The Big Book of Female Detectives

by The Big Book of Female Detectives (retail) (epub)

  “Madame knows a secret about Antonia Ripley.”

  “Of what nature?”

  “It concerns her parentage.”

  “And that is—?”

  The woman hesitated and writhed.

  “The names of her parents, please,” said Vandeleur, in a voice cold as ice and hard as iron.

  “Her father was Italian by birth.”

  “His name?”

  “Count Gioletti. He was unhappily married, and stabbed his English wife in an excess of jealousy when Antonia was three years old. He was executed for the crime on the twentieth of June, 18—. The child was adopted and taken out of the country by an English lady who was present in court—her name was Mrs. Studley. Madame Sara was also present. She was much interested in the trial, and had an interview afterwards with Mrs. Studley. It was arranged that Antonia should be called by the surname of Ripley—the name of an old relative of Mrs. Studley’s—and that her real name and history were never to be told to her.”

  “I understand,” said Vandeleur, gently. “This is of deep interest, is it not, Druce?”

  I nodded, too much absorbed in watching the face of the woman to have time for words.

  “But now,” continued Vandeleur, “there are reasons why Madame should change her mind with regard to keeping the matter a close secret—is that not so, Mrs. Curt?”

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Curt.

  “You will have the kindness to continue.”

  “Madame has an object—she blackmails the signora. She wants to get the signora completely into her power.”

  “Indeed! Is she succeeding?”

  “Yes.”

  “How has she managed? Be very careful what you say, please.”

  “The mode is subtle—the young lady had a disfiguring mole or wart on her neck, just below the throat. Madame removed the mole.”

  “Quite a simple process, I doubt not,” said Vandeleur, in a careless tone.

  “Yes, it was done easily—I was present. The young lady was conducted into a chamber with a red light.”

  Vandeleur’s extraordinary eyes suddenly leapt into fire. He took a chair and drew it so close to Mrs. Curt’s that his face was within a foot or two of hers.

  “Now, you will be very careful what you say,” he remarked. “You know the consequence to yourself unless this narrative is absolutely reliable.”

  She began to tremble, but continued:—

  “I was present at the operation. Not a single ray of ordinary light was allowed to penetrate. The patient was put under chloroform. The mole was removed. Afterwards Madame wrote something on her neck. The words were very small and neatly done—they formed a cross on the young lady’s neck. Afterwards I heard what they were.”

  “Repeat them.”

  “I can’t. You will know in the moment of victory.”

  “I choose to know now. A detective from my division at Westminster comes here early tomorrow morning—he brings hand-cuffs—and—”

  “I will tell you,” interrupted the woman. “The words were these:—

  “ ‘I AM THE DAUGHTER OF PAOLO GIOLETTI, WHO WAS EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF MY MOTHER, JUNE 20TH, 18—.’ ”

  “How were the words written?”

  “With nitrate of silver.”

  “Fiend!” muttered Vandeleur.

  He jumped up and began to pace the room. I had never seen his face so black with ungovernable rage.

  “You know what this means?” he said at last to me. “Nitrate of silver eats into the flesh and is permanent. Once exposed to the light the case is hopeless, and the helpless child becomes her own executioner.”

  The nurse looked up restlessly.

  “The operation was performed in a room with a red light,” she said, “and up to the present the words have not been seen. Unless the young lady exposes her neck to the blue rays of ordinary light they never will be. In order to give her a chance to keep her deadly secret Madame has had a large carbuncle of the deepest red cut and prepared. It is in the shape of a cross, and is suspended to a fine gold, almost invisible, thread. This the signora is to wear when in full evening dress. It will keep in its place, for the back of the cross will be dusted with gum.”

  “But it cannot be Madame’s aim to hide the fateful words,” said Vandeleur. “You are concealing something, nurse.”

  Her face grew an ugly red. After a pause the following words came out with great reluctance:—

  “The young lady wears the carbuncle as a reward.”

