CHAPTER III
Grace Duvall's first inclination, on finding herself en route forEurope, without her husband, was to send him a wireless, advising him ofher movements. Then she decided, for several reasons, not to do so.Chief among these was the fear that such a startling piece of news wouldbe likely to cause him a great deal of unnecessary anxiety. She knewthat she could never hope to explain matters, within the limits of amarconigram. And then, too, it was highly inadvisable, she knew, tomention in a wireless message the real reason which had caused her toleave home.
So she decided to make the best of the matter, realizing that within afew days, she would see Richard in Paris, and explain everything to hissatisfaction.
Immediately on reaching Paris, she drove to the office of the Prefect ofPolice, and sent in her card to Monsieur Lefevre. She thought itpossible that he would expect her, as his agent in Washington would nodoubt have communicated with him. Nor was she mistaken.
He rushed into the anteroom as soon as he received her card, andembraced her with true Gallic fervor, kissing her on both cheeks untilshe blushed. Then he drew her into his private office.
"Where is your husband?" he asked, eagerly, as soon as Grace was seated.
"I--I do not know. Probably on his way to Paris."
"But--my dear child! Did he not then come with you?"
"No. He--he had other business."
"Other business! But I understood that he had temporarily retired." ThePrefect seemed greatly astonished.
"So he had; but an old friend, Mr. Stapleton"--
Lefevre did not allow her to finish. "Stapleton!" he fairly shouted. "Heis employed by him? Mon Dieu!"
"Why not?" asked Grace in surprise.
"But--it was for that very case that I desired his assistance. And bythis Stapleton, who cables that the whole police force of Paris are alot of jumping jacks! Sacre! It is insufferable!"
"You wanted my husband for the same case?"
"Assuredly! What else? The child of this pig of a millionaire isstolen--what you call--kidnapped! We have been unable to find theslightest clue. I am in despair. My men assure me that it is the work ofan American gang. I conceive the hope that Monsieur Duvall may knowthese men--that he may be in possession of information that will lead totheir capture. This rich American, he has spoken with contempt of theParis police. The efficiency of my office is questioned. My honor is atstake. I send for my friend Duvall, to assist me, and--sacre!--I findhim already working for this man who has insulted me. It is monstrous!"
Grace could scarcely repress a smile. How excessively French the Prefectwas, after all. "My husband did not know, when he agreed to take thecase for Mr. Stapleton, that you wanted him. He does not know it now. Hehas not yet received your message."
"Then he does not know that you are in Paris?"
"No. I thought he would be crossing on the same boat. When I found thathe wasn't, my first thought was to send him a wireless. Then I realizedthat I couldn't do so, without saying something about the business thathad called me to Paris--without, in fact, mentioning you. I feared to dothis--for there are so many people nowadays tapping the wireless. Ithought it better to keep the matter a secret."
"And you did quite right. I wanted your husband to take up this case,quite independently, and without it being known to anyone that he was inmy employ." He paused for a moment in deep thought. "No doubt hisemployment by Mr. Stapleton is to be kept equally secret."
"I suppose so. He asked me not to say anything about it. I had to tellyou, to explain matters."
"And he doesn't know that you are in Paris?" The Prefect gave a suddenlaugh. "_Ma foi!_--what a joke!"
"A joke?"
"Assuredly! Don't you see? I am going to ask _you_ to take up this case,yourself. I must use every means to recover the child of this Stapleton,before others do so for him. My professional pride will not permit me tobe beaten. If I can't have your husband, at least I shall have you."
"But--I shall be working in opposition to him."
"Not in opposition. You will both have the same object in view--therecovery of Mr. Stapleton's boy. Whichever of you does so first, theresult will be the same--the boy will be restored to his parents. But Iwant you, my child, to be the one to do this."
"But, Monsieur Lefevre, I could not hope to accomplish anything--wheretrained men have failed."
"Who knows? I remember well the assistance you gave us, in the matter ofthe ivory snuff box. Without your help, we should never have recoveredit. I have faith in a woman's intuition. You will find this child forme, and give your husband the surprise of his life."
"But," said Grace, smiling mischievously at the prospect which openedbefore her, "suppose he should see me?"
"You must disguise yourself somewhat. Change the color of your hair; itis easily done--here in Paris." The Prefect laughed. "A slightalteration in appearance only will be necessary. And do not recognizeyour husband, should you meet him face to face. That is most important."
"Why?"
"Because, should he become convinced that it is really you, I fear hewould insist upon your dropping the case entirely, and that would notsuit my plans at all. Come, my child." The Prefect's eyes twinkled withamusement. "Do this thing for me. It will be a little joke, between us.The honeymoon detectives, I called you, once. What an amusing thing,that now you should be working in competition with each other, on thesame case!" He began to laugh heartily.
