At the Villa Rose

  CHAPTER XIII

  IN THE HOUSE AT GENEVA

  It was well, Mr. Ricardo thought, that some one understood. Forhimself, he frankly admitted that he did not. Indeed, in his view thefirst principles of reasoning seemed to be set at naught. It wasobvious from the solicitude with which Celia Harland was surroundedthat every one except himself was convinced of her innocence. Yet itwas equally obvious that any one who bore in mind the eight points hehad tabulated against her must be convinced of her guilt. Yet again, ifshe were guilty, how did it happen that she had been so mishandled byher accomplices? He was not allowed, however, to reflect upon theseremarkable problems. He had too busy a time of it. At one moment he wasrunning to fetch water wherewith to bathe Celia's forehead. At another,when he had returned with the water, he was distracted by theappearance of Durette, the inspector from Aix, in the doorway.

  "We have them both," he said--"Hippolyte and the woman. They werehiding in the garden."

  "So I thought," said Hanaud, "when I saw the door open downstairs, andthe morphia-needle on the table."

  Lemerre turned to one of the officers.

  "Let them be taken with old Jeanne in cabs to the depot."

  And when the man had gone upon his errand Lemerre spoke to Hanaud.

  "You will stay here to-night to arrange for their transfer to Aix?"

  "I will leave Durette behind," said Hanaud. "I am needed at Aix. Wewill make a formal application for the prisoners." He was kneeling byCelia's side and awkwardly dabbing her forehead with a wethandkerchief. He raised a warning hand. Celia Harland moved and openedher eyes. She sat up on the sofa, shivering, and looked with dazed andwondering eyes from one to another of the strangers who surrounded her.She searched in vain for a familiar face.

  "You are amongst good friends, Mlle. Celie," said Hanaud with greatgentleness.

  "Oh, I wonder! I wonder!" she cried piteously.

  "Be very sure of it," he said heartily, and she clung to the sleeve ofhis coat with desperate hands.

  "I suppose you ARE friends," she said; "else why--?" and she moved hernumbed limbs to make certain that she was free. She looked about theroom. Her eyes fell upon the sack and widened with terror.

  "They came to me a little while ago in that cupboard there--Adele andthe old woman Jeanne. They made me get up. They told me they were goingto take me away. They brought my clothes and dressed me in everything Iwore when I came, so that no single trace of me might be left behind.Then they tied me." She tore off her gloves and showed them herlacerated wrists. "I think they meant to kill me--horribly." And shecaught her breath and whimpered like a child. Her spirit was broken.

  "My poor girl, all that is over," said Hanaud. And he stood up.

  But at the first movement he made she cried incisively, "No," andtightened the clutch of her fingers upon his sleeve.

  "But, mademoiselle, you are safe," he said, with a smile. She stared athim stupidly. It seemed the words had no meaning for her. She would notlet him go. It was only the feel of his coat within the clutch of herfingers which gave her any comfort.

  "I want to be sure that I am safe," she said, with a wan little smile.

  "Tell me, mademoiselle, what have you had to eat and drink during thelast two days?"

  "Is it two days?" she asked. "I was in the dark there. I did not know.A little bread, a little water."

  "That's what is wrong," said Hanaud. "Come, let us go from here!"

  "Yes, yes!" Celia cried eagerly. She rose to her feet, and tottered.Hanaud put his arm about her. "You are very kind," she said in a lowvoice, and again doubt looked out from her face and disappeared. "I amsure that I can trust you."

  Ricardo fetched her cloak and slipped it on her shoulders. Then hebrought her hat, and she pinned it on. She turned to Hanaud;unconsciously familiar words rose to her lips.

  "Is it straight?" she asked. And Hanaud laughed outright, and in amoment Celia smiled herself.

  Supported by Hanaud she stumbled down the stairs to the garden. As theypassed the open door of the lighted parlour at the back of the houseHanaud turned back to Lemerre and pointed silently to themorphia-needle and the phial. Lemerre nodded his head, and going intothe room took them away. They went out again into the garden. CeliaHarland threw back her head to the stars and drew in a deep breath ofthe cool night air.

