The Blue Lights Part 19

There was a quick knock at the door. The Prefect rose, and opened it; then turned to Grace with a grim smile. "Your husband is waiting in the anteroom," he whispered.

"But--what shall I do?"

"Wait in here." Monsieur Lefevre opened the door which led to his private office. "You can hear everything quite plainly. From what you tell me, I should not be surprised if he insisted upon your arrest at once."

"It isn't fair to him. Poor Richard! I'm afraid he'll never forgive me for all this."

"Nonsense! You are engaged in a very laudable attempt to recover Mrs.

Stapleton's child. So is he. Your interests are identical. Only," he paused with a significant smile, "from my standpoint, I should much prefer that the credit for the boy's recovery should belong to the police of Paris, of which you, for the time being, are one."

Richard Duvall came into the Prefect's office, somewhat ill at ease. The room, familiar to him because of the events of the past, reminded him forcibly of Grace--who had, indeed been upon his mind constantly for the past few days. It was here, in this very room, that she had first told him that she loved him--during the exciting pursuit of Victor Girard, and the million francs. He gazed about at its familiar aspect, and sighed.

"Sit down, my dear Duvall," said the Prefect, shaking hands with him warmly. "What, may I ask, brings you to Paris, at the cost of interrupting your honeymoon? I had supposed that nothing could be of sufficient importance for that. In fact, had I known you would consider it for a moment, I should have cabled to you, to give me your a.s.sistance in a most trying case."

"What case, Monsieur?"

"The mysterious kidnapping of the child of Monsieur Stapleton."

"It is that very case that brings me to Paris. I am in Mr. Stapleton's employ."

Monsieur Lefevre affected to be greatly surprised. "Is it possible, _mon ami_? That is bad news indeed. This fellow Stapleton no longer has confidence in my office. He retains you to do that which he believes I shall fail to do. I am sorry, my dear Duvall, that we are on opposite sides of the fence."

"But, Monsieur, I did not know that you wanted me. Mr. Stapleton is an old friend. I could not refuse to come to his a.s.sistance."

Lefevre's eyes twinkled. "Have you made any progress, then, my friend?"

"Yes. Tonight I put in operation a plan whereby I might identify an automobile containing the kidnappers, into which Mr. Stapleton had been directed to throw a package containing one hundred thousand dollars."

"Indeed. You interest me. And did you succeed in identifying it?"

"I did. I stopped the car, at the Porte de Versailles. I knew it to be the one into which the money had been thrown. The car was driven by a man named Alphonse Valentin, whom I have every reason to suspect is concerned in this affair. Its only other occupant was a woman--whom I met last night in Valentin's rooms, and who brought Mr. Stapleton a message from the kidnappers. This woman is, I believe, at the bottom of the whole thing."

"Indeed. And did you arrest her?"

"No. She claims to be an agent of your office. Vernet, who was at the gates at my request, refused to place her and her companion under arrest. She got away with Mr. Stapleton's money. I believe, Monsieur Lefevre, that you are being made a fool of by a member of your own staff."

The Prefect leaned over, and picked up the package containing the money which lay upon his desk. "I do not agree with you, my friend. Here is Monsieur Stapleton's money."

Duvall started back in his chair, amazed. "Good Lord, Chief, am I losing my senses? What is this affair, anyway, a joke?"

"Far from it, Monsieur Duvall. The criminals are still at large. The boy is in their hands. We must recover him."

"But--this money--"

"I arranged to get it, in order to prevent Monsieur Stapleton from making a fool of himself. I wish to capture these men--not to let them blackmail him out of half a million francs."

"Had you not interfered, Monsieur Lefevre, they would have been in my hands, by now. I would have had them safely the moment they attempted to enter Paris. I knew their car."

The Prefect was filled with curiosity. "How?" he asked.

"My means of a device with which Mr. Stapleton's car was equipped, the body of the one into which he threw the money was spattered with red paint. I could have identified it anywhere."

"My dear Duvall! I feel that I should beg your pardon. Your plan was cleverness itself, and I will admit that, had I not interfered, you would in all probability have captured these men. I did not know what you had done, of course. Yet in their escape I have one consolation. It would have been extremely distasteful to me, to have had Mr. Stapleton boast that a private detective in his employ had succeeded, where the police of Paris had failed."

"Then it would appear, Monsieur," said Duvall somewhat stiffly, "that we are, in this matter at least, in opposition."

"Let us rather say, my friend, in compet.i.tion." He placed his hand on Duvall's shoulder. "You must not blame me, if I feel a pride in my office. When you were working for the city of Paris, you, too, felt that pride. I am truly sorry that I have not the benefit of your services now. However, I think you will admit, _mon ami_, that the young woman who is handing this case is no mean adversary." The Prefect regarded the detective with a quizzical smile, behind which his eyes twinkled merrily.

"Who is this woman?" asked Duvall, quickly.

"Her name is--Goncourt--Estelle Goncourt."

"A Frenchwoman?"

"Partly. I believe her mother was English." The twinkle in his eye spread--he smiled upon the detective with expansive good humor. "Why do you ask?"

"You will think it strange, perhaps, Monsieur Lefevre, but when I first saw Miss Goncourt, she reminded me strongly of my wife."

"Of Grace?"

"Yes. Have you not observed it?"

"Now that you speak of it, perhaps there is something similar in the manner--the carriage. But your wife, my dear Duvall, is a blonde, while Mademoiselle Goncourt is decidedly a brunette."

"Yes. Of course. But, nevertheless, the resemblance is striking." He rose to go. "I hope, Monsieur, that this kidnapped boy may be restored to his father very soon. I am anxious to return to America."

"What! Leave Paris so quickly? My dear Duvall, I thought you Americans loved our city so well, that you never wanted to leave it."

"Paris is all right, Monsieur; but," he laughed heartily, "I must get back to my wife and my farm. I was forced to leave in the very middle of my spring plowing."

The Prefect roared. "You--a farmer! Mon Dieu! How droll! Potatoes, I suppose, and chickens, and dogs, and pigs--"

"Exactly--and, believe me, Monsieur, they are more to my liking, than all the gaieties of Paris. Some day you must make us a visit, and see for yourself." He turned toward the door.

"I shall, Duvall, I shall. But first we have to find this boy. What do you propose to do next?"

Duvall smiled. "What do you?" he retorted.

"A bottle of champagne, my friend, and a dinner at the Cafe Royale, that we find the child before you do!"

"Done! Now I'll be off. Good night."

The Prefect was still laughing when Grace peeped in from the private office, to find that Richard had gone. "I think it's a shame to treat him so," she said. "The poor fellow! And he _would_ have gotten the kidnappers, if we hadn't interfered."

Monsieur Lefevre picked up the package containing Mr. Stapleton's money and placed it carefully in his safe. "Tomorrow you must return it to him," he said. "And then, I would suggest that you keep a close watch upon Mrs. Stapleton. My men have not been keeping her under surveillance. We have had no suspicions of her whatever. She may, if she is concerned in this matter, be imprudent enough to attempt to visit the child."

"And if not?"

"Then watch Francois. If nothing comes of your efforts in either direction, I fear that we must wait for the kidnappers to make the next move. Of course there is Valentin--"