The Powers and Maxine Part 29

"Dear Mademoiselle," said the good and gallant man, "trust me to do the best I can for you." (I could see that my tears had moved him.) "A grief to you would be a blow to Paris. Yet--well, as you have been frank, I owe it to you to be equally so on my side. I should before this have sent--quite privately and in a friendly way, to question you about this Mr. Dundas, who pa.s.sed under another name at the hotel where you called upon him; but I received a request from a very high quarter to wait before communicating with you. Now, as you have come to me, I suppose I may speak."

"Ask me any questions you choose," I said, "and I'll answer them."

"Then, to begin with, since you are engaged to Monsieur du Laurier, how do you explain the statement you made at the hotel, concerning Mr.

Dundas?"

"That is one of the many things I have come here on purpose to tell you," I answered him; "for I am going to give you my whole confidence. I throw myself upon your mercy."

"You do me a great honour. Will you speak without my prompting?"

"Yes. I would prefer it. In England, a year ago, I had a little flirtation with Mr. Dundas--no more, though we liked and admired each other. We exchanged a few silly letters, and I forgot all about them until I fell in love with Raoul and promised to marry him--only a short time ago. Then I couldn't bear to think that I had written these foolish letters, and that, perhaps, Mr. Dundas might have kept them. I wrote and asked if he had. He answered that he had every one, and valued them immensely, but if I wished, he would either burn all, or bring them to me, whichever I chose. I chose to have him bring them, and I told him that I'd meet him at the elysee Palace Hotel on a certain evening, to receive the letters from him."

"He came, as I said, under another name. Why was that, Mademoiselle, since there was nothing for him to be ashamed of?"

"He also is in love, and just engaged to be married to an American girl who lives with relations in London, in a very high position. He didn't want the girl to know he was coming to Paris, because, it seems, there had been a little talk about him and me, which she had heard. And she didn't like it."

"I see. This gentleman started for Paris, I have learned, the first thing in the morning, the day after a ball at a house where he met the British Secretary for Foreign Affairs."

"Perhaps. For I have enquired and found out that the girl--a Miss Forrest, is distantly connected with the British Foreign Secretary. She lives with her aunt, Lady Mountstuart, whose sister is married to that gentleman. And the Foreign Secretary is a cousin of Lord Mountstuart."

"Ah, Miss Forrest!"

"You know of her already?"

"I have heard her name."

(I guessed how: for she could not have seen Ivor Dundas in prison except through the Chief of Police; but I said nothing of that.)

"You say you know how we met at the hotel, Mr. Dundas and I," I went on.

"But I'll explain to you now the inner meaning of it all, which even you can't have found out. Mr. Dundas was to have brought me my letters--half a dozen. He gave me a leather case, which he took from an inner breast pocket, saying the letters were in it. But the room was dark. Something had gone wrong with the electricity, and I hadn't let him push back the curtains, for fear I might be seen from outside, if the lights should suddenly come on. He didn't see the case, as he handed it to me, nor could I. Just at that instant there was a knock at the door; and quick as thought I pushed the leather case down between the seat and back of the sofa."

"But what reason had you to suppose that any danger of discovery threatened you because of a knock at the door?"

"I'll tell you. There is a man--I won't mention his name, but you know it very well, and maybe it is in your mind now--who wants me to marry him. He has wanted it for some time--I think because he admires women who are before the public and applauded by the world; also, perhaps, because I have refused him, and he is one who wants most what he finds hardest to get. He is not a scrupulous person, but he has some power and a good deal of influence, because he is very highly connected, and when people have 'axes to grind' he helps to grind them. He has suspected for some time that I cared for M. du Laurier, and for that he has hated Raoul. I have fancied--that he hired detectives to spy upon me; and my instinct as well as common sense told me that he would let no chance slip to separate me from the man I love. He would work mischief between us--or he would try to ruin Raoul, or crush me--anything to keep us apart. When I saw the Commissary of Police I was hardly surprised, and though I didn't know what pretext had brought him, I said to myself 'That is the work of--'"

"Perhaps better not mention the name, Mademoiselle."

"I didn't mean to. I leave that to your--imagination. 'This is the work of the man whose love is more cruel than hate,' I thought. While I wondered what possible use the police could make of my letters, I was shaking with terror lest they should come upon them and they should somehow fall into--a certain man's hands. Then, at last, they did find the case, just as I'd begun to hope it was safe. I begged the Commissary of Police not to open it. In vain. When he did, what was my relief to see the diamond necklace you must have heard of!--my relief and my surprise. And now I'm going to confide in you the secret of another, speaking to you as my friend, and a man of honour.

"Those jewels had been stolen only a few days ago from Monsieur du Laurier, and he was in despair at their loss, for they belonged to a dear friend of his--an inveterate gambler, but an adorable woman. She dared not tell her husband of money that she'd lost, but begged Raoul to sell the diamonds for her in Amsterdam and have them replaced by paste.

On his way there the necklace was stolen by an expert thief, who must somehow have learned what was going on through the p.a.w.nbroker with whom the jewels had been in pledge--for a few thousand francs only. You can imagine my astonishment at seeing the necklace returned in such a miraculous way. I thought that Ivor Dundas must have got it back, meaning to give it to me as a surprise--and the letters afterwards. And it was only to keep the letters out of the affair altogether at any price--evidences in black and white of my silly flirtation--and also to avoid any a.s.sociation of Raoul's name with the necklace, that I told the Commissary of Police the leather case had in it a present from my lover.

