Читать книгу 30 Suspense and Thriller Masterpieces - Гилберт Кит Честертон, Eleanor Bron, Томас Харди (Гарди) - Страница 9

M. Vicart, sub-director of the Police Department, was in an execrable humor.

In all his long career such a thing had never happened before. In spite of the established rule, he had been deprived of his New Year holiday, which he usually spent in visits to governmental officials capable of influencing his advancement.

He had been ordered to his office. His morning had been spent in endless discussions with M. Annion, his director. Numerous telegrams, interviews, work of all kinds instead of his customary rest. Besides, he had received from his friends only 318 visiting cards instead of 384, last year's number. It was most annoying. He was engaged in recounting his cards when a clerk announced the visit of detective Juve.

"Send him in at once."

In a few moments Juve entered.

Juve had not changed. In spite of his forty-odd years, he was still young looking, active, persevering and daring.

For some time past he had been left very much to his own devices in his tracking of the elusive Fantômas, and he was rarely called in to assist in the pursuit of other criminals. Therefore he realized that it was an affair of the very first importance which called for his presence in M. Vicart's office.

The detective found M. Vicart seated at his desk in the badly lighted room.

"My dear Juve, you are probably surprised at being sent for to-day."

"A little … yes."

"Well, you probably know that the King of Hesse-Weimar, Frederick-Christian II, has been staying incognito in Paris?"

Juve nodded. He did not think it necessary to mention the incident that had occasioned this visit.[1]

"Now, Christian II has, or rather had, a mistress, Susy d'Orsel, a demi-mondaine. Were you aware of that?"

"No, what of it?"

"This woman has been murdered … or rather … has not been murdered … you understand, Juve, has not been murdered."

"Has not been murdered, very well!"

"Now, this woman who has not been murdered threw herself out of the window last night at three o'clock; in a word, she committed suicide, at the precise moment when Frederick-Christian was taking supper with her … you grasp my meaning?"

"No, I don't. What are you trying to get at?"

"Why, it's as clear as day, Juve … the scandal! especially as the local magistrate had the stupidity to arrest the King."

"The King has been arrested … I don't understand! Then it wasn't suicide?"

"That is what must be established."

"And I am to take charge of the investigation?"

"I put it in your hands."

When M. Vicart had explained the circumstances of the case, Juve summed up:

"In a word, Frederick-Christian II went to see his mistress last night, she threw herself out of the window, the King was arrested for murder; he put in a denial, claiming that a third person was present, this third person escaped, an inadmissible hypothesis, since nobody saw him and the door to the servant's staircase was locked … this morning the King was set at liberty, and we have now to find out whether a crime was really committed or whether it was a case of suicide… . Is that it?"

"That is it! But you're going ahead pretty fast. You don't realize, Juve, the seriousness of the supposition you formulate so freely… . You must know whether it's murder or suicide! Of course! Of course!… but you are too precise… . A King a murderer … that isn't possible. There would be terrible diplomatic complications… . It's a case of suicide… . Susy d'Orsel committed suicide beyond a doubt."

Juve smiled slightly.

"That has to be proved, hasn't it?"

"Certainly it must be proved. The accident happened at number 247 Rue de Monceau. Go there, question the concièrge … the only witness… . In a word, bring us the proof of suicide in written form. We can then send a report to the press and stifle the threatened scandal."

Juve rose.

"I will begin an immediate investigation," he replied, smiling, "and M. Vicart, you may depend upon me to use all means in my power to clear up the affair … entirely and impartially."

When Juve had gone, M. Vicart realized a sense of extreme uneasiness.

"Impartially!… the deuce!"

Hurriedly he left his office and made his way through the halls to his chief, M. Annion. His first care must be to cover his own responsibility in the matter.

M. Annion, cold and impassive, listened to his recital in silence and then broke out:

"You have committed a blunder, M. Vicart. I told you this morning to put a detective on the case who would bring us a report along the lines that we desire. I pointed out to you the gravity of the situation."

"But … " protested M. Vicart.

"Let me finish… . I thought I had made myself quite clear on that point and now, you actually give the commission to Juve!"

"Exactly, Monsieur! I gave Juve the commission because he is our most expert detective."

"That I don't deny, and therefore Juve is certain to discover the truth! It is an unpardonable blunder."

