Читать книгу The Black Carnation - Fergus Hume - Страница 6

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So far as I could see, up to the present I had made but little progress in my efforts to unravel the opera house crime, and in my interview with Dallas had gained no definite information. Certainly, those doubts of his criminality which I had entertained before my visit were more or less confirmed, as his whole attitude seemed to favor the idea of his guilt. If he were innocent he certainly acted in a way likely to cause suspicion, yet, on the other hand, if he were guilty, as I began to believe, he was crafty enough not to commit himself in any way. As he very truly observed, it was an impossibility to trace the owner of the bouquet, and until such a result was achieved, there was no chance of Mazzucata’s assassin being brought to justice.

Without doubt, judging from his conversation and demeanor, he might have thrown the bouquet which contained the explosive, and I myself saw him throw Mazzucata some flowers, but, as I said before, I am not prepared to say whether it was Dallas’s bouquet she picked up, and so brought destruction on herself. Dallas denied his guilt, and taking everything into consideration, there was no chance of proving anything against him, so, having thus failed in one interview, I lost no time in seeking another with Tressinger, in the hope that I would be more successful in finding a clue.

At this moment I recollected that I had already a clue, for the mention by Dallas of “A Black Carnation,” suggested a starting-point, from whence one could hope to advance with a considerable degree of certainty. For myself, I was puzzled to know what was meant by a Black Carnation, as I had never heard of such a flower; and unless it were the password of some secret society, I was completely bewildered as to what it could be. As to the term “secret society,” I argued it out in this way:

Mazzucata was destroyed by an infernal machine on a small scale, hidden in a bouquet of innocent looking flowers. Such a mode of death suggests Nihilism, Anarchism, Communism, and these three words separately and collectively at once suggest a secret society. Now what was more likely than that Mazzucata was mixed up in some way with conspirators, and belonged to a secret society entitled The Black Carnation. As is usual with such leagues the members are bound to secrecy by oath, the breaking of which entails death. Mazzucata had cried out in alarm the moment before her death, and in the light of the above argument I could now understand her cry, for she had seen in the centre of the bouquet a Black Carnation, which was to her the symbol of a violent end.

“Yes,” said I, exultingly, on coming to this conclusion, “there is no doubt now in my mind that this is the true explanation of the mystery. Dallas cannot be guilty of her death, nor was the cause of such death a love affair. Mazzucata, doubtless, belonged to a secret society whose sign of death was a Black Carnation, and having betrayed the secrets of such a society was condemned to die. The black flower—an artificial flower I suppose, since no natural flower is black—was placed in the bouquet to warn her she must die, hence her cry of horror, and before she could throw away the dangerous flowers the explosion took place which killed her. Yes, I am right this time—she was a Nihilist and suffered the death of a traitress.”

I could see all this plainly enough, but still it did not solve the riddle as to who threw the flowers. Dallas knew about the Black Carnation, so perhaps he also was a member of the society and had been appointed by the association to carry out the fatal order. Then again, he denied that he had killed Mazzucata and had referred me to Tressinger for information regarding the Black Carnation. Could it be possible that Gilbert had killed her? Was he also a member of this Nihilistic club? Had the carrying out of the death sentence devolved on him? Impossible, for he loved this woman; and no orders, no oaths would have led him to commit such a crime. Love that laughs at locksmiths would also laugh at Nihilism, and had it come to Gilbert’s knowledge that Mazzucata had been condemned to death, he would have at once warned her to fly, and not been base enough to carry out the vile commands of a parcel of villains.

All these arguments were truly admirable, but as yet they had no very solid basis of fact. The Nihilistic idea might be true and it might not. All I knew was that Dallas had told me to question Tressinger about a Black Carnation, and as this at least was a starting-point, I determined to call on Gilbert at once and demand an explanation of this mysterious flower.

In addition to the title and the income, Gilbert possessed a very pleasant little house in Curzon Street, admirably fitted up in a bachelor fashion. The late Sir Ralph having been a misogamist, had remained single all his life, and being extremely well off had made himself very comfortable in a selfish male fashion. Indeed I often envied him that perfect establishment in Curzon Street, which would have suited me excellently, for I have the tastes of a duke and the income, if not of a pauper, at least of a city clerk. It is true I have my half pay, and this, in conjunction with a few thousands invested in consols, is all I have to live on. Fortunately, however, I know a great many people and dine out nearly every night, while on other nights I enjoy myself at the O. F. Club, which possesses an excellent cook.

