The Mystery of the Boule Cabinet Part 34

So, after a moment, I took up the chase more contentedly, telling myself that G.o.dfrey would not have waved to me if he had not wanted me along, and I reached the corner in time to see the van turn northward into Sixth Avenue. As soon as it and the cabs which followed it were out of sight, I sprinted along the sidewalk at top speed, and, on arriving at the corner, had the satisfaction of seeing them only a little way ahead. Here the congestion of traffic was such that the van could proceed but slowly, and I had no difficulty in keeping pace with it, without the necessity of making myself conspicuous by running. Indeed, I rather hung back, burying myself in the crowds on the sidewalk, for fear that Armand might chance to glance around and see me in pursuit.

I saw that G.o.dfrey and Simmonds had the same fear, for the cab in which they were drew up at the curb and waited there until the van had got some distance ahead. At Sixteenth Street, it turned westward again, and then northward into Seventh Avenue.

What could Armand be doing in this part of the town, I asked myself?

Did he propose to leave that priceless cabinet in this dingy quarter?

And then I paused abruptly and slipped into an area-way, for the van had stopped some distance ahead and was backing up to the curb.

Looking out discreetly, I saw the cab containing Armand stop also, and that gentleman alighted and paid the driver. The other cab rattled on at a good pace and disappeared up the Avenue. Then the two porters lifted out the cabinet, and, with Armand showing them the way, carried it into the building before which the van had stopped.

They were gone perhaps five minutes, from which I argued that they were carrying it upstairs; then they reappeared, with Armand accompanying them. He tipped them and went out also to tip the driver of the van. Then the porters climbed aboard and it rattled away out of sight. Armand stood for a moment on the step, looking up and down the Avenue, then disappeared indoors.

An instant later, I saw G.o.dfrey and another man whom I recognised as Simmonds, come out of a shop across the street and dash over to the house into which the cabinet had been taken. They were standing on the door-step when I joined them.

It was a dingy building, entirely typical of the dingy neighbourhood.

The ground floor was occupied by a laundry which the sign on the front window declared to be French; and the room which the window lighted extended the whole width of the building except for a door which opened presumably on the stairway leading to the upper stories.

G.o.dfrey's face was flaming with excitement as he turned the k.n.o.b of this door gently--gently. The door was locked. He stooped and applied an eye to the key-hole.

"The key is in the lock," he whispered.

Simmonds took from his pocket a pair of slender pliers and pa.s.sed them over.

G.o.dfrey looked up and down the street, saw that for the moment there was no one near, inserted the pliers in the key-hole, grasped the end of the key, and turned it slowly.

"Now!" he said, softly opened the door and slipped inside. I followed, and Simmonds came after me like a shadow, closing the door carefully behind him.

Then we all stopped, and my heart, at least, was in my mouth, for, from somewhere overhead, came the sound of a man's voice talking excitedly.

Even in the semi-darkness, I could see the look of astonishment and alarm on G.o.dfrey's face, as he stood for a moment motionless, listening to that voice. I also stood with ears a-strain, but I could make nothing of what it was saying; then suddenly I realised that it was speaking in French. And yet it was not Armand's voice--of that I was certain.

Fronting us was a narrow stair mounting steeply to the story overhead, and, after that moment's amazed hesitation, G.o.dfrey sat down on the bottom step and removed his shoes, motioning us to do the same. Simmonds obeyed phlegmatically, but my hands were trembling so with excitement that I was in mortal terror lest I drop one of my shoes; but I managed to get them both off without mishap, and to set them softly on the floor at the stair-foot.

When at last I looked up with a sigh of relief, G.o.dfrey and Simmonds were stealing slowly up the stair, revolver in hand. I followed them, but I confess my knees were knocking together, for there was something weird and chilling in that voice going on and on. It sounded like the voice of a madman; there was something about it at once ferocious and triumphant....

G.o.dfrey paused an instant at the stairhead, listening intently; then he moved cautiously forward toward an open door from which the voice seemed to come, motioning us at the same time to stay where we were.

And as I knelt, bathed in perspiration, I caught one word, repeated over and over:

"_Revanche!--Revanche!--Revanche!_"

Then the voice fell to a sort of low growling, as of a dog which worries its prey, and I caught a sound as of ripping cloth.

G.o.dfrey, on hands and knees, was peering into the room. Then he drew back and motioned us forward.

I shall never forget the sight which met my eyes as I peeped cautiously around the corner of the door.