At this moment a clerk entered with a telegram. M. Annion opened it quickly and read it.

"Ah! this is enough to bring about the fall of the Ministry. Listen!"

"The Minister of Hesse-Weimar to the Secretary of the Interior, Place Beauvau, Paris—Numerous telegrams addressed to his Majesty the King of Hesse-Weimar, at present staying incognito at the Royal Palace Hotel, Avenue des Champs Elysées, remainunanswered, in spite of their extreme urgence. The Minister of Hesse-Weimar begs the Secretary of the Interior of France to kindly make inquiries and to send him the assurance that his Majesty the King of Hesse-Weimar is in possession of these diplomatic telegrams."

M. Annion burst out.

"There now! Pretty soon they'll be accusing us of intercepting the telegrams … Frederick-Christian doesn't answer! How can I help that! I suppose he's weeping over the death of his mistress. And now that fellow Juve has taken a hand in it! I tell you. Monsieur Vicart, we're in a nice fix!"

While M. Annion was unburdening his mind to M. Vicart, Juve left the Ministry whistling a march, and hailed a cab to take him to the Rue Monceau.

He quite understood what was required of him, but his professional pride, his independence and his innate honesty of purpose determined him to ferret out the truth regardless of consequences.

As a matter of fact, the presence of the King in Paris was, in part, to render a service to Juve himself.[2]

If, therefore, the hypothesis of suicide could be verified, Juve would be able to be of use to the King; if, on the other hand, it had to be rejected, his report would prove that fact.

On arriving at the Rue de Monceau, Juve went straight to the concièrge's office and having shown his badge, began to question her:

"Tell me, Madame Ceiron, did you see the King when he came to pay his visit to his mistress?"

"No, Monsieur. I saw nothing at all. I was in bed … the bell rang, I opened the door … the King called out as usual, 'the Duke of Haworth'—it's the name he goes by—and then he went upstairs, but I didn't see him."

"Was he alone?"

"Ah, that's what everyone asks me! Of course he was alone … the proof being that when they went up and found poor Mlle. Susy, nobody else was there, so … "

Juve interrupted:

"All right. Now, tell me, did Mlle. Susy d'Orsel expect any other visitor? Any friend?"

"Nobody that I knew of … at least that's what she said to her lace-maker—one of my tenants … a very good young girl, Mlle. Marie Pascal—She said like this—'I'm expecting my lover,' but she mentioned nobody else."

"And this Marie Pascal is the last person who saw Susy d'Orsel alive, excepting, of course, the King? The servants had gone to bed?"

"Oh, Monsieur, the maid wasn't there. Justine came down about eleven, she said good-night to me as she went by … while Marie Pascal didn't go up before eleven-thirty or a quarter to twelve."

"Very well, I'll see Mlle. Pascal later. Another question, Mme. Ceiron: did any of your tenants leave the house after the crime … I mean after the death?"

"No, Monsieur."

"Mlle. Susy d'Orsel's apartment is reached by two staircases. Do you know if the door to the one used by the servants was locked?"

"That I can't tell you, Monsieur, all I know is that Justine generally locked it when she went out."

"And while you were away hunting the doctor and the police, did you leave the door of the house open?"

"Ah, no, Monsieur, to begin with, I didn't go out. I have a telephone in my room, besides I never leave the door open."

"Is Justine in her room now?"

"No, I have the key, which means that she's out … she's probably looking after funeral arrangements of the poor young girl."

"Mlle. d'Orsel had no relations?"

"I don't think so, Monsieur."

"Is Marie Pascal in?"

"Yes … sixth floor to the right at the end of the hall."

"Then I will go up and see her. Thanks very much for your information, Madame."

"You're very welcome, Monsieur. Ah, this wretched business isn't going to help the house. I still have two apartments unrented."

Juve did not wait to hear the good woman's lamentations but hurriedly climbed the flights of stairs and knocked on the door indicated.

It was opened by a young girl.

"Mademoiselle Marie Pascal?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"Can I see you for a couple of minutes? I am a detective and have charge of investigating the death of Mlle. d'Orsel."

