He was M. le Capitaine Stewart. Everybodyknows M. le Capitaine Stewart. Everybody in Paris."

  Again he observed that his visitor drew a little swift sha
rp breath, andthat he seemed to be labouring under some excitement.

  However, Ste. Marie did not question him further, and so he went on totell the little more he knew of the matter: how the four people hadremained for an hour or more, trying many poses; how they had returned,all but the tall gentleman, three days later to see the proofs, and toorder certain ones to be printed--the young man paying on the spot inadvance--and how the finished prints had been sent to M. le CapitaineStewart's address.

  When he had finished his visitor sat for a long time silent, his headbent a little, frowning upon the floor and chafing his hands togetherover his knees. But at last he rose rather abruptly. He said--

  "Thank you very much indeed. You have done me a great service. If everI can repay it command me. Thank you!"

  The Jew protested, smiling, that he was still too deeply in debt to M.Ste. Marie, and so, politely wrangling, they reached the door, and, witha last expression of gratitude, the visitor departed down the stair. Aclient came in just then for a sitting and so the little photographerdid not have an opportunity to wonder over the rather odd affair as muchas he might have done. Indeed, in the press of work, it slipped fromhis mind altogether.

  But down in the busy boulevard Ste. Marie stood hesitating on the curb.There were so many things to be done, in the light of these newdevelopments, that he did not know what to do first.

  "Mademoiselle Coira O'Hara!--_Mademoiselle_!" The thought gave him asudden sting of inexplicable relief and pleasure. She would be O'Hara'sdaughter then. And the boy, Arthur Benham (there was no room for doubtin the photographer's description), had seemed to be badly in love withher. This was a new development indeed! It wanted thought, reflection,consultation with Richard Hartley. He signalled to a fiacre, and whenit had drawn up before him, sprang into it, and gave Richard Hartley'saddress in the Avenue de l'Observatoire. But when they had gone alittle way he changed his mind and gave another address, one in theBoulevard de la Tour Maubourg. It was where Mlle. Olga Nilssen lived.She had told him when he parted from her the evening before.

  On the way he fell to thinking of what he had learnt from the littlephotographer Bernstein, to setting the facts, as well as he could, inorder, endeavouring to make out just how much or how little theysignified, by themselves or added to what he had known before. But hewas in far too keen a state of excitement to review them at all calmly.As on the previous evening they seemed to him to loom to the skies, andagain he saw himself successful in his quest--victorious, triumphant.That this leap to conclusions was but a little less absurd than thefirst did not occur to him. He was in a fine fever of enthusiasm, andsuch difficulties as his eye perceived lay in a sort of vague mist, tobe dissipated later on, when he should sit quietly down with Hartley,and sift the wheat from the chaff, laying out a definite scheme ofaction.

  It occurred to him that in his interview with the photographer he hadforgotten one point, and he determined to go back, later on, and askabout it. He had forgotten to inquire as to Captain Stewart's attitudetowards the beautiful lady. Young Arthur Benham's infatuation hadfilled his mind at the time, and had driven out of it what Olga Nilssenhad told him about Stewart. He found himself wondering if this pointmight not be one of great importance--the rivalry of the two men forO'Hara's daughter. Assuredly that demanded thought and investigation.

  He found the prettily furnished apartment in the Avenue de la TourMaubourg a scene of great disorder, presided over by a maid, who seemedto be packing enormous quantities of garments into large trunks. Themaid told him that her mistress, after a sleepless night, had departedfrom Paris by an early train, quite alone, leaving the servant to followon when she had telegraphed or written an address. No, Mlle. Nilssenhad left no address at all, not even for letters or telegrams. In shortthe entire proceeding was, so the exasperated woman viewed it,everything that is imbecile.

  Ste. Marie sat down on a hamper with his stick between his knees, andwrote a little note to be sent on when Mlle. Nilssen's whereaboutsshould be known. It was unfortunate, he reflected, that she should havefled away just now, but not of great importance to him, because he didnot believe that he could learn very much more from her than he hadlearnt already. Moreover, he sympathised with her desire to get awayfrom Paris--as far away as possible from the man whom she had seen in sohorrible a state on the evening past.

  He had kept the fiacre at the door, and he drove at once back to the Rued'Assas. As he started to mount the stair the concierge came out of herloge to say that Mr. Hartley had called soon after monsieur had left thehouse that morning, had seemed very much disappointed on not findingmonsieur, and before going away again had had himself let intomonsieur's apartment with the key of the _femme de menage_, and hadwritten a note which monsieur would find, _la haut_.