The O. F. Club to us who frequent it,—the Old Friends’ Club to the world, and the Old Fogies’ Club to graceless young men—is situated in St. James’ Street and is very select. No one under forty years of age is admitted, and we prefer bachelors to married men, so that as our club consists of men of experience, you can guess that everything is conducted in the most admirable manner. We are all good judges of wine, of dinners, and of cigars, so that we insist upon the cellar and the cuisine being perfect, as it is—if it were not, the Old Friends would dissolve, as a desire for good living holds us together. Sometimes a member will introduce a young man into the sacred dining-room of the Old Friends as a treat, but modern youths do not appreciate the triumphs of our Vatel as they should do, and we generally discourage these introductions. I myself on one occasion took Gilbert Tressinger to dine there, and, in contrast to the rest of his compeers, he appreciated our menu so much, and complimented us so highly that he was invited again, and became quite a favorite with our members. In fact we were very indulgent to him and were always glad to see his merry face in our smoking room, therefore, when I called in at the Old Friends’ on my way to Curzon Street, I was not at all astonished to find Gilbert ensconced in a large armchair in the writing-room.

Stay! I was astonished; not at seeing him there exactly, but at the idea that instead of remaining in seclusion after the tragedy of the previous night, he had ventured out into society so soon. Upon my word, considering how he professed to love Mazzucata, it was hardly decent, but the young men of the present day have no hearts, nor palates either, seeing they appreciate neither women nor dinners to the extent which such delights demand. Now, when I was a young man—but there, I must digress no longer, but come back to the story and to Gilbert, who, as I said before, was seated in the writing-room looking at an envelope he had just addressed.

So absorbed was he in his own thoughts that he did not notice me when I entered, and as we had the apartment to ourselves, I determined to try the effect on him of a little surprise. Evidently he was thinking of the Mazzucata tragedy, so if I suddenly asked him about the Black Carnation, he would be so startled that he might blurt out the truth, whatever it was, about that ridiculous flower. My interview with Dallas had put me on my guard against giving a man time to collect himself and tell lies, so I judged it wisest for my purpose in this instance to startle Tressinger, and, so to speak, bounce all he knew out of him. Having thus made up my mind I stole quietly behind him and sharply uttered the cabalistic words used by Dallas an hour previous.

“What about the Black Carnation?”

Such a cry as he gave I never heard before and I trust I never will again, for it made my blood curdle to hear it, as he sprang to his feet with a horrified face.

“Major Granby,” he gasped at length, “Major Granby.”

Being an old soldier I have always my wits about me, and therefore seeing he was more upset than I bargained for, I touched the bell and ordered a glass of cognac when the waiter appeared.

“Major!” said Gilbert, again recovering himself with an effort, “what do you mean?”

“About the Black Carnation?”

He put up his hands to his face with a kind of groan and fell back in his chair as though in a faint. I own I was much puzzled at this extraordinary behavior and would have spoken at once so eager was my curiosity, when fortunately the brandy arrived. Having sent the waiter out of the room, I took the glass in my hand and approached Gilbert, who still remained seated in the arm-chair, with his face covered.

“Here, my boy, take this,” I said, in a kind tone, for I felt sorry for the way in which I had startled him. “Drink it down and you will feel better.”

With a sigh, he removed his hands from his face and took the glass, the contents of which he drained in one breath, then looked up into my face with a forced smile which he strove to render as careless as possible, but the attempt was not successful with me.

“Well, Major Granby, you rather startled me.”

“So I see, but why should my remark startle you?” I asked, looking at him sharply.

“Because I did not know you knew anything about the Black Carnation.”

“Nor did I until this morning.”

“Who told you about it?” asked Gilbert, nervously.

“Dallas.”

“Dallas!” he repeated, with a start, “the fellow to whom you introduced me last night?”

“The same.”

“And what does he know about the Black Carnation?”

