The Mysterious Three

by William Le Queux

Hadwe looked less disreputable than we do, our statements might have beenbelieved in preference to his."

  In my indignation I at first became sarcastic, and thinking that libertyat that moment would be far better than being held up upon a falsecharge, I made a sudden bolt for it, cutting swiftly across a meadow andleaping a stream. I am a good runner, but, of course, the mountedgendarmes were quickly upon me, and cut me off, so I soon found myselfin their hands.

  Faulkner elected to come with me, but we were not marched to Digne.Instead, we were allowed to walk leisurely alongside the horses as faras the village, a distance of two miles or so, and there were shown intoa comfortable room in the tiny police bureau, and given breakfast. Thegarde-champetre spoke English fluently. He had lived in England severalyears. Consequently in a short time we succeeded in convincing him ofthe blunder the gendarme had made, and in proving who we were.

  By this time the village was beginning to awaken, and crowds were ontheir way to the chateau. We soon found a tradesman willing to let outa horse and trap in return for a louis paid in advance. In this we alsostarted back for the chateau, anxious to get news of Vera, and ofViolet.

  On our way by the road, we found the lodge of the chateau, it had notbeen in sight more than a minute, when a large red car passed outthrough the gateway into the high road we were on, turned, and sped awayfrom us along the long white ribbon of road at terrific speed. It must,we calculated as it dwindled into a distant speck, have been travellingat a speed of quite sixty miles an hour. Faulkner looked at mesignificantly. Our surmise had been correct, the servants had soughtshelter at the lodge and had now left.

  By the time we reached the smouldering ruins, a score of people, all ofthem peasants, stood staring at it. The good French farmers had eachsome platitude to make: "It must have been an enormous fire;" "It musthave burned very quickly;" "Some one must have set it alight," and soon. They were all people of the bovine type, as we found when we triedto obtain information from them.

  The Baronne and her niece lived there. That was about all that theycould tell us. Apparently they knew nothing of Paulton--had never seenor heard of him.

  How many servants had there been in the Chateau they knew not. But aman and several women had just left the lodge in a motor-car.

  "We can do no good by staying here," Faulkner said at last. "We hadbetter make for Digne. What puzzles me is, where can the servants be?There must have been servants, and they could have told us something.They are not at the lodge. Perhaps Paulton had taken them with him inthe car we had seen. The only soul at the lodge is an old woman who isstone deaf, and she is crying so that she cannot speak at all."

  We stood gazing thoughtfully at the still smouldering fire, whenFaulkner said suddenly--

  "What is that big, square thing down among the twisted girders?" and hepointed to it.

  We could not make out what it was. Then, all at once I realised.

  "Why," I said, "it's a safe--one of those big American safes. I expectits contents are uninjured."

  But where was Vera? Ah! I felt beside myself in anxiety--a breathless,burning longing, to know how fared the one woman in all the world whoheld me in her hands for life, or for death.

  She loved me, truly and well--of that I was convinced. And yet sheexisted in that mysterious hateful bondage--a bondage which, alas! shedared not attempt to break.

  What could be the truth? Why were her lips closed?--Ay, why indeed? Idreaded to think.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

  IN WHICH THE MASK IS RAISED.

  Three days had passed.

  Two curious things happened while we were sitting in the atrium of theCasino in Monte Carlo during the interval.

  In the first place Paulton's friend, Henderson, whom I had met only onthat one occasion in the fumoir of the hotel, happened to saunter in.He looked hard at both of us, but either did not recognise us--a thingthat I think hardly possible--or else deliberately cut us.

  Later, I went over to the buffet with Faulkner, for the play was notinteresting, and we had decided to leave. A dozen men stood there,talking, and suddenly I caught the word "D'Uzerche."

  They were talking of the fire three days previously. Anxious to hearall I could about Chateau d'Uzerche, I moved a little nearer.

  "They've not discovered the Baronne's body," I heard the young Frenchmansay, "and apparently no one else was burnt. I wonder if those oldrumours one heard about the Baronne were really true?"

