The Mystery of the Boule Cabinet: A Detective Story, Burton Egbert Stevenson [general ebook reader .txt] 📗

hand to fit the metal inlay midway of the left side.

"It is a little awkward," she said. "I have always been accustomed to using the left hand. You will notice that I am pressing on three points; but to open the drawer, one must press these points in a certain order—- first this one, then this one, and then this one."

There was a sharp click, and, at the side of the table, a piece of the metal inlay fell forward.

"That is the handle," said the veiled lady, and, without an instant's hesitation, while my heart stood still, she grasped it and drew out a shallow drawer. "Ah!" and, casting aside the ridiculous gauntlet, she caught up the packet of papers which lay within. Then, with an effort, she controlled herself, slipped off the ribbon which held the packet together, and spread out before my eyes ten or twelve envelopes. "You will see that they are only letters, Mr. Lester," she said in a low voice, "and I assure you that they belong to me."

"I believe you, madame," I said, and with a sigh of relief that was almost a sob, she rebound the packet and slipped it into the bosom of her gown. "There is one thing," I added, "which madame can, perhaps, do for me."

"I shall be most happy!" she breathed.

"As I have told Mr. Hornblower," I continued, "two men died in this room the day before yesterday. Or, rather, it was in the room beyond that they died; but we believed it was here they received the wounds which caused death. It seems that we were wrong in this."

"Undoubtedly," she agreed. "There has never been any such weird mechanism as you described connected with that drawer, Mr. Lester. At least, not since I have had it. There is a legend, you know, that the cabinet was made for Madame de Montespan."

She was talking more freely now; evidently a great load had been lifted from her—perhaps I did not guess how great!

"Mr. Vantine suspected as much," I said. "He was a connoisseur of furniture, and there was something about this cabinet which told him it had belonged to the Montespan. He was examining it at the time he died. What the other man was doing, we do not know, but if we could identify him, it might help us."

"You have not identified him?"

"We know nothing whatever about him, except that he was presumably a
Frenchman, and that he arrived on La Touraine, two days ago."

"That is the boat upon which I came over."

"It has occurred to me, madame, that you may have seen him—that he may even be known to you."

"What was his name?"

"The card he sent in to Mr. Vantine bore the name of Théophile d'Aurelle."

She shook her head.

"I have never before heard that name, Mr. Lester."

"We believe it to have been an assumed name," I said; "but perhaps you will recognise this photograph," and I drew it from my pocket and handed it to her.

She took it, looked at it, and again shook her head. Then she looked at it again, turning aside and raising her veil in order to see it better.

"There seems to be something familiar about the face," she said, at last, "as though I might have seen the man somewhere."

"On the boat, perhaps," I suggested, but I knew very well it was not on the boat, since the man had crossed in the steerage.

"No; it was not on the boat. I did not leave my stateroom on the boat. But I am quite sure that I have seen him—and yet I can't say where."

"Perhaps," I said, in a low voice, "he may have been one of the friends of your husband."

I saw her hand tremble under the blow, but it had to be struck. And she was brave.

"The same thought occurred to me, Mr. Lester," she answered; "but I know very few of my husband's friends; certainly not this one. And yet…. Perhaps my maid can help us."

Photograph in hand, she stepped through the doorway into the outer room. The maid was sitting on the chair where we had left her; her hands clenched tightly together in her lap, as though it was only by some violent effort she could maintain her self-control.

"Julie," said the veiled lady, in rapid French, "I have here the photograph of a man who was killed in this room most mysteriously a few days ago. These gentlemen wish to identify him. The face seems to me somehow familiar, but I cannot place it. Look at it."

Julie put forth a shaking hand, took the photograph, and glanced at it; then, with a long sigh, slid limply to the floor, before either Godfrey or I could catch her.

As she fell, her veil, catching on the chair-back, was torn away; and, looking down at her, a great emotion burst within me, for I recognised the mysterious woman whose photograph d'Aurelle had carried in his watch-case.

CHAPTER XV THE SECRET OF THE UNKNOWN FRENCHMAN

For a moment, I stood spell-bound, staring down at that jaded and passion-stained countenance; then Godfrey sprang forward and lifted the unconscious woman to the couch.

"Bring some water," he said, and as he turned and looked at me, I saw that his face was glowing with excitement.

I rushed to the door and snatched it open. Rogers was standing in the hall outside, and I sent him hurrying for the water, and turned back into the room.

Godfrey was chafing the girl's hands, and the veiled lady was bending over her, fumbling at the hooks of her bodice. Evidently she could not see them, for, with a sudden movement, she put back her veil. My heart warmed to her at that act of sacrifice; and after a single glance at her, I turned away my eyes.

I saw Godfrey's start of recognition as he looked down at her; then he, too, looked aside.

"Here's the water, sir," said Rogers, and handed me glass and pitcher.

The next instant, his eyes fell upon the woman on the couch. He stood staring, his face turning slowly purple; then, clutching at his throat, he half-turned and fell, just as I had seen him do once before.

Hornblower, who was staring at the unconscious woman and mopping his face feverishly, spun around at the crash.