“I am not aware of the extent of his knowledge. I called on him this morning, and when I was going he said, ‘Ask Tressinger about the Black Carnation.’ What he meant I do not know.”

“I know, however,” muttered the young man, thoughtfully; “yes, I know, so I have no doubt she told him also.”

“Who told him and what?”

“Mazzucata told him about the Black Carnation.”

“What is the Black Carnation?” I asked, desperately curious regarding this mysterious flower.

Tressinger hesitated a moment and looked steadily at the carpet, then raised his eyes and met my eager gaze.

“I don’t know why I should not tell you,” he said, at length, in a low voice, “it is a flower.”

“An artificial flower?”

“No, a real flower.”

“Rubbish! who ever heard of a Black Carnation.”

“No one! but it exists for all that.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I do! I must, because I have seen it.”

“Seen a Black Carnation! You are joking, Gilbert.”

“Upon my word of honor I am not. I have seen a natural carnation as black as your hat.”

“Dyed or painted?”

“No! grown by nature.”

“Impossible. Nature does not indulge in such freaks.”

“Perhaps not often, but in this case she has created a black flower.”

“Well,” said I, impatiently, “whether this flower be natural or artificial, what has it to do with the death of Mazzucata?”

“It was a sign that she was to die.”

“Why? did she belong to a secret society?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you belong to a secret society!”

Tressinger looked up in some surprise at my question.

“I? No! Why do you ask?”

“Oh, because—because—well, I hardly know how to explain myself.”

“Major Granby,” said Gilbert after a pause, during which he eyed me keenly, “you seem to take a great interest in the death of Mazzucata.”

“Yes, I do. I want to know who killed her.”

“And your reason?”

“Not a very worthy one. I have detective fever.”

“In this instance I would advise you not to have detective fever.”

“In Heaven’s name, why?”

“Because you will never find out who killed Mazzucata.”

“You, too!” I cried, curiously; “why, Dallas said exactly the same thing to me.”

“Dallas said the same thing,” repeated Gilbert, with lively interest; “why, what has he got to do with it?”

“That’s just what I wish to find out.”

My companion rose to his feet, and took a few turns up and down the room with a perplexed look on his face.

“I can’t conceive why Dallas should say that,” he muttered, after a pause; “he cannot suspect her.”

“Her!” said I, overhearing this remark, which was not meant for my ear, “oh, it is a woman, then?”

“No, no! certainly not,” replied Gilbert, sharply; “who said such a thing?”

“First Dallas, then you.”

“What! did Dallas say that the crime had been committed by a woman?”

“Well, he hinted as much, and now you—”

“I said nothing. I meant nothing. It was a slip of the tongue.”

“Slips of the tongue sometimes tell more than the most carefully prepared speech,” I answered, with a shrewd nod of my head.

“I wish you would stop talking like a sphinx,” cried the young man, in an ill-tempered tone, resuming his seat. “What do you mean by all this questioning?”

“I wish to find out who killed Mazzucata.”

“Then you never will find out.”

The agreement of Dallas and Tressinger on this point puzzled me greatly, and it seemed as though I were likely to learn as little from the latter as I had done from the former, when, in desperation, I determined to appeal to his love of life by showing him the perilous position in which he stood.

“Listen to me, Gilbert,” I said, gravely, laying my hand on his shoulder: “I knew your uncle intimately, and promised him before he died to do all I could for his nephew. The time has now come when I can do a great deal—that is, if you will be plain with me.”

“What do you want me to tell you, major?” he asked, in a wondering tone.

“Tell me all about Mazzucata and this Black Carnation.”

“To what end?”

“Because I want to find out who killed this woman, and it seems to me that there is a clue to be found in this flower you speak of.”

Tressinger remained silent for a few moments in deep thought, and then spoke out plainly.

“I will tell you all I know, but I am afraid it will neither solve the mystery nor go any way towards elucidating it. I know no more than you do who killed Mazzucata.”

“You know that it is a woman.”

“No, I do not, it is only my fancy.”

“Then why are you and Dallas agreed on this point?”

“Dallas puzzles me,” said Gilbert, evading the point of my question, “and I cannot conceive why he should make any mention of the Black Carnation.”

“Confound you and this Black Carnation. What does it all mean?”

