CHAPTER IV: A BREATH OF SUSPICION
As Francois Valois trudged along the night streets toward his roominghouse his heart was plunged in sorrow and suspicion. To be dischargedfrom a comfortable position for no apparent reason when onecontemplated no sweet alliance was bad enough, but to be dischargedwhen one planned marriage to so charming a creature as Josette La Baumwas nothing short of a blow. Josette herself had admitted that andpromptly turned Francois's hazards as to young Cavendish's motives intosmouldering suspicion, which he dared not voice. Now, as he pausedbefore a delicatessen window realising that unless he soon obtainedanother position its dainties would be denied him, these samesuspicions assailed him again.
Disheartened, he turned from the pane and was about to move away, whenhe came face to face with a trim young woman in a smart blue serge."Oh, hello!" she cried pleasantly, bringing up short. Then seeing thepuzzled look upon the valet's face, she said: "Don't you remember me?I'm Miss Donovan of the _Star_. I came up to the apartments themorning of the Cavendish murder with one of the boys."
Valois smiled warmly; men usually did for Miss Donovan. "I remember,"he said dolorously.
The girl sensed some underlying sorrow in his voice and withprofessional skill learned the cause within a minute. Then, becauseshe believed that there might be more to be told, and because she wasbig-hearted and interested in every one's troubles, she urged him toaccompany her to a near-by restaurant and pour out his heart while shesupped. Lonely and disheartened, Valois accepted gladly and withinhalf an hour they were seated at a tiny table in an Italian cafe.
"About your discharge?" she queried after a time.
"I was not even asked to accompany Mr. Frederick's body," he burst out,"even though I had been with him a year. So I stayed in the apartmentto straighten things, expecting to be retained in John Cavendish'sservice. I even did the work in his apartments, but when he returnedand saw me there he seemed to lose his temper, wanted to know why I washanging around, and ordered me out of the place."
"The ingrate!" exclaimed the girl, laying a warm, consoling hand on theother's arm. "You're sure he wasn't drinking?"
"I don't think so, miss. Just the sight of me seemed to drive him mad.Flung money at me, he did, told me to get out, that he never wanted tosee me again. Since then I have tried for three weeks to find work,but it has been useless."
While she gave him a word of sympathy, Miss Donovan was busilythinking. She remembered Willis's remark in the apartments, "Are yousure of the dead man's identity? His face is badly mutilated, youknow"; and her alert mind sensed a possibility of a newspaper storyback of young Cavendish's unwarranted and strange act. How far couldshe question the man before her? That she had established herself inhis good grace she was sure, and to be direct with him she decidedwould be the best course to adopt.
"Mr. Valois," she said kindly, "would you mind if I asked you aquestion or two more?"
"No," the man returned.
"All right. First, what sort of a man was your master?"
Valois answered almost with reverence:
"A nice, quiet gentleman. A man that liked outdoors and outdoorsports. He almost never drank, and then only with quiet men likehimself that he met at various clubs. Best of all, he liked to spendhis evenings at home reading."
"Not much like his cousin John," she ventured with narrowing eyes.
"No, ma'am, God be praised! There's a young fool for you, miss, crazyfor the women and his drinking. Brought up to spend money, but not toearn any."
"I understand that he was dependent upon Frederick Cavendish."
"He was, miss," Valois said disgustedly, "for every cent. He couldnever get enough of it, either, although Mr. Frederick gave him aliberal allowance."
"Did they ever quarrel?"
"I never heard them. But I do know there was no love lost betweenthem, and I know that young John was always broke."
"Girls cost lots on Broadway," Miss Donovan suggested, "and they keepmen up late, too."
Valois laughed lightly. "John only came home to sleep occasionally,"he said; "and as for the women--one of them called on him the day afterMr. Frederick was killed. I was in the hall, and saw her go straightto his door--like she had been there before. A swell dresser, miss, ifI ever saw one. One of those tall blondes with a reddish tinge in herhair. He likes that kind."
Miss Donovan started imperceptibly. This was interesting; a woman inJohn Cavendish's apartment the day after his cousin's murder! But whowas she? There were a million carrot-blondes in Manhattan. Still, thewoman must have had some distinguishing mark; her hat, perhaps, or herjewels.
"Did the woman wear any diamonds?" she asked.
"No diamonds," Valois returned; "a ruby, though. A ruby set in a bigplatinum ring. I saw her hand upon the knob."
Miss Donovan's blood raced fast. She knew that woman. It was CelesteLa Rue! She remembered her because of a press-agent story that hadonce been written about the ring, and from what Miss Donovan knew ofMiss La Rue, she did not ordinarily seek men; therefore there must havebeen a grave reason for her presence in John Cavendish's apartmentsimmediately after she learned of Frederick's death.
Had his untimely end disarranged some plan of these two? What was thereason she had come in person instead of telephoning? Had hermysterious visit anything to do with the death of the elder Cavendish?
A thousand speculations entered Miss Donovan's mind.
"How long was she in the apartment?" she demanded sharply.
"Fifteen or twenty minutes, miss--until after the hall-man came back.I had to help lay out the body, and could not remain there any longer."
"Have you told any one else what you have told me?"
"Only Josette. She's my _fiancee_. Miss La Baum is her last name."
"You told her nothing further that did not come out at the inquest?"
Valois hesitated.
"Maybe I did, miss," he admitted nervously. "She questioned me aboutlosing my job, and her questions brought things into my mind that Imight never have thought of otherwise. And at last I came to believethat it wasn't Mr. Frederick who was dead at all."
The valet's last remark was crashing in its effect.
Miss Donovan's eyes dilated with eagerness and amazement.
"Not Frederick Cavendish! Mr. Valois, tell me--why?"
The other's voice fell to a whisper.
"Frederick Cavendish, miss," he said hollowly, "had a scar on hischest--from football, he once told me--and the man we laid out, well,of course his body was a bit burned, but he appeared to have no scar atall!"
"You know that?" demanded the girl, frightened by the import of therevelation.
"Yes, miss. The assistant in the undertaking rooms said so, too.Doubting my own mind, I asked him. The man we laid out had no scar onhis chest."
Miss Donovan sprang suddenly to her feet.
"Mr. Valois," she said breathlessly, "you come and tell that story tomy city editor, and he'll see that you get a job--and a real one. Youand I have started something, Mr. Valois."
And, tossing money to cover the bill on the table, she took Valois'sarm, and with him in tow hurried through the restaurant to the citystreets on one of which was the _Star_ office, where Farriss, the cityeditor, daily damned the doings of the world.
That night when Farriss had heard the evidence his metallic eyessnapped with an unusual light. Farriss, for once, was enthusiastic.
"A great lead! By God, it is! Now to prove it, Stella"--Farrissalways resorted to first names--"you drop everything else and go tothis, learn what you can, spend money if you have to. I'll drag Willisoff police, and you work with him. And damn me, if you two spendmoney, you've got to get results! I'll give you a week--when you'vegot something, come back!"
The Strange Case of Cavendish Page 4