  Ste. Marie thanked the woman and went on up to his rooms, wondering whyHartley had bothered to leave a note instead of waiting or returning atlunch-time as he usually did. He found the communication on his tableand read it at once. Hartley said--

  "I have to go across the river to the _Bristol_ to see some relativeswho are turning up there to-day, and who will probably keep me untilevening, and then I shall have to go back there to dine. So I'm leavinga word for you about some things I discovered last evening. I met MissBenham at Armenonville, where I dined, and in a _tete-a-tete_conversation we had after dinner she let fall two facts which seem to mevery important. They concern Captain S. In the first place, when hetold us that day, some time ago, that he knew nothing about his father'swill or any changes that might have been made in it, he lied. It seemsthat old David, shortly after the boy's disappearance, being very angryat what he considered, and still considers, a bit of spite on the boy'spart, cut young Arthur Benham out of his will and transferred that shareto _Captain S._ (Miss Benham learnt this from the old man onlyyesterday). Also it appears that he did this after talking the matterover with Captain S., who affected unwillingness. So, as the will readsnow, Miss B. and Captain S. stand to share equally the bulk of the oldman's money, which is several millions (in dols. of course); Miss B.'smother is to have the interest of half of both shares as long as shelives. Now mark this! Prior to this new arrangement Captain S. was toreceive only a small legacy, on the ground that he already had arespectable fortune left him by his mother, old David's first wife.(I've heard, by the way, that he has squandered a good share of what hehad.)

  "Miss B. is, of course, much cut up over this injustice to the boy, butshe can't protest too much as it only excites old David--she says theold man is much weaker.

  "You see, of course, the significance of all this. If David Stewartdies, as he's likely to do, before young Arthur's return, Captain S.gets the money.

  "The second fact I learnt was that Miss Benham did not tell her uncleabout her semi-engagement to you or about your volunteering to searchfor the boy. She thinks her grandfather must have told him. I didn'tsay so to her, but that is hardly possible in view of the fact thatStewart came on here to your rooms very soon after you had reached themyourself.

  "So that makes two lies for our gentle friend, and serious lies, both ofthem. To my mind they point unmistakably to a certain conclusion._Captain S. has been responsible for putting his nephew out of the way_.He has either hidden him somewhere and is keeping him in confinement, orhe has killed him.

  "I wish we could talk it over to-day, but, as you see, I'm helpless.Remain in to-night, and I'll come as soon as I can get rid of theseconfounded people of mine.

  "One word more! Be careful! Miss B. is, up to this point, merelypuzzled over things. She doesn't suspect her uncle of any crookedness,I'm sure. So we shall have to tread softly where she is concerned.

  "I shall see you to-night.--R.H."

  Ste. Marie read the closely written pages through twice, and he thoughthow like his friend it was to take the time and trouble to put what hehad learnt into this clear concise form. Another man would havescribbled: "Important facts--tell you all about it to-night," orsomething of that ki
nd. Hartley must have spent a quarter of an hourover his writing.

  Ste. Marie walked up and down the room, with all his strength forcinghis brain to quiet reasonable action. Once he said aloud--

  "Yes, you're right, of course. Stewart has been at the bottom of it allalong." He realised that he had been for some days slowly arriving atthat conclusion, and that, since the night before, he had beenpractically certain of it, though he had not yet found time to put hissuspicions into logical order. Hartley's letter had driven the truthconcretely home to him, but he would have reached the same truth withoutit--though that matter of the will was of the greatest importance. Itgave him a strong weapon to strike with.

  He halted before one of the front windows, and his eyes gazed unseeingacross the street into the green shrubbery of the Luxembourg Gardens.The lace curtains had been left by the _femme de menage_ hangingstraight down and not, as usual, looped back at either side, but hecould see through them with perfect ease although he could not be seenfrom outside.

  He became aware that a man who was walking slowly up and down a pathinside the high iron palings was in some way familiar to him, and hiseyes sharpened. The man was very inconspicuously dressed, and lookedlike almost any other man whom one might pass in the street withouttaking any notice of him; but Ste. Marie knew that he had seen himoften, and he wondered how and where. There was a row of lilac shrubsagainst the iron palings just inside, and between the palings and thepath, but two of the shrubs were dead and leafless, and each time theman passed this spot he came into plain view; each time also he directedan oblique glance towards the house opposite. Presently he turned asideand sat down upon one of the public benches, where he was almost but notquite hidden by the intervening foliage.

  Then at last Ste. Marie gave a sudden exclamation and smote his handstogether.

  "The fellow's a spy!" he cried aloud. "He's watching the house to seewhen I go out." He began to remember how he had seen the man in thestreet and in cafes and restaurants, and he remembered that he had onceor twice thought it odd but without any second thought of suspicion. Sothe fellow had been set to spy upon him, watch his goings and comingsand report them to--no need of asking to whom!

  Ste. Marie stood behind his curtains and looked across into the pleasantexpanse of shrubbery and greensward. He was wondering if it would beworth while to do anything. Men and women went up and down the path,hurrying or slowly, at ease with the world--labourers, students,_bonnes_ with market baskets in their hands and long bread loaves undertheir arms, nursemaids herding small children, bigger children spinningdiabolo spools as they walked. A man with a pointed black beard and asoft hat passed once, and returned to seat himself upon the public benchthat Ste. Marie was watching. For some minutes he sat there idle,holding the soft felt hat upon his knees for coolness. Then he turnedand looked at the other occupant of the bench, and Ste. Marie thought hesaw the other man nod, though he could not be sure whether either onespoke or not. Presently the newcomer rose, put on the soft hat againand disappeared down the path, going towards the gate at the head of theRue de Luxembourg.

  Five minutes later the door-bell rang.