Mlle. Pascal led the way into her modest room, which was bright and sunny with a flowered paper on the walls, potted plants and a bird-cage. She then began a recital of the interview she had had with Susy. This threw no fresh light upon the case and at the end, Juve replied:

"To sum it up, Mademoiselle, you know only one thing, that Mlle. d'Orsel was waiting for her lover, that she told you she was not very happy, but did not appear especially sad or cast down … in fact, neither her words nor her attitude showed any thought of attempted suicide. Am I not right?"

Marie Pascal hesitated; she seemed worried over something; at length she spoke up:

"I do know more."

"What?"

Juve, to cover the young girl's confusion, had turned his head away while putting the last question.

"Why," he remarked, "you can see Mlle. d'Orsel's apartment from your windows!"

"Yes, Monsieur, and that … "

"Were you in bed when the suicide took place?"

"No … I was not in bed, I saw … "

"Ah! You saw! What did you see?"

"Monsieur, I haven't spoken to a soul about it; in fact, I'm not sure I wasn't mistaken, it all happened so quickly… . I was getting a breath of fresh air at the window, I noticed her apartment was lighted up, I could see that through the curtains, and I said to myself, her lover must have arrived."

"Well, what then?"

"Then suddenly some one pulled back the hall-window curtains, then the window was flung open and I thought I saw a man holding Mlle. d'Orsel by the shoulders … she was struggling but without crying out … finally he threw her out of the window, then the light was extinguished and I saw nothing more."

"But you called for help?"

"Ah, Monsieur, I'm afraid I didn't act as I should have. I lost my head, you understand … I left my room and was on my way downstairs to help the poor woman … and then I heard voices, doors slamming … I was afraid the murderer might kill me, too, so I hurried back to my room."

"According to you, then, it was not a suicide?"

"Oh, no, Monsieur … I am quite sure she was thrown out of the window by some man."

"Some man? But, Mademoiselle, you know Susy d'Orsel was alone with the King, so that man must be the King."

Marie Pascal gave a dubious shrug.

"You know the King?" Juve asked.

"Yes, I sold him laces. I saw him through an open door."

"And you are not sure that he is or is not the murderer?"

"No, I don't know, that's why I've said nothing about it. I'm not sure of anything."

"Pardon, Mademoiselle, but it seems to me you don't quite grasp the situation … what is it you are not sure of?"

"Whether it was the King who killed poor Mlle. Susy."

"But you are sure it was a man who killed Mlle. d'Orsel?"

"Yes, Monsieur … and I am also sure it was a thin, tall man … in fact, some one of the same build as the King."

"Well, Mademoiselle, I cannot see why you have kept this knowledge to yourself, it is most important, for it does away with the theory of suicide, it proves that a crime has been committed."

"Yes, but if it wasn't the King, it would be terrible to suspect him unjustly … that is what stopped me … "

"It must no longer stop you. If the King is a murderer, he must be punished like any other man; if he is innocent, the guilty man must be caught. You haven't spoken of this to the concièrge?"

Marie Pascal smiled.

"No, Monsieur, Mme. Ceiron is rather a gossip."

"I understand, but now you need keep silence no longer; in fact, I should be glad if you would spread your news … talk of it freely and I, on my side, will notify my chief… . I may add that we shall not be long in clearing up this mystery."

Juve had a reason for giving this advice. The more gossip, the less chance would the police department have to stifle the investigation.

Marie Pascal slept badly that night. She was too intelligent not to realize that her deposition had convinced Juve of the guilt of the King, and this troubled her greatly. She, herself, was persuaded that she had seen the King throw Susy out of the window, although she had had no time to identify him positively and the young girl was alarmed at the importance of her testimony.

However, she determined to follow Juve's advice and spread the gossip. With that purpose she went down to see Mother Ceiron. As the concièrge was not in her room she called through the hallway:

"Madame Ceiron!… Madame Ceiron!"

A man's voice answered and a laundryman came downstairs carrying a basket.

"The concièrge is on the sixth floor, Mademoiselle. I passed her as I was going up to get M. de Sérac's laundry."

"Ah, thank you, then I will wait for her."

Marie Pascal took a seat in the office, but at the end of ten minutes she became bored and decided to go out and get a breath of the fresh morning air.

As she reached the entrance she noticed an article of clothing lying on the ground.

"A woman's chemise," she exclaimed, picking it up. "The laundryman must have dropped it."

Then suddenly she grew pale and retraced her steps to the office.

"Good God!" she cried, leaning for support upon the back of a chair.