I spoke impulsively, in sheer desperation; and the instant the words were out I would have cut off my hand to take back the stupid falsehood.

But what good to deny what I had just said? The men wouldn't have believed me.

"When the police had gone, I asked Mr. Dundas for my letters. But he thought he had given them to me--and he knew no more of the diamonds in their red case than I did--far less, indeed.

"I was distracted to find that my letters had disappeared, though I was thankful for Raoul's sake, to have the necklace. Mr. Dundas believed that his own leather case with the letters must have been stolen from his pocket in the train, though he couldn't imagine why the diamonds had been given to him instead. But he suspected a travelling companion of his, who had acted queerly; and he determined to try and find the man.

He was to bring me news after the theatre at my house, about midnight.

"He came fifteen minutes later, having been detained at his hotel.

Friends of his had unexpectedly arrived. He had just time to tell me this, and that after going out on a false scent he had employed a detective named Girard, when Monsieur du Laurier arrived unexpectedly.

It seems, he'd been made frantically jealous by some misrepresentations of--the man whose name we haven't mentioned. I begged Mr. Dundas to hide in my boudoir, which he disliked doing, but finally did, to please me. I hoped that he would escape by the window, but it stuck, and to my horror I heard him there, in the dark, moving about. I covered the sounds as well as I could, and pacified Raoul, who thought he had seen someone come in. I hinted that it must have been the fiance of a pretty housemaid I have. It was not till after one that Ivor Dundas finally got away; this I swear to you. What happened to him after leaving my house you know better than I do, for I haven't seen him since, as you are well aware."

"He says he found a letter from the thief in his pocket, and went to the address named; that he couldn't get a cab and walked. But you have read the papers,"

"Yes, and I know how loyal he has been to me. Why, he wouldn't even tell about the diamonds, much less my letters!"

"As for these letters, you are still anxious about them, Mademoiselle?"

"My hope is that Mr. Dundas found and had time to destroy them, rather than risk further delay."

"You would like to know their fate?"

"I would indeed."

"Well, I applaud the Englishman's chivalry. Vive l'Entente Cordiale!"

"You are a man to understand such chivalry, Monsieur. Now that I've humbled myself, can't you give me hope that he'll soon be released, and yet that--that I shan't be made to suffer for my confession to you? It's clear to you, isn't it, that the murder must have been done long before he could have reached the house in the Rue de la Fille Sauvage from the Rue d'Hollande?"

"Yes, that is clear. And needless to say, I believe your statement, Mademoiselle. You are brave and good to have come forward as you have, without being called upon. There are still some formalities to be gone through before Mr. Dundas can be released; but English influence is at work in high quarters, and after what you have told me, I think he will not much longer be under restraint. Besides, I may as well inform you, dear lady, that not ten minutes before you arrived this morning I received satisfactory news of the arrest of two Englishmen at Frankfort, who seem to have been concerned in this business in the Rue de la Fille Sauvage. They certainly travelled with the murdered man; and a friend of his called Gestre, just back from Ma.r.s.eilles, has sworn that these persons were formerly partners of Janson, the deceased. If Janson stole the necklace from Monsieur du Laurier, with this pair as accomplices, and then tried to cheat them, a motive for the crime is evident. And we are getting at Janson's record, which seems to be a bad one--a notorious one throughout Europe, if he proves to be the man we think. I hope, really, that in a very few days Mr. Dundas may be able to thank you in person for what you've done for him, and--to tell you what has become of those letters."

"What good will their destruction do me, though, if you are not merciful?"

"I intend to be, for I can combine mercy with justice. Dear Mademoiselle, Monsieur du Laurier need never know the circ.u.mstances you have told to me, or that the Englishman's alibi has been proved by you.

The arrest of these two men in Frankfort will, I feel sure, help the police to keep your secret as you would keep it yourself. Now, will that a.s.surance make it easier for you to put your whole soul into your part to-night?"

"If you will accept that box," I said, letting him kiss my hand, and feeling inclined to kiss his.

Then I drove home, with my heart singing, for I felt almost sure that I had trumped G.o.densky's last trick now.

When I reached home Miss Forrest was there. She had brought the diamonds in the brocade bag. Oddly enough, the ribbons which fastened it were torn out, as if there had been a struggle for the possession of the bag.

But Miss Forrest did not explain this, or even allude to it at all.

I thanked her for coming and for bringing the jewels. "I have kept my promise," I said. "The man you love will be free in a few days. Will you let me say that I think you are a very n.o.ble pair, and I hope you will be happy together."

"I shall try to make up to him for--my hateful suspicions and--everything," she said, like a repentant child. "I love him so much!"

"And he you. You almost broke his heart by throwing him over; I saw that. But how gloriously you will mend it again!"

"Oh, I hope so!" she cried. "And you--have I really spoiled your life by forcing you to make that promise? I pray that I haven't."

"I thought you had, but I was mistaken," I answered. "The thing you have made me do has proved a blessing. I may have--altered some of the facts a little, but none of those that concern Mr. Dundas. And a woman has to use such weapons as she has, against cruel enemies."

"I hope you'll defeat yours," said Miss Forrest.

"I begin to believe I shall," said I. And we shook hands. She is the only girl I ever saw who seemed to me worthy of Ivor Dundas.

Early in the afternoon Raoul came, and the first thing I did was to give him the diamonds.