The Temptress
Page 33
weary of themonotony of country life. In her discontented mood her surroundingswere dull and uninteresting, while the local people she met lackedpolish and _chic_, which, to her eyes, were the two necessaryqualifications in acquaintances. Nothing was extraordinary in this,however. Women of the world meet in their life so many men and women--young, middle aged, and old--who commit all sorts of absurdities for oraround them, that they end by entertaining a sovereign contempt for thewhole human race, placing all persons in the same category. In eachwoman they see only an individual to impose upon and outvie in thematter of dress, and each fresh specimen of the genus man which isbrought before them they regard only as a lamb destined for thesacrifice after being sufficiently shorn.
It was in consequence of an earnest wish she expressed that they hadleft Cornwall and travelled to Paris, taking up their abode at the HotelContinental.
Lounging in a capacious chair in the smoking-room, Hugh was scanningsome letters he had just received. A few days had elapsed since theirarrival, and this morning Valerie had gone out alone in order to visither milliner in the Rue de la Paix. Left to his own resources, herhusband had taken the letters that Jacob had forwarded to him, and,repairing to the smoking-room, endeavoured to amuse himself with theircontents.
One which he had read and still held in his hand caused him to twirl hismoustache thoughtfully and knit his brows.
Upon a half sheet of notepaper one sentence only was written, in a fineangular hand, and read:
"If you obtain a copy of the Paris newspaper, _Le Gaulois_, for 10thMay, 1886, you will find in it something that will interest you."
It was dated from Chelsea, and signed by Dolly Vivian.
"Now, I wonder what on earth she means?" he exclaimed aloud, her strangerequest for an interview--to which he had not replied--recurring to him.
It was exceedingly curious, he thought, that she should write him thesevague, puzzling letters, well knowing that he was married and could nowbe nothing more to her than a friend. There was a mystery about thislast communication that had aroused his curiosity, and for some time hesat trying in vain to find an explanation of her strange conduct.
Suddenly he made a resolve. Gathering up his letters he thrust theminto his pocket, and went to his room to get his overcoat.
"If your mistress returns, Nanette, tell her I've gone for a stroll, andshall return in an hour," he said to his wife's maid, who handed him hishat.
"Very well, m'sieur," the girl replied. Then, as Trethowen descendedthe stairs to leave the hotel, she watched him, and added to herself:"You will return in an hour, will you? Perhaps so; we shall see."
She laughed heartily, for something appeared to amuse her, and when hehad disappeared she returned to her mistress's room and commencedpacking a trunk.
As Trethowen walked along the Rue Castiglione, crossed the PlaceVendome, and went on towards the Boulevard des Capucines, a tallwell-dressed man, with dark, pointed beard and curled moustaches,followed leisurely in his footsteps. This individual lounged aimlesslyalong, halting now and then to gaze into shop windows; nevertheless,from under the rather broad brim of his glossy silk hat a pair of keengrey eyes watched every movement of the man upon whom he was keepingobservation. In the boulevard he was careful to cross to the oppositeside of the way, in case the other should take a fancy to retrace hissteps, for it appeared as if he did not desire an encounter. Saunteringalong contemplating the engravings of the illustrated papers displayedin the kiosques, he loitered so naturally that to an ordinary observerhe was but an honest citizen of the suburbs.
The morning was bright and frosty. Hugh, bent upon investigating thetruth of Dolly's strange assertion, and unaware of the presence of theindividual who had suddenly displayed such intense interest in hismovements, walked down the Boulevard des Italiens, and, turning into theRue Drouot, entered the offices of _Le Gaulois_.
Addressing one of the clerks at the counter, he said--
"I desire to search your file for May, 1886. Can I do so?"
"If m'sieur will have the kindness to fill up this form which we havefor the purpose, I will see that the file is brought," replied the manpolitely, handing him a dip of paper and a pen.
