Читать книгу The Kidnapping of Madame Storey and Other Stories (Madame Storey) - Footner Hulbert - Страница 13

10

Оглавление

On the following night Charlie turned up at the hotel resplendent in evening dress. My heart warmed to the boy, so handsome and droll; so essentially decent. He was very much upset. I could see the faint flush under his pale skin. He came alone and we received him in the parlour of our suite.

"Rosika," he said in a voice that shook a little, "I'm supposed to persuade you to dine with me to-night at a little place up in the mountains."

"Well, I am persuaded," she said smiling.

"But in the mountains!" he cried in distress. "In a place chosen by themselves. I don't know what is going to happen. How can I go through with it?"

"But I wish to be robbed," said Mme. Storey. "I am counting on it!"

"Don't joke about it! Suppose they were to hurt you!"

"They won't hurt me, because I'm going to squawk and give right up."

"I'm to persuade you to leave Bella at home," he said.

"Oh, no!" I exclaimed involuntarily.

"What, are you so anxious to be robbed?" asked Mme. Storey teasingly.

"No! But it would be worse to be left here alone, and not to know what was happening. I couldn't bear it."

She considered for a moment. "I believe I'll take Bella," she said. "After all, it would be natural for the Englishwoman to have a spasm of propriety at the last moment, and insist on taking her companion."

"I don't even know where the place is," Charlie went on, pacing the room in his agitation. "Only the chauffeur knows. You see, they don't trust me completely. It's supposed to be called Bruno's, and I was told to describe it to you as a very plain little place, but the last word in smartness. Only a few people know of it. All this is just a stall, I reckon."

"It doesn't matter," said Mme. Storey.

"Just as I was leaving," said Charlie, "Marcel caught up my hand to compare my wrist watch with his. He said with a grin, 'Dinner will be served at seven thirty. When you hear the canary sing I suggest that you excuse yourself from the room for a moment. It will help to save your face later.'"

"Good!" said Mme. Storey. "That is exactly what you must do."

"I would feel like a cur if I walked out and left you to the mercy of those scoundrels!" cried poor Charlie.

"Your feelings do you credit," she said, "but you must suppress them and use your head."

"All right," he muttered. "But it's not going to be easy!"

We set off at seven. The car we picked up at the hotel door appeared to be an ordinary taxi, but it had been planted there for Charlie. We climbed rapidly through the narrow twisting streets to the upper town. When we came out on the well-remembered road with the hair-pin curves, I turned a little sick with apprehension. La Turbie again!

However, a mile short of that village we turned sharp to the right and sped around the side of the mountain in the opposite direction. The lights of Monte Carlo sparkled fifteen hundred feet below.

"This is the Grand Corniche road," remarked Mme. Storey. "I have been looking at the map."

After travelling for a mile or two, and putting a shoulder of the mountain between us and the friendly lights of town, we drew up before an ordinary little house on the outside of the road; a narrow one-story house clinging to the steep mountainside like a limpet. The windows were shuttered tight.

"Is this the place?" asked Mme. Storey, loud enough to carry to the chauffeur's ear.

"Oui, Madame; chez Bruno," he answered. "Un bon restaurant!"

Charlie whispered, "Do you want to turn back? It would be natural."

"No," she said, "I'm supposed to be an infatuated woman. Such a one would be blind."

Certainly a more suitable place for the commission of a crime could scarcely have been found. The little house crouched alone under the stars, surrounded by dark mountain masses.

We got out, and the chauffeur drove on out of sight. The road was too narrow for him to turn around. He was supposed to return for us at eleven. Charlie rapped at the door.

We were admitted directly into a big kitchen with a white-clad chef presiding over the stove, an assistant and a waiter. They all had a self-conscious look as if they had been listening for us. There were no women visible. But the smell of the cooking was real.

"Anyhow they're going to feed us," murmured Mme. Storey, sniffing.

The men lined up bowing as the custom is. There was a look of animal greed in the chef's little eyes. He expressed surprise at the sight of me. "Dinner was ordered for two persons," he said respectfully.

