The Sins of Severac Bablon Part 48

Entering the dining-room, with its ma.s.sive old oak furniture, de Guise, who found something uncomfortably fascinating in the eye of the partner, lighted a cigarette and took up a position on the rug before the fire, hands characteristically locked behind him.

"This is the Greuze," said Dr. Lepardo, pointing.

The Count, with the others, turned to look at the picture.

_Click! Click!_

He was securely handcuffed.

With an animal scream of rage the Count turned upon Lepardo, the vein throbbing on his temple, his eyes glaring in maniacal fury. He sought to speak, but only a slight froth rose to his lips; no word could he utter.

"Sit down in that chair," said Dr Lepardo.

With a gurgling scream de Guise's fury found utterance.

"Release me immediately. What----"

_"Sit down!"_

De Guise ground his white teeth together. The pulsing vein on his brow seemed like to burst. He dropped into a chair, trembling and quivering with pa.s.sionate anger.

"You--shall--pay for--this!"

"My friend," said Lepardo, turning to the man who had carried the bag, "this gentleman"--nodding at his companion in the tweed suit--"would like to hear who you are, and for what you visited Moorgate Place last evening."

"I am Lawrence Guthrie," explained the young man, "and yesterday, much against my inclinations, but to prevent Graham's exposing the state of my affairs to my father, I was forced to leave with him, as security for fifty pounds, a Turkish yataghan worth considerably more."

"Stop! When I came to your Bart's last night, what did I tell you?"

"That Graham had been murdered with my yataghan."

"Well?"

"You said that the crime looked like the work of an old hand, for the murderer had worn gloves. You told me that you had recognised, in one of the victim's most important creditors, a notorious French criminal, Andre Legun----"

The Count, deathly pale, his throbbing forehead wet as if douched, drew a long, hissing breath. His eyes stared gla.s.sily at Dr. Lepardo.

"By what means?"

"By certain facial peculiarities."

"Rule 85."

"And particularly by a vein in his left temple, only visible when he was roused. You had secured, by a trick----"

"Article Six."

"An imprint of his thumb upon a cheque. This you had compared with certain in your possession--and forwarded to Paris."

"Unnecessary, but a usual form."

"You had secured from the grate in his study a pocketful of ash, some sc.r.a.ps of torn leather--bloodstained--and some few other fragments.

These you and I spent the night examining and arranging. Amongst the ashes was a patent glove b.u.t.ton, also bloodstained."

"What have I yet to find?"

"A pair of boots."

"I depart to find them."

Dr. Lepardo quitted the room. Count de Guise followed him with his eyes until he had disappeared. No one spoke nor stirred until the brown old doctor returned, carrying a pair of glace kid boots.

He placed them on the table beside the bag and pointed a long finger at a gap in one row of b.u.t.tons.

"Scotland Yard can complete the set, Andre," he said with grim humour.

"In this bag are the results of our examination. In your grate are more ashes and fragments for the English Home Office to check us by. In this bag is a complete account of how you came to Moorgate Place, knocked at Gottschalk's door and were admitted. I do not know how you had _meant_ to kill him, but the yataghan, left on his table by Mr. Guthrie, was tempting, eh? You then commenced to collect certain letters and papers, Andre. You tore from his private book the page containing your little account. Then you tore out others, to blind us all. You had begun upon the letter files when you were interrupted by one entering with a key.

That was fortunate. It was file G you had commenced upon, Andre. And one of the torn pages was G. So I knew that you were a G, too, my friend.

With what you took from the safe and with the letters and other papers, you slipped down the back stair you knew of into Copthall Avenue. By my great good luck, and not by my skill, I get upon your trail. But by my skill I trap you."

The prisoner, whose handsome face now had a.s.sumed a leaden hue, whose eyes were set in a fixed stare of horror and hatred, spoke slowly, clearly.

"You talk nonsense. You taunt me, to drive me mad. I ask you--who are you? You are not Levi, you are some spy."

Dr. Lepardo, or M. Isidor Levi, removed a grey wig and a pair of spectacles and seemed by some relaxation of the facial muscles, to melt out of existence, leaving in his place a heavy-eyed man, with stained skin and thin, straggling hair.

De Guise, as though an unseen hand pushed him, stepped back--and back--and back--until a heavy oak chair prevented further retreat.

There--like a mined fortress, hitherto staunch, defiant--he seemed to crumble up.

"The good G.o.d!" he whispered. "It is _Victor Lemage_!"

"Andre Legun--Chevalier d'Oysan--Comte de Guise," said the famous criminologist, "Paris wants you, but London now has a better claim. So, when I have stolen back my cheque from your pocket-book, I hand you over to London."

With the bravado of the true French criminal, Legun forced a smile to his lips.

"It is finished, Victor," he said, dropping his affected manner and speaking with an exaggerated low Paris accent. "I am glad it was you, and not some stupid policeman of England who took me. Well, who cares? I have had a short life but a merry one. You know, Victor, that my misfortune in being the son of an aristocrat has pursued me always. I have such refined tastes, and such a skill with the cards. You recall the little house near the fortifications? But the inevitable run of bad luck came. One question. Why"--he glanced at the Russian-looking man with something like fear creeping again into his bold eyes--"why do you hunt me down?"

The black beard and moustache were pulled off in a second by their wearer, revealing a face of severely cla.s.sic beauty. Lawrence Guthrie stared hard.

"Mr. Guthrie," said the whilom Russian, "behold me at your mercy. You know me innocent of one, at least, of the sins ascribed to me. I am Severac Bablon."

Guthrie hesitated for one tremendous moment; he looked from the handsome face of the most notorious man in Europe to that of his companion who wore the tweed suit, and whom he knew to be H. T. Sheard, the well-known member of the _Gleaner_ staff. His decision was made. He stretched out his hand and took that of Severac Bablon.

"You ask," said the latter sternly to Legun, "why we have hunted you down. I answer--first, in the sacred interest of Justice; second, because you imputed your vile crime to _me_."

"What! To _you_? No! never!"

Victor Lemage's eyelids lifted quickly.