  “Ah,” said Vandeleur, “now we are beginning to see daylight. As a reward for what?”

  “Madame wants something which the signora can give her. It is a case of exchange; the carbuncle which hides the fatal secret is given in exchange for that which the signora can transfer to Madame.”

  “I understand at last,” said Vandeleur. “Really, Druce, I feel myself privileged to say that of all the malevolent—” he broke off abruptly. “Never mind,” he said, “we are keeping nurse. Nurse, you have answered all my questions with praiseworthy exactitude, but before you return to your well-earned slumbers I have one more piece of information to seek from you. Was it entirely by Miss Ripley’s desire, or was it in any respect owing to Madame Sara’s instigations, that the young lady is permitted to wear the pearl necklace on the night of the dance? You have, of course, nurse, heard of the pearl necklace?”

  Rebecca Curt’s face showed that she undoubtedly had.

  “I see you are acquainted with that most interesting story. Now, answer my question. The request to wear the necklace tomorrow night was suggested by Madame, was it not?”

  “Ah, yes—yes!” cried the woman, carried out of herself by sudden excitement. “It was to that point all else tended—all, all!”

  “Thank you, that will do. You understand that from this day you are absolutely in my service. As long as you serve me faithfully you are safe.”

  “I will do my best, sir,” she replied, in a modest tone, her eyes seeking the ground.

  The moment we were alone Vandeleur turned to me.

  “Things are simplifying themselves,” he said.

  “I fail to understand,” was my answer. “I should say that complications, and alarming ones, abound.”

  “Nevertheless, I see my way clear. Druce, it is not good for you to be so long out of bed, but in order that you may repose soundly when you return to your room I will tell you frankly what my mode of operations will be tomorrow. The simplest plan would be to tell Rowland everything, but for various reasons that does not suit me. I take an interest in the little girl, and if she chooses to conceal her secret (at present, remember, she does not know it, but the poor child will certainly be told everything tomorrow) I don’t intend to interfere. In the second place, I am anxious to lay a trap for Madame. Now, two things are evident. Madame Sara’s object in coming here is to steal the pearls. Her plan is to terrify the little signora into giving them to her in order that the fiendish words written on the child’s neck may not be seen. As the signora must wear a dress with a low neck tomorrow night, she can only hide the words by means of the red carbuncle. Madame will only give her the carbuncle if she, in exchange, gives Madame the pearls. You see?”

  “I do,” I answered, slowly.

  He drew himself up to his slender height, and his eyes became full of suppressed laughter.

  “The child’s neck has been injured with nitrate of silver. Nevertheless, until it is exposed to the blue rays of light the ominous, fiendish words will not appear on her white throat. Once they do appear they will be indelible. Now, listen! Madame, with all her cunning, forgot something. To the action of nitrate of silver there is an antidote. This is nothing more or less than our old friend cyanide of potassium. Tomorrow nurse, under my instructions, will take the little patient into a room carefully prepared with the hateful red light
, and will bathe the neck just where the baleful words are written with a solution of cyanide of potassium. The nitrate of silver will then become neutralized and the letters will never come out.”

  “But the child will not know that. The terror of Madame’s cruel story will be upon her, and she will exchange the pearls for the cross.”

  “I think not, for I shall be there to prevent it. Now, Druce, I have told you all that is necessary. Go to bed and sleep comfortably.”

  The next morning dawned dull and sullen, but the fierce storm of the night before was over. The ravages which had taken place, however, in the stately old park were very manifest, for trees had been torn up by their roots and some of the stateliest and largest of the oaks had been deprived of their best branches.

  Little Miss Ripley did not appear at all that day. I was not surprised at her absence. The time had come when doubtless Madame found it necessary to divulge her awful scheme to the unhappy child. In the midst of that gay houseful of people no one specially missed her; even Rowland was engaged with many necessary matters, and had little time to devote to his future wife. The ball-room, decorated with real flowers, was a beautiful sight.