"I brought my companion," said Mme. Storey in the cold English voice. "Does it matter?"

"Non, non, Madame! There is sufficient. Descend if you please."

Owing to the manner of the house's construction, the dining-room was below. We passed through a narrow hall to the stairs. There was a door opposite the kitchen which was standing open just an inch. The room inside it was dark. My skin prickled as I passed it. Instinct told me there were men in there listening.

Downstairs a small plain room with a table set for two, sideboard, sofa. The waiter followed us in and set a third place. He kept his eyes down the whole time and I could not read his expression. At the end of the room there was a glass door leading to a tiny terrace. From the terrace, steps rose to the kitchen above. The windows of the room looked down into a black abyss.

I cannot remember what we ate. Mme. Storey said it was excellent. I shoved the food down my throat merely because I thought it would look suspicious if I sent it back untouched. Charlie had the hardest part to play, because he was supposed to make a noise as if he was having a good time. He drank a lot of wine.

In the beginning there was a good deal of running about and the sound of voices, as if there were parties dining in other rooms. Just stage business I assumed. It died away and silence filled the house except for what noise we made ourselves.

With the coffee and Cointreau the waiter brought the bill. When Charlie had paid it the man left the room with a furtive look. It was the first time I had seen his eyes. Presently we heard the main door of the house close, and a bar fall across it. Just for an experiment Mme. Storey rang the bell. Nobody came.

"The staff has walked out on us," she murmured.

Charlie had the liqueur glass at his lips when the bird whistle was softly sounded upstairs. One of those lead whistles with a pea in it to imitate a trill. A cold perspiration broke out on me. Charlie turned pale and put his glass down.

"Must I go?" he murmured.

"Go!" said Mme. Storey. "There is no danger if you keep quiet."

"Excuse me a minute," he said, raising his voice, and dragged himself out of the room: started up the stairs.

He had no more than reached the upper floor when all the lights went out. It was so unexpected that a little cry broke from me. Hysteria gripped my throat; I clung to Mme. Storey.

"Steady!" she whispered. "There is no danger!"

That was all very well for a brave person, but my nerves were fluttering like aspen leaves. I almost hate her at such moments.

We heard the door from the terrace open. A flashlight was switched on and cast in our eyes. In its light we clung together like any two frightened women. In the light reflected from the walls I could see that two dim shapes had entered. Their faces were indistinguishable. One was a powerful figure.

"Don't scream," said the smaller man hoarsely.

"What do you want?" asked Mme. Storey, letting a quaver come into her voice.

"The bundle of thousand-franc notes you have on your person," he said. "If you give them up you won't be harmed." The voice was disguised, but I recognised it.

Mme. Storey hesitated.

"Quick!" he said, "or I'll take them from you!"

She hastily unfastened the notes which she carried inside her dress, and threw them on the table. He put the light on them, and gave them a hasty examination.

"All right," he said, thrusting them in his pocket.

Up to that moment everything had gone exactly as Mme. Storey had foreseen. We would have been allowed to go, and there would have been no trouble, had it not been for one of those accidents that you cannot provide against.

I was wearing a string of common crystals around my neck. They were of no value, but I suppose in the flash of the electric torch they glittered like diamonds. The big man was a common fellow and he yielded to temptation. Slyly moving close to me, he put his two hands around my neck and jerked the string apart.

When his hands touched me I could not help myself; I screamed with all my might. The sound was too much for Charlie. There was the sound of a blow and fall from above, Charlie came leaping down the stairs shouting thickly:

"Keep your hands off them! Keep your hands off them!"

A scene of insane confusion followed. The smaller robber shouted, "Silence that fool!" I had an impression that the big man drew a gun. Mme. Storey leaped forward, and struck the flashlight out of the first man's hand. It went out and rolled away on the floor. We were left in complete darkness.

