The Mystery of the Boule Cabinet Part 7

"Why, it's plain enough. He had five cards in his pocket, no two alike. The sixth, selected probably at random, he had sent up to Vantine."

I saw it then, of course; and I felt a good deal as the Spanish savants must have felt when Columbus stood the egg on end. G.o.dfrey smiled again at my expression.

"The real d'Aurelle, whoever he may turn out to be, may be able to help us," he added. "If he can't, we may learn something from the Paris police. The dead man's Bertillon measurements have been cabled over to them. Even that won't help, if he has never been arrested.

And, of course, we can't get at motives until we find out something about him."

"But, G.o.dfrey," I said, "suppose you knew who he was and what he wanted with Vantine--suppose you could make a guess at who killed him and why--how was it done? That is what stumps me. How was it done?"

"Ah!" agreed G.o.dfrey. "That's it! How was it done? I told you it was a pretty case, Lester. But wait till we hear from Paris."

"That reminds me," I said, sitting up suddenly, "I've got to cable to Paris myself, on some business for Mr. Vantine."

"Not connected with this affair?"

"Oh, no; his shippers over there sent him a piece of furniture that doesn't belong to him. He asked me to straighten the matter out."

I rang for the hall-boy, asked for a cable-blank, and sent off a message to Armand & Son, telling them of the mistake and asking them to cable the name of the owner of the cabinet now in Mr. Vantine's possession. G.o.dfrey sat smoking reflectively while I was thus engaged, staring straight before him with eyes that saw nothing; but as I sat down again and took up my pipe, ready to continue the conversation, he gave himself a sort of shake, put on his hat, and got to his feet.

"I must be moving along," he said. "There's no use sitting here theorising until we have some sort of foundation to build on."

"Goldberger was right in one thing," I remarked. "He pointed out, after you left, that most crimes are not romances, but mere brutalities. Perhaps this one--"

The ringing of my telephone stopped me.

"h.e.l.lo," I said, taking down the receiver.

"Is that you, Mr. Lester?" asked a voice.

"Yes."

"This is Parks," and I suddenly realised that his voice was unfamiliar because it was hoa.r.s.e and quivering with emotion. "Could you come down to the house right away, sir?"

"Why, yes," I said, wonderingly, "if it's important. Does Mr. Vantine need me?"

"We all need you!" said the voice, and broke into a dry sob. "For G.o.d's sake, come quick, Mr. Lester!"

"All right," I said without further parley, for evidently he had lost his self-control. "Something has happened down at Vantine's," I added to G.o.dfrey, as I hung up the receiver. "Parks seems to be scared to death. He wants me to come down right away," and I reached for my hat and coat.

"Shall I come, too?" asked G.o.dfrey.

Even under the stress of the moment, I could not but smile at the question and at the tone in which it was uttered.

"Perhaps you'd better," I agreed. "It sounded pretty serious."

We went down together in the elevator, and three minutes later we had hailed a taxi and were speeding eastward toward the Avenue. It had started to drizzle, and the asphalt shone like a black mirror, dancing with the lights along either side. The streets were almost empty, for the theatre-crowd had pa.s.sed, and as we reached the Avenue and turned down-town, the driver pushed up his spark, and we hurtled along toward Fourteenth street at a speed which made me think of the traffic regulations. But no policeman interfered, and five minutes later we drew up before the Vantine place.

Parks must have been on the front steps looking for me, for he came running down them almost before the car had stopped. I caught a glimpse of his face under the street lights, as I thrust a bill into the driver's hand, and it fairly startled me.

"Is it you, Mr. Lester?" he gasped. "Good G.o.d, but I'm glad you're here--"

I caught him by the arm.

"Steady, man," I said. "Don't let yourself go to pieces. Now--what has happened?"

He seemed to take a sort of desperate grip of himself.

"I'll show you, sir," he said, and ran up the steps, along the hall, to the door of the ante-room where we had found the Frenchman's body.

"In there, sir!" he sobbed. "In there!" and clung to the wall as I opened the door and stepped inside.

The room was ablaze with light, and for an instant my eyes were so dazzled that I could distinguish nothing. Dimly I saw G.o.dfrey spring forward and drop to his knees.

Then my eyes cleared, and I saw, on the very spot where d'Aurelle had died, another body--or was it the same, brought back that the tragedy of the afternoon might, in some mysterious way, be re-enacted?

I remember bending over and peering into the face--

It was the face of Philip Vantine.

A minute must have pa.s.sed as I stood there dazed and shaken. I was conscious, in a way, that G.o.dfrey was examining him. Then I heard his voice.

"He's dead," he said.

Then there was an instant's silence.

"Lester, look here!" cried G.o.dfrey's voice, sharp, insistent. "For G.o.d's sake, look here!"

G.o.dfrey was kneeling there holding something toward me.

"Look here!" he cried again.

It was the dead man's hand he was holding; the right hand; a swollen and discoloured hand. And on the back of it, just above the knuckles, were two tiny wounds, from which a few drops of blood had trickled.

And as I stared at this ghastly sight, scarce able to believe my eyes, I heard a choking voice behind me, saying over and over again:

"It was that woman done it! It was that woman done it! d.a.m.n her! It was that woman done it!"

CHAPTER V

GRADY TAKES A HAND

I have no very clear remembrance of what happened after that. The shock was so great that I had just strength enough to totter to a chair and drop into it, and sit there staring vaguely at that dark splotch on the carpet. I told myself that I was the victim of a dreadful nightmare; that all this was the result of over-wrought nerves and that I should wake presently. No doubt I had been working too hard. I needed a vacation--well, I would take it....

And all the time I knew that it was not a nightmare, but grim reality; that Philip Vantine was dead--killed by a woman. Who had told me that? And then I remembered the sobbing voice....

Two or three persons came into the room--Parks and the other servants, I suppose; I heard G.o.dfrey's voice giving orders; and finally someone held a gla.s.s to my lips and commanded me to drink. I did so mechanically; coughed, spluttered, was conscious of a grateful warmth, and drank eagerly again. And then I saw G.o.dfrey standing over me.