  "I did not think," she said in a low voice, "to see the stars again."

  They walked slowly down the length of the garden, and Hanaud lifted herinto the launch. She turned and caught his coat.

  "You must come too," she said stubbornly.

  Hanaud sprang in beside her.

  "For to-night," he said gaily, "I am your papa!"

  Ricardo and the others followed, and the launch moved out over the lakeunder the stars. The bow was turned towards Geneva, the water tumbledbehind them like white fire, the night breeze blew fresh upon theirfaces. They disembarked at the landing-stage, and then Lemerre bowed toCelia and took his leave. Hanaud led Celia up on to the balcony of therestaurant and ordered supper. There were people still dining at thetables.

  One party indeed sitting late over their coffee Ricardo recognised witha kind of shock. They had taken their places, the very places in whichthey now sat, before he and Hanaud and Lemerre had left the restaurantupon their expedition of rescue. Into that short interval of time somuch that was eventful had been crowded.

  Hanaud leaned across the table to Celia and said in a low voice:

  "Mademoiselle, if I may suggest it, it would be as well if you put onyour gloves; otherwise they may notice your wrists."

  Celia followed his advice. She ate some food and drank a glass ofchampagne. A little colour returned to her cheeks.

  "You are very kind to me, you and monsieur your friend," she said, witha smile towards Ricardo. "But for you--" and her voice shook.

  "Hush!" said Hanaud--"all that is over; we will not speak of it."

  Celia looked out across the road on to the trees, of which the darkfoliage was brightened and made pale by the lights of the restaurant.Out on the water some one was singing.

  "It seems impossible to me," she said in a low voice, "that I am here,in the open air, and free."

  Hanaud looked at his watch.

  "Mlle. Celie, it is past ten o'clock. M. Ricardo's car is waiting thereunder the trees. I want you to drive back to Aix. I have taken roomsfor you at an hotel, and there will be a nurse from the hospital tolook after you."

  "Thank you, monsieur," she said; "you have thought of everything. But Ishall not need a nurse."

  "But you will have a nurse," said Hanaud firmly. "You feel strongernow--yes, but when you lay your head upon your pillow, mademoiselle, itwill be a comfort to you to know that you have her within call. And ina day or two," he added gently, "you will perhaps be able to tell uswhat happened on Tuesday night at the Villa Rose?"

  Celia covered her face with her hands for a few moments. Then she drewthem away and said simply:

  "Yes, monsieur, I will tell you."

  Hanaud bowed to her with a genuine deference.

  "Thank you, mademoiselle," he said, and in his voice there was a strongring of sympathy.

  They went downstairs and entered Ricardo's motor car.

  "I want to send a telephone message," said Hanaud, "if you will waithere."

  "No!" cried Celia decisively, and she again laid hold of his coat, witha pretty imperiousness, as though he belonged to her.

  "But I must," said Hanaud with a laugh.

  "Then I will come too," said Celia, and she opened the door and set afoot upon the step.

  "You will not, mademoiselle," said Hanaud, with a laugh. "Will you takeyour foot back into that car? That is better. Now you will sit withyour friend, M. Ricardo, whom, by the way, I have not yet introduced toyou. He is a very good friend of yours, mademoiselle, and will in thefuture be a still better one."

  Ricardo felt his conscience rather heavy within him, for he had comeout to Geneva with the fixed intention of arresting her as a mos
tdangerous criminal. Even now he could not understand how she could beinnocent of a share in Mme. Dauvray's murder. But Hanaud evidentlythought she was. And since Hanaud thought so, why, it was better to saynothing if one was sensitive to gibes. So Ricardo sat and talked withher while Hanaud ran back into the restaurant. It mattered very little,however, what he said, for Celia's eyes were fixed upon the doorwaythrough which Hanaud had disappeared. And when he came back she wasquick to turn the handle of the door.

  "Now, mademoiselle, we will wrap you up in M. Ricardo's sparemotor-coat and cover your knees with a rug and put you between us, andthen you can go to sleep."