I heard the man scrabbling on the floor for his torch. The other kept shouting, "Light! Light!" Somebody grabbed my wrist and pulled me violently towards the door at the foot of the stairs. There we met another man cascading down the stairs. There was a brief struggle. Somebody was thrown down with a groan. I was dragged on up the stairs. All this in the dark.

The kitchen was lighted with a candle. Just inside the door stood a fourth man with a chair raised over his head, prepared to smash the first who entered. Somehow we banged through the door across the landing, and got it shut behind us. It had both a bolt and a key. We leaned against it breathing heavily; Mme. Storey, Charlie and I.

"You spoiled everything by your outbreak," said Mme. Storey sternly.

"How could I help it?" groaned Charlie.

"Never mind now. Listen!"

There was a furious pounding at the door, and we backed away from it. Marcel cried out—no longer taking any care to disguise his voice, "Give us that fellow and we won't hurt you. He brought you here, didn't he? He betrayed you into our hands. Now he has betrayed us. Give him up to us and we'll let you go."

No answer from our side of the door.

Marcel flung himself against it, cursing horribly. Luckily it was a heavy door. Several of them put their shoulders against it. It creaked dangerously, but held. Finally Marcel screamed in a voice breaking with rage.

"The axe! The axe!"

There was a pause. I felt like a rat in a trap. Mme. Storey actually lit a cigarette. When the light flared up I saw that her face was calm. Inexplicable woman! Charlie went to a window which opened on the road.

"Don't open the shutters!" she said sharply.

"Can't we do something? something?" I groaned.

"Wait!" she said.

Marcel aimed a blow at the door that split one of the panels but did not shatter it. Before he could strike another there was a crash from the kitchen and a rush of feet. An appalling struggle took place out there. Not a cry was raised; only the sound of blows and stamping feet, and one crash after another as the tables were overthrown, the crockery broken, the cooking utensils flung together.

"Let me get in this!" said Charlie thickly.

"There is no need," said Mme. Storey barring the way.

Suddenly it was over. We heard a low voice issuing commands. Then the voice was raised, calling:

"Lady Wedderminster! Lady Wedderminster!"

"Here!" said Mme. Storey unlocking the door.

We followed her into the kitchen. They had got the lights turned on. It was like a battlefield. Against the far wall stood four sullen, beaten men handcuffed together. Six policemen took off their kepis and wiped their moist foreheads. Our old acquaintance the chief of detectives was in command.

"Voilà, Madame!" he said. "You see we have them. You are a brave lady!"

Marcel, frantic with rage, spat out a stream of curses at the sight of Charlie. "Traitor! Traitor! I'll get you yet!"

"Oh, I reckon you'll be put away for quite a spell," drawled Charlie.

Marcel was wearing a brown suit. All the buttons were on it to-night. Mme. Storey walked to him and examined it attentively.

"Chief," she said, turning, "one of the murderers of Raoul d'Aymara wore a suit of this material. You have the button that was pulled off his coat. It was the middle button on this coat. You can see where the hole in the cloth has been stopped. The present button has been sewed on with cotton thread, not silk like the others. This is your man."

The chief's face was a study. "But Madame," he stammered, "how did you ... how did you know about that affair?"

"All will be explained later," she said.

He knew her then. His eyes almost started from his head. "Incredible! Incredible!" he whispered.

And Marcel knew her. A wild terror came into his face. He had no more to say.

"Chief," said Mme. Storey, "I beg that you will take these men into town, and lock them up quietly and secretly. If the news of their arrest should get about, their master will escape us."

"I understand, Madame," he answered, bowing. "It shall be done."

Charlie could no longer hold himself in. "How did the police get here?" he demanded to know.

"I gave them a tip," said Mme. Storey carelessly.

"How did you know where the place was? I didn't know."

"I intercepted Marcel's instructions from his boss this morning."

"Good God!" muttered Charlie. "... You might have let me know," he added in a grumbling voice. "It would have saved me a lot of mental agony."

