The End of Her Honeymoon Part 17

"And now tell me exactly what it is that you wish me to do for you," said the Prefect, with a weary sigh, which was, however, softened by a pleasant smile. "We are not as omnipotent as our enemies make us out to be, but still we can do a good deal, and we could do a good deal more were it not for the Press! Ah, Monsieur le Senateur, that is the only thing I do not like about your great country. Your American Press sets so bad, so very bad, an example to our poor old world!"

A thin streak of colour came into Monsieur Beaucourt's cheek, a gleam of anger sparkled in his grey eyes.

"Yes, greatly owing to the bad example set in America, and of late in England too, quite a number of misguided people nowadays go to the Press before they come to us for redress! All too soon," he shook a warning finger, "they find they have entered a mouse-trap from which escape is impossible. They rattle at the bars--but no, they are caught fast! Once they have brought those indefatigable, those indiscreet reporters on the scene, it is too late to draw back. They find all their most private affairs dragged into the light of day, and even we can do very little for them then!"

Senator Burton nodded gravely. He wished his son were there to hear these words.

"And now let us return to our muttons," said the Prefect leaning forward.

"I understand from the President of the Senate that you require my help in a rather delicate and mysterious matter."

"I do not know that the matter is particularly delicate, though it is certainly mysterious," and then Senator Burton explained, in as few and clear words as possible, the business which had brought him there--the disappearance, three days before, of the English artist, John Dampier, and of the present sad plight of Dampier's wife.

Monsieur Beaucourt threw himself back in his chair. His face lit up, it lost its expression of apathetic fatigue; and his first quick questions showed him a keen and clever cross-examiner.

At once he seized on the real mystery, and that though the Senator had not made more of it than he could help. That was the discrepancy in the account given by the Poulains and by Mrs. Dampier respectively as to the lady's arrival at the hotel.

But even Monsieur Beaucourt failed to elicit the fact that Senator Burton's acquaintance with Mrs. Dampier was of such short standing. He a.s.sumed that she was a friend of the Burton family, and the Senator allowed the a.s.sumption to go by default.

"The story you have told me," the Prefect said at last, "is a very curious story, Monsieur le Senateur. But here we come across stranger things every day. Still, certain details make the disappearance of this English gentleman rather stranger than usual. I gather that the vanished man's wife is a charming person?"

"Extremely charming!" said the Senator quickly. "And I should say quite truthful--in fact this discrepancy between her account and that of the Poulains has worried and perplexed me very much."

"Do not let that worry you," said the other thoughtfully. "If this young lady, your friend, be telling the truth, it is very probable that the Poulains began to lie in the hope of avoiding trouble for themselves: having lied they found themselves obliged to stick to their story. You see just now our hotel-keepers are coining gold, and they do not like this very pleasant occupation of theirs interrupted, for even the best of reasons. If this gentleman left the hotel the same night that he arrived there--as I can see you yourself are inclined to believe, Monsieur le Senateur--then you may be sure that the hotel people, even if they did see him for a few moments, would not care to admit that they had done so. I therefore advise that we put them and their account of what took place out of our minds.

From what you tell me, you have already done what I may call the usual things?"

"Yes," said Senator Burton frankly. "My son and I have done everything which common sense could suggest to us. Thus we at once gave a description of the missing man to the police station of the quarter where both the Hotel Saint Ange and Mr. Dampier's studio are situated. But, owing doubtless to the fact that all your officials are just now very busy and very overworked, we did not get quite as much attention paid to the case as I should have liked. I do not feel quite sure even now that the missing man did not meet with a street accident."

"I can ascertain that for you in a moment."

Again the Prefect pressed a pedal. A panel, and this time a different panel from the first, slid back, and again the secretary appeared.

Monsieur Beaucourt said a brief word or two, and a few moments later a tabulated list, written in round-hand, lay before him.

"Here are all the accidents which have occurred in Paris during the last ninety hours."

He ran his eyes down the list; and then, rising, handed the sheets to Senator Burton.

"I think this disposes of the idea that an accident may have befallen your friend in the streets," said the Prefect briefly.

And the Senator, handing back the list, acknowledged that this was so.

"May I ask if you know much of the habits and way of life of this vanished bridegroom?" asked the Prefect thoughtfully. "I understand he belongs to the British Colony here."

"Mr. Dampier was not my friend," said the Senator hurriedly. "It is Mrs.

Dampier--"

"Ah, yes--I understand--the three weeks' bride? It is she you know. Well, Monsieur le Senateur, the best thing you and I can do is to look at the artist's dossier. That is quite likely to provide us with a useful clue."