"Well, I'll be damned!" he said, in a hoarse voice, as he saw Rogers extended on the floor at his feet. "What's the matter with this house, anyway?"

So great was the tension on my nerves that I could scarcely restrain a shout of laughter. I turned it into a shout for Parks; but his face, when he appeared on the threshold, was too much for me, and I sank into a chair, laughing hysterically.

"For God's sake!" Parks began….

"It's all right," Godfrey broke in, sharply, "Rogers has had another fit. Get the ammonia!"

Parks staggered away, and Mr. Hornblower sat down weakly.

"I don't see the joke!" he growled, glaring at me, his face crimson.

"Get a grip of yourself, Lester," said Godfrey, savagely, seized the pitcher from my hand, and hurried with it to madame.

I did get a grip of myself, and when Parks came back a moment later with the ammonia, was able to hold up Rogers's head, while Parks applied the phial to his nostrils.

"Give me a whiff of it, too, Parks," I said, unsteadily, and in an instant my eyes were streaming; but I had escaped hysteria. "Straighten Rogers out and let him lie there," I gasped, and sat dizzily down upon the floor. But I dared not look at Hornblower. I felt that another glance at his dazed countenance would send me off again.

Madame, meanwhile, had dashed some water into the face of the unconscious Julie—much to the detriment of her complexion!—watched her a moment, then stood erect and lowered her veil.

"She will soon be all right again," she said; and, truly enough, at the end of a few seconds, the girl opened her eyes and looked dazedly about her. Then a violent trembling seized her.

"What is it, Julie?" asked her mistress, taking her hand. "You knew this man?"

A hoarse sob was the only answer.

"You must tell me," went on madame, quietly but firmly. "Perhaps a crime has been committed. You must tell me everything. You may rely upon the discretion of these gentlemen. You knew this man?"

The girl nodded, and closed her eyes; but the hot tears brimmed from them and ran down over her cheeks.

"In Paris?"

The girl nodded again.

"He was your lover?"

A third nod, and a fresh flood of tears.

"I remember, now," said madame, suddenly. "I saw him with her once. What was he doing in this house?" she went on, more sternly. "Tell us!"

"Madame will never forgive me!" sobbed the girl, and I began to think that she was more concerned for herself than for her lover. The same thought occurred to her mistress too, no doubt, for her voice hardened.

"Try me," she said. "Understand well, you must tell—if not here, then before an officer of the police."

"Oh, no, no!" screamed Julie, sitting suddenly erect. "Never that! I could not bear that! Madame would not be so cruel!"

"Then tell us now!" said the veiled lady, inexorably.

"Very well, madame!" cried the girl, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, and speaking in a mixture of French and English which I shall not attempt to transcribe. "I will tell; I will tell everything. After all, I was not to blame. It was that creature. I did not love him—but I feared him. He possessed a power over me. He could make me do anything. He even beat me! And still I went back to him!"

"What was his name?" asked the veiled lady.

"Georges Drouet—he lived in the Rue de la Huchette, just off the Rue Saint Jacques—on the top floor, under the gutters. He was bad—bad; —he lived off women. I met him six months ago. He knew how to fascinate one; I thought he loved me. Then he began to borrow money from me, until he had taken all that I had saved; then my rings —every one!" She held up her hands to show their bareness. "Then…."

She stopped and glanced at her mistress.

"Continue!" said the latter. "Tell what you have to tell."

"I knew that madame also…."

She stopped again. I walked over to the window and stood staring at the wooden shutter, strangely moved.

"Well, why not?" she demanded fiercely, and I felt that she was addressing my turned back. "Why not? Shall a woman not be loved? Shall a woman endure what madame endured…."

"That will do, Julie," broke in the veiled lady, her voice cold as ice. "Tell your story."

"I knew of the secret drawer; I had seen madame open it; I knew what it contained. But I was faithful to madame; I loved her; I was glad that she had found some one…. Madame will remember her despair, her horror, when she entered her room to find the cabinet gone, taken away, sold by that…. I, too, was in despair—I desired with my whole soul to help madame. That night I had a rendezvous with him," and she nodded toward the photograph which lay upon the floor. "I told him."

Her mistress stood as though turned to stone. I could guess her anguish and humiliation.

"He questioned me—he learned everything—the drawer, how it was opened—all. But I did not suspect what was in his mind—not for an instant did I suspect. But on the boat I saw him, and then I knew. Well, he has got what he deserved!"

She shivered and pressed her hands against her eyes.

"I think that is all, madame," she added, hoarsely.

"It is all of that story," said Godfrey, in a crisp voice; "but there is another."

"Another?" echoed the veiled lady, looking at him.

"Ask her, madame, for what purpose she called at this house, night before last, and saw Philip Vantine in this room."

"I did not!" shrieked the girl, her face ablaze. "It is a lie!"

"She does not need to tell!" went on Godfrey inexorably. "Any fool could guess. She came for the letters! She had resolved herself to blackmail you, madame!"

"It is a lie!" shrieked the girl again. "I came hoping to save her —to…."

A storm of angry sobbing choked her.

I could see how the veiled lady was trembling. I