At the Villa Rose

  CHAPTER IV

  AT THE VILLA

  The drive curved between trees and high bushes towards the back of thehouse, and as the party advanced along it a small, trim, soldier-likeman, with a pointed beard, came to meet them. It was the man who hadlooked out from the window, Louis Besnard, the Commissaire of Police.

  "You are coming, then, to help us, M. Hanaud!" he cried, extending hishands. "You will find no jealousy here; no spirit amongst us ofanything but good will; no desire except one to carry out yoursuggestions. All we wish is that the murderers should be discovered.Mon Dieu, what a crime! And so young a girl to be involved in it! Butwhat will you?"

  "So you have already made your mind up on that point!" said Hanaudsharply.

  The Commissaire shrugged his shoulders.

  "Examine the villa and then judge for yourself whether any otherexplanation is conceivable," he said; and turning, he waved his handtowards the house. Then he cried, "Ah!" and drew himself into anattitude of attention. A tall, thin man of about forty-five years,dressed in a frock coat and a high silk hat, had just come round anangle of the drive and was moving slowly towards them. He wore thesoft, curling brown beard of one who has never used a razor on hischin, and had a narrow face with eyes of a very light grey, and a roundbulging forehead.

  "This is the Juge d'Instruction?" asked Hanaud.

  "Yes; M. Fleuriot," replied Louis Besnard in a whisper.

  M. Fleuriot was occupied with his own thoughts, and it was not untilBesnard stepped forward noisily on the gravel that he became aware ofthe group in the garden.

  "This is M. Hanaud, of the Surete in Paris," said Louis Besnard.

  M. Fleuriot bowed with cordiality.

  "You are very welcome, M. Hanaud. You will find that nothing at thevilla has been disturbed. The moment the message arrived over thetelephone that you were willing to assist us I gave instructions thatall should be left as we found it. I trust that you, with yourexperience, will see a way where our eyes find none."

  Hanaud bowed in reply.

  "I shall do my best, M. Fleuriot. I can say no more," he said.

  "But who are these gentlemen?" asked Fleuriot, waking, it seemed, nowfor the first time to the presence of Harry Wethermill and Mr. Ricardo.

  "They are both friends of mine," replied Hanaud. "If you do not objectI think their assistance may be useful. Mr. Wethermill, for instance,was acquainted with Celia Harland."

  "Ah!" cried the judge; and his face took on suddenly a keen and eagerlook. "You can tell me about her perhaps?"

  "All that I know I will tell readily," said Harry Wethermill.

  Into the light eyes of M. Fleuriot there came a cold, bright gleam. Hetook a step forward. His face seemed to narrow to a greater sharpness.In a moment, to Mr. Ricardo's thought, he ceased to be the judge; hedropped from his high office; he dwindled into a fanatic.

  "She is a Jewess, this Celia Harland?" he cried.

  "No, M. Fleuriot, she is not," replied Wethermill. "I do not speak indisparagement of that race, for I count many friends amongst itsmembers. But Celia Harland is not one of them."

  "Ah!" said Fleuriot; and there was something of disappointment,something, too, of incredulity, in his voice. "Well, you will come andreport to me when you have made your investigation." And he passed onwithout another question or remark.

  The group of men watched him go, and it was not until he was out ofearshot that Besnard turned with a deprecating gesture to Hanaud.

  "Yes, yes, he is a good judge, M. Hanaud--quick, discriminating,sympathetic; but he has that bee in his bonnet, like so many others.Everywhere he must see l'affaire Dreyfus. He cannot get it out of hishead. No matter how insignificant a woman is murdered, she must haveletters in her possession which would convict Dreyfus. But you know!There are thousands like that--good, kindly, just people in theordinary ways of life, but behind every crime they see the Jew."

  Hanaud nodded his head.

  "I know; and in a Juge d'Instruction it is very embarrassing. Let uswalk on."

  Half-way between the gate and the villa a second carriage-road struckoff to the left, and at the entrance to it stood a young, stout man inblack leggings.

  "The chauffeur?" asked Hanaud. "I will speak to him."

  The Commissaire called the chauffeur forward.

  "Servettaz," he said, "you will answer any questions which monsieur mayput to you."

  "Certainly, M. le Commissaire," said the chauffeur. His manner wasserious, but he answered readily. There was no sign of fear upon hisface.

  "How long have you been with Mme. Dauvray?" Hanaud asked.

  "Four months, monsieur. I drove her to Aix from Paris."

  "And since your parents live at Chambery you wished to seize theopportunity of spending a day with them while you were so near?"

  "Yes, monsieur."

  "When did you ask for permission?"

  "On Saturday, monsieur."

  "Did you ask particularly that you should have yesterday, the Tuesday?"

  "No, monsieur; I asked only for a day whenever it should be convenientto madame."

  "Quite so," said Hanaud. "Now, when did Mme. Dauvray tell you that youmight have Tuesday?"

  Servettaz hesitated. His face became troubled. When he spoke, he spokereluctantly.

  "It was not Mme. Dauvray, monsieur, who told me that I might go onTuesday," he said.

  "Not Mme. Dauvray! Who was it, then?" Hanaud asked sharply.