The room into which I was looking was lighted only by the rays which filtered between the slats of a closed shutter. In the middle of the floor stood the Boule cabinet, and before it, with his back to the door, stood a man ripping savagely away the strips of burlap in which it had been wrapped, talking to himself the while in a sort of savage sing-song, and pausing from moment to moment to glance at a huddled bundle lying on the floor against the opposite wall. For a time, I could not make out what this bundle was, then, straining my eyes, I saw that it was the body of a man, wrapped round and round in some web-like fabric.

And as I stared at him, I caught the glitter of his eyes as he watched the man working at the cabinet--a glitter not to be mistaken --the same glitter which had so frightened me once before....

G.o.dfrey drew me back with a firm hand and took my place. As for me, I retreated to the stair, and sat there feverishly mopping my face and trying to understand. Who was this man? What was he doing there against the wall? What was the meaning of this ferocious scene....

Then my heart leaped into my throat, for G.o.dfrey, with a sharp cry of "_Halte-la!_" sprang to his feet and dashed into the room, Simmonds at his heels.

I suppose two seconds elapsed before I reached the threshold, and I stopped there, staring, clutching at the wall to steady myself.

That scene is so photographed upon my brain that I have only to close my eyes to see it again in every detail.

There was the cabinet with its wrappings torn away; but the figure on the floor had disappeared, and before an open doorway into another room stood a man, a giant of a man, his hands above his head, his face working with fear and rage, while G.o.dfrey, his lips curling into a mocking smile, pressed a pistol against his breast.

Then, as I stood there staring, it seemed to me that there was a sort of flicker in the air above the man's head, and he screamed shrilly.

"_La mort!_" he shrieked. "_La mort!_"

For one dreadful instant longer he stood there motionless, his hands still held aloft, his eyes staring horribly; then, with a strangled cry, he pitched forward heavily at G.o.dfrey's feet.

CHAPTER XX

THE ESCAPE

I have a confused remembrance of G.o.dfrey stooping for an instant above the body, staring at it, and then, with a sharp cry, hurling himself through that open doorway. A door slammed somewhere, there was a sound of running feet, and before either Simmonds or myself understood what was happening, G.o.dfrey was back in the room, crossed it at a bound, and dashed to the door opening into the hall, just as it was slammed in his face.

I saw him tear desperately at the k.n.o.b, then retreat two steps and hurl himself against it. But it held firm, and from the hall outside came a burst of mocking laughter that fairly froze my blood.

"Come here, you fools!" cried G.o.dfrey between clenched teeth. "Don't you see he's getting away!"

Simmonds was quicker than I, and together they threw themselves at the door. It cracked ominously, but still held; again they tried, and this time it split from top to bottom. G.o.dfrey kicked the pieces to either side and slipped between them, Simmonds after him.

Then, in a sort of trance, I staggered to it, and after a moment's aimless fumbling, was out in the hall again. I reached the stairhead in time to see G.o.dfrey try the front door, and then turn along the lower hall leading to the back of the house. An instant later, a chorus of frenzied women's shrieks made my hair stand on end.

How I got down the stair I do not know; but I, too, turned back along the lower hall, expecting any instant to come upon I knew not what horror; I reached an open door, pa.s.sed through it, and found myself in the laundry, in the midst of a group of excited and indignant women, who greeted my appearance with a fresh series of screams.

Unable to go farther, I sat limply down upon a box and looked at them.

I dare say the figure I made was ridiculous enough, for the screams gave place to subdued giggles; but I was far from thinking of my appearance, or of caring what impression I produced. And I was still sitting there when G.o.dfrey came back, breathing heavily, chagrin and anger in his eyes. The employes of the laundry, conscious that something extraordinary was occurring, crowded about him, but he elbowed his way through them to the desk where the manager sat.

"A crime has been committed upstairs," he said. "This gentleman with me is Mr. Simmonds, of the detective bureau," and at the words Simmonds showed his s.h.i.+eld. "We shall have to notify headquarters,"

G.o.dfrey went on, "and I would advise that you keep your girls at their work. I don't suppose you want to be mixed up in it."

"Sure not," agreed the manager promptly, and while Simmonds went to the 'phone and called up police headquarters, the manager dismounted from his throne, went down among the girls, and had them back at their work in short order.

G.o.dfrey came over to me and laid his hand on my shoulder.

"Why, Lester," he said, "you look as though you were at your last gasp."