Trethowen complied with this request, and waited rather impatiently,taking Dolly's letter from his pocket, and glancing at it to reassurehimself that he had made no mistake in the date. There were manypersons in the office, some transacting business and others reading thatday's newspapers, which were spread open upon stands. Consequently hedid not observe the entrance of three men, who, although coming inseparately, met a short distance from where he stood, and held a hurriedconsultation in an undertone.
One of the men, apparently a respectable workman, took out an unmountedphotograph from his wallet, glanced at it, and afterwards lookedintently at Hugh who stood calmly unconscious of the scrutiny.
"It's our man, without a doubt," declared the workman emphatically."I'd know him again amongst ten thousand."
"I wonder what his game is here?" asked the man who had dogged hisfootsteps from the hotel.
"Cannot you see? He's asked for the file of the month when the affairoccurred," observed the third man. "Well, what of that?"
"The thing is quite plain. Out of morbid curiosity he wants to readwhat the paper said," replied his companion, who, turning to theworkman, asked, "Have you any doubt that he is the same man?"
"None whatever."
"In that case we'll arrest him at once. He won't elude us this time."
The clerk had brought the formidable leather-bound volume and placed itupon a table, with the usual injunction that no extracts were allowed tobe cut from it. Hugh was bending over it excitedly, and turning thepages to find the issue of 10th May, when he heard a voice behind himinquire--
"M'sieur Trethowen, I believe?"
Lifting his head in surprise, he faced his interrogator. "Yes," hereplied in French, "that's my name, although I have not the pleasure ofknowing yours, m'sieur."
"It scarcely will be a pleasure," the man replied, grinningsardonically. "I'm Paul Chemerault of the Detective Department, and Ihold a warrant for your arrest," he added, producing a folded paper fromhis overcoat pocket.
"My arrest!" cried Trethowen incredulously. "What for, pray?"
He glanced in dismay at the two other men, who had now stepped up, andstood on either side of him.
"If m'sieur will come with us to the Bureau the charge will beexplained. It is scarcely necessary to read it here and create a scene,is it?"
"I am an Englishman. By what right do you arrest me when I havecommitted no offence?" Hugh asked indignantly.
"That you are English we are aware, and also that you live at CoombeHall, in the county of Cornwall. But as to your innocence--"
The man shrugged his shoulders significantly, and left his sentenceunfinished.
"Of what offence am I guilty? Why, I've only been in Paris a few days."
"We know that. You arrived with madame, and have since stayed at theHotel Continental."
"Tell me what suspicions you have against me, and I shall be pleased toaccompany you and make all necessary explanations."
Turning to the clerk the detective said, with a sarcastic smile--
"M'sieur will not require to use the volume now."
"Will you tell me of what I am accused?" asked Trethowen warmly.
"No; you will hear it read at the Bureau. Come, let us be going. Weare attracting attention."
"I do not see why I should," argued Hugh angrily. "Take care, youngfellow," said the detective, without getting at all excited; "you arespoiling your affair." This reply fell like cold water on Trethowen'sanger. "We have a cab outside," continued the officer, "and we willdrive to the Commissary's. You will calm yourself there. He'll soonsettle the business, for he's a good-natured man. Come along."
Hugh made no reply to these exhortations. He saw that a cab was waitingoutside, and that escape was impossible, therefore he accompanied themen and ente
red the vehicle. As they drove through the streets heremained in sullen silence, watching the festive aspect of thethoroughfares as they drove along. It was one of those dry wintermornings when the rich leave their chimney corners and walk towards theChamps Elysees to see if spring is coming, and to gain an appetite,while fashionable women, trip here and there, with their high heelsbeating an even tattoo on the dry sidewalks, and loiter before themilliners' windows--when the populace rejoice at breathing a balmyatmosphere and at not having to splash through mud. On such days asthese there is joy in the air, and the panorama of the French capital,as seen from the quays, is truly a marvellous one.
Hugh Trethowen was amazed, puzzled to ascertain