"Exactly," she said smiling. "That's why I didn't tell you. You were watched every minute. This was your first job, and if you had not appeared to be nervous their suspicions would have been aroused.... But I admit I should not have taken Bella," she added teasingly. "That was an error of judgment."

I hung my head. "If you had felt the man's fingers around your throat ..."

She laughed.

Mme. Storey accompanied the chief of detectives back to town in order to be present when he compared the button and its torn piece of cloth with Marcel's coat. She sent me direct to the hotel with Charlie, and I did not see her again that night.

Next morning when I got up she had already gone out. Shortly before ten she returned wearing an inscrutable smile. "Get your hat, Bella, if you want to be in at the death," she said.

The chief of detectives was waiting for us in the lobby of the hotel. The three of us crossed the street and entered the Casino, which had not yet opened its doors for the day. Our companion concealed himself in the room on the left, where you present your credentials and obtain cards for the gaming rooms, while we took up our position in the middle of the entrance hall. Through the glass we could see the most determined gamblers waiting on the steps for the doors to open.

"What are we waiting for?" I asked.

"The big boss," she said smiling.

"How will we know him?"

"He will come out of the vestiare—if he comes at all, carrying a very swanky overnight bag of brown seal."

At that moment the doors were opened and the waiting people swarmed through. They all made their way first into the cloakroom or vestiare to leave their wraps. With the others there was a large personally conducted party of tourists and it made a lot of confusion. I could not possibly distinguish everybody.

"Never mind their faces," said Mme. Storey. "Watch for the bag. I checked it here myself half an hour ago."

She took pity on the torment of curiosity that my face must have expressed, and in a low voice explained what had happened, without ever ceasing to use her keen busy eyes on the people who passed to and fro in front of us.

"Their method of corresponding was as simple as it was ingenious. It was Marcel's habit of boarding a bus every morning at nine o'clock that gave me the lead. I noticed that he always took the same bus; number sixty-three. And occupied the last seat in the left-hand corner. He would slip his little envelope in the crack of the cushioned seat and leave it there. He always got out at the Casino gardens. Somewhere farther along the route the boss would get on and find his letter or leave one.

"Bus sixty-three was their post office. On its return trip Marcel boarded it to see if anything had been left for him. As soon as I got on to this, I boarded the bus as soon as Marcel got off; copied the note, enclosed it in a fresh envelope, replaced it and got off. If I had continued to the end of the line I might have been able to spot the boss, but the risk was too great. You see, it would have been entirely out of character for Lady Wedderminster to have been found riding in the street buses."

"How could you read their letters?" I asked.

"With the dictionary it was easy. Without the dictionary their code would have baffled the greatest expert of them all. For any word beginning with A they would put down the first word that followed it in the dictionary. For a word beginning with B the second word that followed it, and so on through the alphabet. The language used was English, and to make detection more difficult all the little words such as pronouns, prepositions and articles were written in correctly."

"Where does the brown seal bag come in?"

"In the boss's final instructions to Marcel yesterday, he told him to put the half million francs in the bag, check it at the vestiare of the Casino, and send him the check in the usual manner. I found the bag in Marcel's room and obeyed instructions."

Time passed. The gamblers hurried past us with their curiously intent expressions as if they were bound on errands of life and death. The tourist party, having been taken for a tour of the rooms, streamed out of the building gaping. A ceaseless procession of motor-cars rolled up to the door, and discharged their aristocratic freight. Beyond, the sunshine was glorious on a bed of pink cyclamens.

The suspense was horrible. I was looking for something I had never seen. Suppose our man had had a warning and never turned up? One of the most difficult things in the world is to keep your attention focused on individuals in a moving crowd. Scores of faces passing one after another have a hypnotic effect. In spite of yourself they begin to blur; they all look alike. I had a dread that I might fail. I couldn't take things in quick enough. People passed with the lower part of their bodies hidden. Stop! Stop! I cried in my mind—but they were already gone.