The Senator felt a thrill of antic.i.p.atory interest. All his life he had heard of the dossiers kept by the Paris police, of how every dweller in the great city, however famous, however obscure, had a record in which the most intimate details of their lives were set down in black and white. Somehow he had never quite believed in these French police dossiers.

"Surely you are not likely to have a dossier of Mr. Dampier?" he exclaimed, "he is a British subject, and, as far as I know, a perfectly respectable man."

The Prefect smiled. "The mere fact that he is an English subject living in Paris ent.i.tles him to a dossier. In fact everybody who is anybody in any kind of society, from that frequented by the Apaches to that of the Faubourg Saint Germain, has a dossier. And from what you tell me this artist, who won a Salon medal, and who has already had a distinguished career as a painter, is certainly 'somebody.' Now, please tell me exactly the way to spell his surname and his Christian name. English names are so perplexing."

Very clearly the Senator spelt out--first the word "John" and then the word "Dampier."

And as, under his dictation, the Prefect of Police wrote the two distinctive names of the missing man, there came a look of frowning perplexity and indecision over his face.

"It's an odd thing," he muttered, "but I seem to have heard that name quite lately, and in some strange connection! Now what could it have been? As you probably know, Monsieur le Senateur, there is a French form of that name, Dampierre. But no--it is that John which puzzles me--I am quite sure that I have heard the name 'John Dampier' quite recently."

"Isn't it likely," suggested the Senator, "that the man's disappearance has been reported to you? My son and I have done everything in our power to make the fact known, and Mr. Dampier's name and particulars as to his appearance have been at the Morgue since yesterday."

"Well, that's possible, of course. Just now my poor head has to hold far more than it was ever meant to do. The presence of so many royal personages in Paris always means extra trouble for me--especially when they are here 'incognito.' By the way, it would amuse, perhaps shock you, to see the dossiers of some of these Princes and Grand Dukes! But these are, of course, kept very secret. Meanwhile, I must not forget Mr. John Dampier."

This time the Prefect did not ring his bell. Instead he blew down a tube.

"You would scarcely believe it," he said, looking up suddenly, "but these tubes have only just been installed! I had a regular battle over the matter with the Treasury. But now that the battle is won, I forget half the time that the tube is there! Picot? Please send me the dossier of an artist-painter called John Dampier," he spelt the names. "English subject; living in Impa.s.se des Nonnes. I have an impression that we have had that name before us during the last week or so--Have you any recollection of it?"

He put the tube to his ear.

And then the American Senator, looking at the Paris Prefect of Police, was struck by a sudden change which came over the listener's face. There gathered on Monsieur Beaucourt's features a look of quick surprise, followed--yes, unmistakably--by a frown of dismay.

Putting his free hand over the tube, he withdrew it from his ear and applied it to his lips. "Yes, yes," he said rapidly, "enough, enough! I quite understand. It is, as you say, very natural that I should have forgotten."

And then he looked quickly across at the Senator. "You are right, Monsieur le Senateur: Mr. Dampier's name was put before me only yesterday as that of an Englishman who had disappeared from his hotel. But I took him to be a pa.s.sing visitor. You know quite a number of the tourists brought by the Exhibition disappear, sometimes for two or three days--sometimes--well, for ever! That, of course, means they have left Paris suddenly, having got into what the English call a 'sc.r.a.pe.' In such a case a man generally thinks it better to go home--wiser if sadder than when he came."

There followed a pause.

"Well, Monsieur le Senateur," said the Prefect, rising from his chair. "You may rest a.s.sured that I will do everything that is in my power to find your friend."

"But the dossier?" exclaimed Senator Burton. "I thought, Monsieur le Prefet, that I was to see Mr. Dampier's dossier?"

"Oh, to be sure--yes! I beg your pardon."

Again he whistled down the tube. "Picot?" he exclaimed, "I still require that dossier! Why am I kept waiting in this way?"

He listened for a few moments to what his invisible subordinate had to say, and then again he spoke down the funnel, and with a certain pettish impatience. "The last entry is of no importance--understand me--no importance at all! The gentleman for whose benefit I require the dossier already knows of this Mr. Dampier's disappearance."

A moment later a clerk knocked at the door, and appeared with a blue envelope which he laid with a deep bow on the Prefect's table.

It was not a very large envelope, and yet Senator Burton was surprised at its size, and at the number of slips of paper the Prefect of Police withdrew from it.

"I do not suppose, Monsieur le Senateur, that you have ever seen one of our dossiers--in fact I may tell you that very few people outside this building ever do see one. By the way, a great deal of nonsense is talked about them.

Roughly speaking, a dossier is not a history of the individual in question; it simply records what is being said of him. For instance, the day that I became Prefect of Police my dossier was brought to me--"

He smiled wearily.

"Your dossier?" repeated the Senator in amazement.