"Well," said Grace, her sense of mischief getting the better of her,"now that I'm here, I suppose I might as well keep busy. Richard won'tbe here for two days, and I may find out something in that time."
"Excellent!" The Prefect clapped his hand smartly upon his knee. "Youhave two days' start. In two days, much may be accomplished. Come, letus go over the case in detail."
An hour later, Grace left the Prefect's office in a taxicab, havingarranged to have her baggage sent to Monsieur Lefevre's house, where shewas to stay while in Paris. Her previous acquaintance with MadameLefevre made this an ideal arrangement. She was to pose as a friend, inParis on a visit.
She ordered the driver of the taxicab to take her to Mr. Stapleton'shouse in the Avenue Kleber.
She found Mrs. Stapleton to be a very pretty and stylish woman ofthirty; whose beauty, however, was sadly marred by the intense sufferingthrough which she was passing. The poor creature had scarcely slept forover a week, and her distress was pitiable.
She answered Grace's questions as well as she could, under thecircumstances. There was, after all, little to say. The nurse, itappeared, stuck to her story--that the boy had vanished, in thetwinkling of an eye, while her back had been turned for but a fewmoments. Mrs. Stapleton could offer no explanation--attempted none.
"It is all so mysterious--so terrible!" she cried. "Poor Mary--she istoo ill to see you, I fear, or I would have her tell you the storyherself."
"Too ill?" inquired Grace, who had come more to question the maid, thanMrs. Stapleton. "What is the matter with her?"
"They tried to poison her--last Friday."
"They? Who?"
"I do not know. She went out for a walk. The poor woman was half dead,from nervous exhaustion and loss of sleep. She tells me that she stoppedto get a cup of chocolate at a cafe in the Rue St. Honore. After thatshe came back to the Champs Elysees, and sat upon a bench. She begansuddenly to feel deathly ill, and, calling a cab, was driven home. Whenshe arrived here, she was unconscious, and had to be carried to her roomby the servants. She has been in bed ever since. I am glad to say,however, that she is better, and I think she could see you, by morning."
Grace left the Stapleton house, feeling somewhat baffled. The more sheheard of this curious affair, the more inexplicable it seemed. She hadhoped to visit the scene of the kidnapping, in company with the nurse,and examine the spot with her own eyes. This she now realized she couldnot do until the following day. She was walking in the direction of theArc de Triomphe, revolving the affair in her mind, when a young man,evidently a Frenchman, of good
appearance and not unpleasant face, cameup beside her, bowed politely, and in excellent English asked herregarding Mary Lanahan.
"Miss Lanahan--is she better?" he inquired.
"Who are you, monsieur?" asked Grace, suppressing her inclination toresent the man's action, in her hope that she might learn something fromhim of value. His question showed Grace at once that he was acquaintedwith at least one member of the Stapleton household.
"I am a friend of Miss Lanahan's," the man replied. "I hear that she isill. I saw you enter and leave the house, and I ventured to ask you ifshe is better."
"I was told that she is. I did not see her."
A peculiar expression crossed the young man's face; but Grace could notdetermine, so fleeting was it, whether it indicated pleasure ordisappointment.
They walked along in silence for a few moments, and had almost reachedthe arch, when a ragged little urchin, a veritable Paris gamin, came upto Grace's companion and thrust a crumpled bit of paper into his hand,then darted off, whistling shrilly.
The man looked after him a moment, then examined the note. Whatever itscontents, they made a startling impression upon him. He looked about, anexpression of fear upon his face, turned to Grace with a hurried bow,and a quick good evening, and at once walked off in the oppositedirection at full speed, at the same time fumbling in the breast pocketof his coat, as though searching for something in it. In his efforts, hedropped several papers to the street. Grace watched him as he pickedthem hurriedly up and moved off into the gathering darkness.
She fancied that one of the bits of paper had escaped his notice, and,on going back to the spot, found that she was correct. A small visitingcard lay upon the sidewalk. She picked it up, and read the name as shewalked away. It was Alphonse Valentin, Boulevard St. Michel.
Grace slipped the card into her pocketbook. The man's name meant nothingto her--she fancied that he was some friend of Miss Lanahan's, concernedabout her condition. Yet why did he not inquire for her at the house, inthe ordinary way? And why should the note, handed to him by the streeturchin, have caused him such evident alarm?
She glanced at her watch, and saw that it was close to seven o'clock.She had intended to return to Monsieur Lefevre's for dinner; but asudden determination to find out more about this man Valentin caused herto proceed at once to a hotel near the Louvre, where she ate her dinneralone.