  The car sped through the streets of Geneva. Celia Harland, with alittle sigh of relief, nestled down between the two men.

  "If I knew you better," she said to Hanaud, "I should tell you--what,of course, I do not tell you now--that I feel as if I had a bigNewfoundland dog with me."

  "Mlle. Celie," said Hanaud, and his voice told her that he was moved,"that is a very pretty thing which you have said to me."

  The lights of the city fell away behind them. Now only a glow in thesky spoke of Geneva; now even that was gone and with a smoothcontinuous purr the car raced through the cool darkness. The great headlamps threw a bright circle of light before them and the road slippedaway beneath the wheels like a running tide. Celia fell asleep. Evenwhen the car stopped at the Pont de La Caille she did not waken. Thedoor was opened, a search for contraband was made, the book was signed,still she did not wake. The car sped on.

  "You see, coming into France is a different affair," said Hanaud.

  "Yes," replied Ricardo.

  "Still, I will own it, you caught me napping yesterday.

  "I did?" exclaimed Ricardo joyfully.

  "You did," returned Hanaud. "I had never heard of the Pont de LaCaille. But you will not mention it? You will not ruin me?"

  "I will not," answered M. Ricardo, superb in his magnanimity. "You area good detective."

  "Oh, thank you! thank you!" cried Hanaud in a voice which shook--surelywith emotion. He wrung Ricardo's hand. He wiped an imaginary tear fromhis eye.

  And still Celia slept. M. Ricardo looked at her. He said to Hanaud in awhisper:

  "Yet I do not understand. The car, though no serious search was made,must still have stopped at the Pont de La Caille on the Swiss side. Whydid she not cry for help then? One cry and she was safe. A movementeven was enough. Do you understand?"

  Hanaud nodded his head.

  "I think so," he answered, with a very gentle look at Celia. "Yes, Ithink so."

  When Celia was aroused she found that the car had stopped before thedoor of an hotel, and that a woman in the dress of a nurse was standingin the doorway.

  "You can trust Marie," said Hanaud. And Celia turned as she stood uponthe ground and gave her hands to the two men.

  "Thank you! Thank you both!" she said in a trembling voice. She lookedat Hanaud and nodded her head. "You understand why I thank you so verymuch?"

  "Yes," said Hanaud. "But, mademoiselle"--and he bent over the car andspoke to her quietly, holding her hand--"there is ALWAYS a bigNewfoundland dog in the worst of troubles--if only you will look forhim. I tell you so--I, who belong to the Surete in Paris. Do not loseheart!" And in his mind he added: "God forgive me for the lie." Heshook her hand and let it go; and gathering up her skirt she went intothe hall of the hotel.

  Hanaud watched her as she went. She was to him a lonely and patheticcreature, in spite of the nurse who bore her company.

  "You must be a good friend to that young girl, M. Ricardo," he said."Let us drive to your hotel."

  "Yes," said Ricardo. And as they went the curiosity which all the wayfrom Geneva had been smouldering within him burst into flame.

  "Will you explain to me one thing?" he asked. "When the scream camefrom the garden you were not surprised. Indeed, you said that when yousaw the open door and the morphia-needle on the table of the littleroom downstairs you thought Adele and the man Hippolyte were hiding inthe garden."

  "Yes, I did think so."

  "Why? And why did the publication that the jewels had been discoveredso alarm you?"

  "Ah!" said Hanaud. "Did not you understand that? Yet it is surely clearand obvious, if you once grant that the girl was innocent, was awitness of the crime, and was now in the hands of the criminals. Grantme those premisses, M. Ricardo, for a moment, and you will see that wehad just one chance of finding the girl alive in Geneva. From the firstI was sure of that. What was the one chance? Why, this! She might bekept alive on the chance that she could be forced to tell what, by theway, she did not know, namely, the place where Mme. Dauvray's valuablejewels were secreted. Now, follow this. We, the police, find the jewelsand take charge of them. Let that news reach the house in Geneva, andon the same night Mlle. Celie loses her life, and not--very pleasantly.They have no further use for her. She is merely a danger to them. So Itake my precautions--never mind for the moment what they were. I takecare that if the murderer is in Aix and gets wind of our discovery heshall not be able to communicate his news."