In the end I was staring at the brown bag for a full second, I suppose, before I realised with a terrific shock that that was what I was waiting for. My heart began to pound; my eyes flew to the face of the man who carried it.... It was Turner Moale.

I had a curiously gone feeling, as if the earth had dropped from under me. Turner Moale! walking out of the vestiare as if he owned all Monte Carlo! He was clad in a Springtime symphony of greys; hat, tie, suit, spats; with yellow gloves and a yellow carnation in his buttonhole. Mme. Storey dropped her umbrella on the floor with a clatter, and the chief of detectives appeared from his place of concealment.

"Lady Wedderminster!" cried Moale gaily. "You are astir early! And going to play at the Casino too!"

"Chief!" said Mme. Storey a little grimly. "There is your man!"

That unhappy official turned as pale as paper. "But, Madame!" he protested, "Surely there is a mistake. Monsieur Turner Moale is one of our most prominent citizens!"

"Oh, quite!" said Mme. Storey. "But in that bag you will find the half million francs that were stolen from me last night."

The man's aplomb was perfect. He never turned a hair. "Why, Lady Wedderminster, what is the matter?" he asked, laughing. "You appear to be making a charge against me. How odd!"

"Monsieur, this lady is Madame Rosika Storey," said the shaken chief.

This was a facer for Moale. The moment he was told who she was, he recognised her. He took it on the chin. "So it is!" he cried gaily. "But what has it got to do with me, Monsieur?"

"Look in the bag," suggested Mme. Storey to the chief. "Here is a key. I found it in Marcel's room."

"Marcel's room!" repeated Moale sharply. His dark eyes rolled like those of a vicious horse.

"Marcel Durocher and the shock troops were arrested at Bruno's last night," she said dryly.

The chief took a look in the bag, and his hesitation vanished. He placed a hand on Turner Moale's shoulder.

"Remove your hand!" said Moale with an air of outraged dignity. The policeman obeyed. Moale instantly recovered his affability. "Let us not make a public scene," he said. "My car is here. Come to my house and we'll talk it over."

"I suggest the police station," said Mme. Storey.

Driving away in the car Moale suddenly dropped his pretence of innocence. "Lady, I salute you!" he said in his gay manner. "How did you come to pick on me?"

Mme. Storey loves a good loser. "Have a cigarette," she said. "I suspected you because I couldn't figure out where a retired actor had found the money to entertain on such a princely scale."

"You are marvellous!" he cried—but all the bravado had gone out of him. Suddenly he looked shrunken and old. I couldn't help but feel a kind of regret. It was like witnessing the destruction of a unique work of art.

Meanwhile Charlie had been sent to sit on the terrace, where he was told to read the little white book. It was the agreed signal between the gigolos. One by one they approached the reader. He sent them to Marcel's room on the pretext that they were to receive instructions there. Each one was arrested there as he came. Thus the whole bunch was rounded up in the course of the day. There was no evidence against these handsome good-for-nothings, and they were merely sent out of the principality with a warning not to return.

Mrs. Rudd likewise escaped punishment, though she was certainly an accomplice of Moale's. It seemed that her wealthy husband kept too tight a hand on the purse strings. She presently ran away with a more open-handed man, and old Amos married again.

When the trial came on, Marcel Durocher gave evidence against his associates. The three men who were arrested with him at Bruno's were the same three who had assisted at the murder of Raoul d'Aymara. Marcel related his dealings with Turner Moale in detail. He swore that, until the moment that he was brought face to face with Moale in court, he had never laid eyes on him, and didn't know who he was.

Moale was sent to prison for life—not a long term in his case; Marcel got twenty years, and the three others lesser sentences.

As for Charlie Raines, having had the adventure of his life, he was perfectly content to sail for home and take a job in the old man's stove factory. From Cherbourg he sent me a post-card with a spirited sketch of himself balancing a kitchen stove on the tip of his nose. Underneath he had written: "Ex-gigolo juggling junk!"

The Kidnapping of Madame Storey and Other Stories (Madame Storey)

Подняться наверх