An hour later she descended from a cab at the number on the BoulevardSt. Michel, which was inscribed upon Alphonse Valentin's card.
The place was a dingy old building, the main floor of which was occupiedby a dealer in cheese. A narrow doorway at one side gave access to theupper floors. Grace rang the bell, and waited in some trepidation. Thisgoing about Paris at night was rather an unusual experience. She thoughtof the simple joys of her life at home, and for a moment regretted thatshe had not stayed there. The opening of the door interrupted herthoughts.
The woman who stood in the hallway regarded her without particularinterest, and inquired her business. "I wish to see Monsieur Valentin,"said Grace.
"He is not in."
"Then I will wait. I must see him. He expects me."
The woman shrugged her shoulders. "As you wish, mademoiselle. Come thisway." She led Grace up a flight of stairs, and indicated a door at therear of the upper hall. "That is Monsieur Valentin's room." Then sheturned away, apparently quite indifferent as to whether Grace entered ornot.
The latter placed her hand on the knob of the door, and slowly pushed itopen. The room was dark; but the light from the rear windows renderedthe objects within it faintly visible. Upon the table stood a lamp. Withsome difficulty the girl succeeded in finding a match, and lit it.
The light of the lamp disclosed a rather large room, with a smallalcove in the rear, containing a bed. The alcove was curtained off fromthe main room. Grace, however, did not spend much time in examining hersurroundings. A photograph on the table at once attracted herattention--not because it represented anyone she knew, but because,across the bottom of it, was inscribed, in a feminine hand, "MaryLanahan."
She had just completed her examination of the photograph, when two otherobjects attracted her attention. One was a crumpled bit of paper, uponwhich a few words were scrawled in lead-pencil. They were, "I amsuspicious of Francois. Watch him." The note was unsigned.
The third object upon the table which caught Grace's attention was a boxof cigarettes, open, and nearly full. They were small gold-tippedaffairs, of the kind generally used by women, and it was thispeculiarity that at first attracted her attention. She thought itstrange, that a man should use such cigarettes. She looked at the box,and observed that they were of American make.
Illustration: Once inside he made without hesitation for the table,picked up the box of cigarettes and thrust it into his pocket.
Idly she took up one of the cigarettes, and held it in her fingers. Sheread the name of the brand, printed upon the paper wrapper, and wasabout to drop it back into the box, when she heard a curious raspingnoise outside one of the rear windows. It sounded as though someone wereclimbing the wall of the house. Instinctively she shrank back andconcealed herself behind one of the curtains which hung before thealcove door.
The rasping and scraping continued for some little time, and presentlyGrace, peering through the space between the curtains, saw a face appearat one of the windows. It was a determined face, heavily bearded, dark,evil looking. Its gleaming eyes swept the room with cautious care, then,evidently satisfied that it was unoccupied, their owner begannoiselessly to raise the sash of the window.
It was slow work. Several minutes passed before the man succeeded inraising the sash sufficiently to permit him to crawl into the room. Onceinside, he made without hesitation for the table, glanced over itscontents, picked up the box of cigarettes and thrust it into his pocket,and then, without paying the least attention to anything else, walkedquickly to the door of the room and passed out into the hall.
The girl waited for a moment, then stepped into the light. As she didso, she realized that she held in her hand one of the gold-tippedcigarettes she had taken from the box. She quickly thrust it into herpocketbook, and, with sudden decision, left the room and descended thestairs. She had an instinctive feeling that the man who had stolen thecigarettes was in some way connected with the kidnapping of theStapleton child. She determined to follow him, leaving the interviewwith Alphonse Valentin to another time.
She left the house, and saw the man going down the Boulevard some fiftyfeet in advance of her. She walked along after him, pretending to betotally uninterested in her surroundings, while at the same time keepinga sharp watch upon him.
He seemed in somewhat of a hurry, and walked briskly along, lookingneither to left nor to right. Grace kept as close to him as she dared,without running the risk of detection. The walk was a long one. Whenhalf an hour had passed, the girl saw that they were entering the ChampsElysees. The Seine they had long since crossed by the Pont Neuf. Up thebrilliantly lighted avenue they went, toward Arc de Triomphe. At thecorner of the Avenue Kleber, the man turned to the left. Grace followed,wondering where the chase would lead next. To her astonishment, the mandisappeared suddenly through a gate which formed the servants' entranceof one of the stately houses which fronted on the avenue. She looked up.It was the house of Mr. Stapleton!
The Blue Lights: A Detective Story Page 3