  "The Post Office would have stopped letters or telegrams," saidRicardo. "I understand."

  "On the contrary," replied Hanaud. "No, I took my precautions, whichwere of quite a different kind, before I knew the house in Geneva orthe name of Rossignol. But one way of communication I did not think of.I did not think of the possibility that the news might be sent to anewspaper, which of course would publish it and cry it through thestreets of Geneva. The moment I heard the news I knew we must hurry.The garden of the house ran down to the lake. A means of disposing ofMlle. Celie was close at hand. And the night had fallen. As it was, wearrived just in time, and no earlier than just in time. The paper hadbeen bought, the message had reached the house, Mlle. Celie was nolonger of any use, and every hour she stayed in that house was ofcourse an hour of danger to her captors."

  "What were they going to do?" asked Ricardo.

  Hanaud shrugged his shoulders.

  "It is not pretty--what they were going to do. We reach the garden inour launch. At that moment Hippolyte and Adele, who is most likelyHippolyte's wife, are in the lighted parlour on the basement floor.Adele is preparing her morphia-needle. Hippolyte is going to get readythe rowing-boat which was tied at the end of the landing-stage. Quietlyas we came into the bank, they heard or saw us. They ran out and hid inthe garden, having no time to lock the garden door, or perhaps notdaring to lock it lest the sound of the key should reach our ears. Wefind that door upon the latch, the door of the room open; on the tablelies the morphia-needle. Upstairs lies Mlle. Celie--she is helpless,she cannot see what they are meaning to do."

  "But she could cry out," exclaimed Ricardo. "She did not even do that!"

  "No, my friend, she could not cry out," replied Hanaud very seriously."I know why. She could not. No living man or woman could. Rest assuredof that!"

  Ricardo was mystified; but since the captain of the ship would not showhis observation, he knew it would be in vain to press him.

  "Well, while Adele was preparing her morphia-needle and Hippolyte wasabout to prepare the boat, Jeanne upstairs was making her preparationtoo. She was mending a sack. Did you see Mlle. Celie's eyes and facewhen first she saw that sack? Ah! she understood! They meant to giveher a dose of morphia, and, as soon as she became unconscious, theywere going perhaps to take some terrible precaution--" Hanaud pausedfor a second. "I only say perhaps as to that. But certainly they weregoing to sew her up in that sack, row her well out across the lake, fixa weight to her feet, and drop her quietly overboard. She was to weareverything which she had brought with her to the house. Mlle. Celiewould have disappeared for ever, and left not even a ripple upon thewater to trace her by!"

  Ricardo clenched his hands.

  "But that's horrible!" he cried; and as he uttered the words the carswerved into the drive and stopped before the door of the HotelMajestic.

  Ricardo sprang out. A feeling of remorse seized hold of him. Allthrough that evening he had not
given one thought to Harry Wethermill,so utterly had the excitement of each moment engrossed his mind.

  "He will be glad to know!" cried Ricardo. "To-night, at all events, heshall sleep. I ought to have telegraphed to him from Geneva that we andMiss Celia were coming back." He ran up the steps into the hotel.

  "I took care that he should know," said Hanaud, as he followed inRicardo's steps.

  "Then the message could not have reached him, else he would have beenexpecting us," replied Ricardo, as he hurried into the office, where aclerk sat at his books.

  "Is Mr. Wethermill in?" he asked.

  The clerk eyed him strangely.

  "Mr. Wethermill was arrested this evening," he said.

  Ricardo stepped back.

  "Arrested! When?"

  "At twenty-five minutes past ten," replied the clerk shortly.

  "Ah," said Hanaud quietly. "That was my telephone message."

  Ricardo stared in stupefaction at his companion.

  "Arrested!" he cried. "Arrested! But what for?"

  "For the murders of Marthe Gobin and Mme. Dauvray," said Hanaud."Good-night."