  Vandeleur, our host, and I paced up and down the long room. Rowland was in great excitement, making many suggestions, altering this decoration and the other. The flowers were too profuse in one place, too scanty in another. The lights, too, were not bright enough.

  “By all means have the ball-room well lighted,” said Vandeleur. “In a room like this, so large, and with so many doors leading into passages and sitting-out rooms, it is well to have the light as brilliant as possible. You will forgive my suggestion, Mr. Rowland, when I say I speak entirely from the point of view of a man who has some acquaintance with the treacherous dealings of crime.”

  Rowland started.

  “Are you afraid that an attempt will be made here tonight to steal the necklace?” he asked, suddenly.

  “We won’t talk of it,” replied Vandeleur. “Act on my suggestion and you have nothing to fear.”

  Rowland shrugged his shoulders, and crossing the room gave some directions to several men who were putting in the final touches.

  Nearly a hundred guests were expected to arrive from the surrounding country, and the house was as full as it could possibly hold. Rowland was to open the ball with little Antonia.

  There was no late dinner that day, and as evening approached Vandeleur sought me.

  “I say, Druce, dress as early as you can, and come down and meet me in our host’s study.”

  I looked at him in astonishment, but did not question him. I saw that he was intensely excited. His face was cold and stern; it invariably wore that expression when he was most moved.

  I hurried into my evening clothes and came down again. Vandeleur was standing in the study talking to Rowland. The guests were beginning to arrive. The musicians were tuning up in the adjacent ball-room, and signs of hurry and festival pervaded the entire place. Rowland was in high spirits and looked very handsome. He and Vandeleur talked together, and I stood a little apart. Vandeleur was just about to make a light reply to one of our host’s questions when we heard the swish of drapery in the passage outside, and little Antonia, dressed for her first ball, entered. She was in soft white lace, and her neck and arms were bare. The effect of her entrance was somewhat startling and would have arrested attention even were we not all specially interested in her. Her face, neck, and arms were nearly as white as her dress, her dark eyes were much dilated, and her soft black hair surrounded her small face like a shadow. In the midst of the whiteness a large red cross sparkled on her throat like living fire. Rowland uttered an exclamation and then stood still; as for Vandeleur and myself, we held our breath in suspense. What might not the next few minutes reveal?

  It was the look on Antonia’s face that aroused our fears. What ailed her? She came forward like one blind, or as one who walks in her sleep. One hand was held out slightly in advance, as though she meant to guide herself by the sense of touch. She certainly saw neither Vandeleur nor me, but when she got close to Rowland the blind expression left her eyes. She gave a sudden and exceedingly bitter cry, and ran forward, flinging herself into his arms.

  “Kiss me once before we part forever. Kiss me just once before we part,” she said.

  “My dear little one,” I heard him answer, “what is the meaning of this? You are not well. There, Antonia, cease trembling. Before we part, my dear? But there is no thought of parting. Let me look at you, darling. Ah!”

  He held her at arm’s length and gazed at her critically.

  “No girl could look sweeter, Antonia,” he said, “and you have come now for the finishing touch—the beautiful pearls. But what is this, my dear? Why should you spoil your white neck with anything so incongruous? Let me remove it.”

  She put up her hand to her neck, thus covering the crimson cross. Then her wild eyes met Vandeleur’s. She seemed to recognise his presence for the first time.

  “You can safely remove it,” he said to her, speaking in a semi-whisper.

  Rowland gave him an astonished glance. His look seemed to say, “Leave us,” but Vandeleur did not move.

  “We must see this thing out,” he said to me.

  Meanwhile Rowland’s arm encircled Antonia’s neck, and his hand sought for the clasp of the narrow gold thread that held the cross in place.

  “One moment,” said Antonia.

  She stepped back a pace; the trembling in her voice left it, it gathered strength, her fear gave way to dignity. This was the hour of her deepest humiliation, and yet she looked noble.