  "What rumours?" his companion, a bald-headed gambler, asked. "I don'tseem to remember hearing any."

  "You mean to say you have never heard the stories that everybody knows?"the first speaker exclaimed. "My dear fellow, where do you live?"

  "In Paris as a rule," his friend answered drily. "I returned here lastweek."

  "Ah, pardon me, I had forgotten. Well, it has long been common talk--"

  He lowered his voice and spoke into his companion's ear. I approachedas near as I dared, but I could not catch a word.

  "You can't mean it!" his friend exclaimed. "Surely it isn't possible!"

  "Everything is possible, _mon cher ami_," the first speaker said. "Theless possible things seem, generally the more possible they are. Ishall be anxious to hear what is found inside the safe that thenewspapers say has been discovered amongst the debris. If it is notclaimed it will, I take it, be the duty of the police to open it."

  "But surely it will be claimed."

  "I doubt it under the circumstances. I believe the rumours to be true."

  An electric bell rang arrogantly, in warning that the curtain was aboutto rise, and some moments later the atrium was half deserted.

  I told Faulkner what I had heard. He seemed in no way surprised.

  "I thought it inadvisable to tell you this before," he said after apause, "but now that you have got wind of it I may as well tell you therumours--or rather the chief one. The rest don't matter. The Baronnede Coudron was known to be extremely rich, yet a few years ago she wasquite poor. She bought the Chateau d'Uzerche recently. How and whereshe suddenly got the money is a mystery that has puzzled everybody, andrumours have been afloat that she obtained it by means which could leadher to penal servitude. But of course nobody knows anything definite--so nobody dares do more than insinuate."

  "The gendarmes seemed to know something definite," I said.

  "Yes, and much use they made of it! Paulton is most likely safely backin England by now."

  "They can arrest him there of course."

  "They can--but will they? Do you think officials capable of beinghoodwinked as these gendarmes were, will have acumen enough to catch aclever man like Paulton? We must admit that he is clever."

  The more I saw of Faulkner, the more I grew to like him. Singularlyundemonstrative in ordinary conversation, he recalled to my mind ablacksmith's forge that is covered and banked up with cold, wet coal,but that burns so fiercely within. What had first attracted me to thelad had been his amazing coolness in the face of death, a coolness thatamounted to indifference. I could picture him under fire, calmlyrolling a cigarette and telling others what to do. Yet he was not asoldier. Like myself he was merely an idler. Leaving out the HoughtonPark incident, I have myself only once been under fire. It was not on abattlefield, though not far from one--the field of Tewkesbury. It wasduring a big rabbit shoot, when two of the guns fired straight at mesimultaneously, and the rabbit they killed rolled over on to my feet,dead.

  My conduct was not heroic on that occasion I am afraid. With one boundI sprang behind a big elm, and, from that position of safety, hurledvituperation at my unintentional assailants, ordering them to desist.It took me some moments to convince myself I had not been hit, but theshock to my system was, I confess, considerable.

  From the theatre we strolled through the big doors into the Salles dejeux. I tossed a hundred-franc note on the rouge and left it there.Red came up six times, and I gathered up my winnings.

  The ball clicked again the seventh time,
and black came up!

  An old man with fingers like claws, and horribly long and dirty nails,introduced himself, engaged me in conversation, and ended by trying toinduce me to partake in his infallible system for winning at roulette!

  What a lot of rubbish has been written about the Rooms at Monte! Thefirst time I went there--when I was quite a youth--I expected to find asort of Aladdin's palace, myriad glittering lights everywhere,gorgeously-dressed women sparkling with diadems and precious stones.

  Instead, I sauntered into a series of large, lofty, heavily-gilded roomswith an atmosphere one could cut with a knife, in which were severallong tables with people sitting round them, quite common-looking people,and anything but smart; the majority of the women were bloused andskirted tourists. One might have mistaken the scene for a