“I wish I knew. However, I will make you as wise as I am myself, and then you can draw your own conclusions.”

I waited impatiently for the story, and seeing this he began without further preamble, which was just as well, seeing that my curiosity was bringing on a fit of bad temper.

“I met Mazzucata some six months ago at Monte Carlo, where she was then singing. You know I was brought up to be a singer, and have studied at Milan, so on being introduced to her she took a great interest in me on this account. From interest we rapidly passed into a state of affection for one another, and from thence to ardent love. I really believed she loved me truly. Oh, yes, I know what you are going to say, that she had many lovers before she met me. I am aware of all that—she told me all about her past life, and believe me, major, she was not so bad as people make out. Every singer’s reputation is at the mercy of a scandal-loving public, and because my poor Marietta disregarded the conventionalities she laid herself open to censure, therefore her fair fame suffered, but I believed in her, despite all scandal, and would have made her my wife had she lived.”

“Dallas also.”

“I know all about Dallas’s infatuation. He met her eighteen months ago in Italy, and persecuted her with his attentions, but beyond accepting such attentions as a pretty woman is accustomed to receive from a man, she gave him no encouragement. Still, notwithstanding her coldness, he persisted in his suit and offers of marriage, so she promised to give him an answer when he returned from his tour in the east. Meanwhile she met me, and as I tell you, we fell in love with one another; she promised to become my wife when we heard that Dallas had returned.”

“You heard yesterday, I suppose, for he told me he only came back to town in the morning.”

“Exactly, ill news travels fast, you know. Well, she was going to tell him to-day that she intended to be my wife, when the catastrophe of last night occurred and robbed me of the woman I adored.”

He buried his face in his hands, much affected, and respecting his grief, I remained sympathetically silent until he recovered himself.

“But what has all this to do with the Black Carnation?”

“Everything; listen. Marietta would not tell me anything of her girlhood, and to this day I am absolutely ignorant of her name.”

“It is Mary Magallan according to Dallas.”

“Mary Magallan,” he replied, scornfully, “that is a lie she told Dallas to keep him quiet, but it is not her real name, for that she told to no one, not even to me. No one knows her real name, least of all, Dallas, and my knowledge of her life does not extend further back than her début in La Scala three years ago as Marietta Mazzucata.”

“She is Irish.”

“Yes, I am aware of that, but I don’t know which part of Ireland she came from.”

“Do you know if she had any enemies?”

“Not that I ever heard of, but she must have had some unknown enemy, for on several occasions she told me she would die a violent death, and would receive a warning in the shape of a Black Carnation.”

“Which you saw?”

“Well, to tell you the truth I did not believe there was such a thing in existence as a Black Carnation, but she assured me there was, and that she would receive one and be killed shortly afterwards.”

“Well, did she receive the warning?”

“Yes! two days after she arrived in England I called at her hotel, and without a word she handed to me a flower, which was nothing more than a carnation, coal black. She then said she would be killed shortly, but refused to tell me any more, so I know nothing of the person who sent her the token, or who killed her.”

“Didn’t such a warning unnerve her?”

“Yes! she was in a terrible state of mind, and wanted to forfeit her engagement. Indeed she did so, and was going back to Paris to-day with me, when we were to have been married at once.”

“But why did she sing last night?”

“The manager persuaded her, and she told me that she felt safe on the stage, as no one could kill her before a thousand people. Yet you saw what happened. Oh, the demon who killed her, if I could only find out who it was!”

I took his hand and comforted him as well as I was able. “We will search for the assassin of Mazzucata together, Gilbert.”

Major Granby's Theory Number Two

Discarding the theory that Dallas murdered Mazzucata out of sheer jealousy, I firmly believe that she met her death at the hands of an emissary of some secret society, and that the Black Carnation was the official notice of her death. My reasons are as follows:—

She was Irish, and therefore likely to be connected with some organization for the purpose of freeing her country.

She refused to tell Tressinger from whom she expected the token of a Black Carnation, and was doubtless sworn to secrecy, on that and other points.

She duly received the fatal token and expected her death.

She was killed by an infernal machine, which is plainly the method usually employed by secret societies.

The explosion took place in public, so as to show all other members of the society that nothing could protect them from death if they once incurred the wrath of their organization.