  “My dearest,” she said, “my kindest and best of friends. I had yielded to temptation, terror made me weak, the dread of losing you unnerved me, but I won’t come to you charged with a sin on my conscience; I won’t conceal anything from you. I know you won’t wish me now to become your wife; nevertheless, you shall know the truth.”

  “What do you mean, Antonia? What do your strange words signify? Are you mad?” said George Rowland.

  “No, I wish I were; but I am no mate for you; I cannot bring dishonour to your honour. Madame said it could be hidden, that this”—she touched the cross—“would hide it. For this I was to pay—yes, to pay a shameful price. I consented, for the terror was so cruel. But I—I came here and looked into your face and I could not do it. Madame shall have her blood-red cross back and you shall know all. You shall see.”

  With a fierce gesture she tore the cross from her neck and flung it on the floor.

  “The pearls for this,” she cried; “the pearls were the price; but I would rather you knew. Take me up to the brightest light and you will see for yourself.”

  Rowland’s face wore an expression impossible to fathom. The red cross lay on the floor; Antonia’s eyes were fixed on his. She was no child to be humoured; she was a woman and despair was driving her wild. When she said, “Take me up to the brightest light,” he took her hand without a word and led her to where the full rays of a powerful electric light turned the place into day.

  “Look!” cried Antonia, “look! Madame wrote it here—here.”

  She pointed to her throat.

  “The words are hidden, but this light will soon cause them to appear. You will see for yourself, you will know the truth. At last you will understand who I really am.”

  There was silence for a few minutes. Antonia kept pointing to her neck. Rowland’s eyes were fixed upon it. After a breathless period of agony Vandeleur stepped forward.

  “Miss Antonia,” he cried, “you have suffered enough. I am in a position to relieve your terrors. You little guessed, Rowland, that for the last few days I have taken an extreme liberty with regard to you. I have been in your house simply and solely in the exercise of my professional qualities. In the exercise of my manifest duties I came across a ghastly secret. Miss Antonia was to be subjected to a cr
uel ordeal. Madame Sara, for reasons of her own, had invented one of the most fiendish plots it has ever been my unhappy lot to come across. But I have been in time. Miss Antonia, you need fear nothing. Your neck contains no ghastly secret. Listen! I have saved you. The nurse whom Madame believed to be devoted to her service considered it best for prudential reasons to transfer herself to me. Under my directions she bathed your neck today with a preparation of cyanide of potassium. You do not know what that is, but it is a chemical preparation which neutralizes the effect of what that horrible woman has done. You have nothing to fear—your secret lies buried beneath your white skin.”

  “But what is the mystery?” said Rowland. “Your actions, Antonia, and your words, Vandeleur, are enough to drive a man mad. What is it all about? I will know.”

  “Miss Ripley can tell you or not, as she pleases,” replied Vandeleur. “The unhappy child was to be blackmailed, Madame Sara’s object being to secure the pearl necklace worth a King’s ransom. The cross was to be given in exchange for the necklace. That was her aim, but she is defeated. Ask me no questions, sir. If this young lady chooses to tell you, well and good, but if not the secret is her own.”

  Vandeleur bowed and backed towards me.

  “The secret is mine,” cried Antonia, “but it also shall be yours, George. I will not be your wife with this ghastly thing between us. You may never speak to me again, but you shall know all the truth.”

  “Upon my word, a brave girl, and I respect her,” whispered Vandeleur. “Come, Druce, our work so far as Miss Antonia is concerned is finished.”

  We left the room.

  “Now to see Madame Sara,” continued my friend. “We will go to her rooms. Walls have ears in her case; she doubtless knows the whole dénouement already; but we will find her at once, she can scarcely have escaped yet.”

  He flew upstairs. I followed him. We went from one corridor to another. At last we found Madame’s apartments. Her bedroom door stood wide open. Rebecca Curt was standing in the middle of the room. Madame herself was nowhere to be seen, but there was every sign of hurried departure.