  Servettaz glanced from one to another of the grave faces whichconfronted him.

  "It was Mlle. Celie," he said, "who told me."

  "Oh!" said Hanaud, slowly. "It was Mlle. Celie. When did she tell you?"

  "On Monday morning, monsieur. I was cleaning the car. She came to thegarage with some flowers in her hand which she had been cutting in thegarden, and she said: 'I was right, Alphonse. Madame has a kind heart.You can go to-morrow by the train which leaves Aix at 1.52 and arrivesat Chambery at nine minutes after two.'"

  Hanaud started.

  "'I was right, Alphonse.' Were those her words? And 'Madame has a kindheart.' Come, come, what is all this?" He lifted a warning finger andsaid gravely, "Be very careful, Servettaz."

  "Those were her words, monsieur."

  "'I was right, Alphonse. Madame has a kind heart'?"

  "Yes, monsieur."

  "Then Mlle. Celie had spoken to you before about this visit of yours toChambery," said Hanaud, with his eyes fixed steadily upon thechauffeur's face. The distress upon Servettaz's face increased.Suddenly Hanaud's voice rang sharply. "You hesitate. Begin at thebeginning. Speak the truth, Servettaz!"

  "Monsieur, I am speaking the truth," said the chauffeur. "It is true Ihesitate ... I have heard this morning what people are saying ... I donot know what to think. Mlle. Celie was always kind and thoughtful forme ... But it is true"--and with a kind of desperation he wenton--"yes, it is true that it was Mlle. Celie who first suggested to methat I should ask for a day to go to Chambery."

  "When did she suggest it?"

  "On the Saturday."

  To Mr. Ricardo the words were startling. He glanced with pity towardsWethermill. Wethermill, however, had made up his mind for good and all.He stood with a dogged look upon his face, his chin thrust forward, hiseyes upon the chauffeur. Besnard, the Commissaire, had made up hismind, too. He merely shrugged his shoulders. Hanaud stepped forward andlaid his hand gently on the chauffeur's arm.

  "Come, my friend," he said, "let us hear exactly how this happened!"

  "Mlle. Celie," said Servettaz, with genuine compunction in his voice,"came to the garage on Saturday morning and ordered the car for theafternoon. She stayed and talked to me for a little while, as she oftendid. She said that she had been told that my parents lived at Chambery,and since I was so near I ought to ask for a holiday. For it would notbe kind if I did not go and see them."

  "That was all?"

  "Yes, monsieur."

  "Very well." And the detective resumed at once his brisk voice andalert manner. He seem
ed to dismiss Servettaz's admission from his mind.Ricardo had the impression of a man tying up an important documentwhich for the moment he has done with, and putting it away ticketed insome pigeon-hole in his desk. "Let us see the garage!"

  They followed the road between the bushes until a turn showed them thegarage with its doors open.

  "The doors were found unlocked?"

  "Just as you see them."

  Hanaud nodded. He spoke again to Servettaz. "What did you do with thekey on Tuesday?"

  "I gave it to Helene Vauquier, monsieur, after I had locked up thegarage. And she hung it on a nail in the kitchen."

  "I see," said Hanaud. "So any one could easily, have found it lastnight?"

  "Yes, monsieur--if one knew where to look for it."

  At the back of the garage a row of petrol-tins stood against the brickwall.

  "Was any petrol taken?" asked Hanaud.

  "Yes, monsieur; there was very little petrol in the car when I wentaway. More was taken, but it was taken from the middle tins--these."And he touched the tins.

  "I see," said Hanaud, and he raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. TheCommissaire moved with impatience.

  "From the middle or from the end--what does it matter?" he exclaimed."The petrol was taken."

  Hanaud, however, did not dismiss the point so lightly.

  "But it is very possible that it does matter," he said gently. "Forexample, if Servettaz had had no reason to examine his tins it mighthave been some while before he found out that the petrol had beentaken."

  "Indeed, yes," said Servettaz. "I might even have forgotten that I hadnot used it myself."

  "Quite so," said Hanaud, and he turned to Besnard. "I thinkthat may be important. I do not know," he said.

  "But since the car is gone," cried Besnard, "how could the chauffeurnot look immediately at his tins?"

  The question had occurred to Ricardo, and he wondered in what wayHanaud meant to answer it. Hanaud, however, did not mean to answer it.He took little notice of it at all. He put it aside with a superbindifference to the opinion which his companions might form of him.

  "Ah, yes," he said, carelessly. "Since the car is gone, as you say,that is so." And he turned again to Servettaz.

  "It was a powerful car?" he asked.

  "Sixty horse-power," said Servettaz.

  Hanaud turned to the Commissaire.

  "You have the number and description, I suppose? It will be as well toadvertise for it. It may have been seen; it must be somewhere."

  The Commissaire replied that the description had already been printed,and Hanaud, with a nod of approval, examined the ground. In front ofthe garage there was a small stone courtyard, but on its surface therewas no trace of a footstep.

  "Yet the gravel was wet," he said, shaking his head. "The man whofetched that car fetched it carefully."

  He turned and walked back with his eyes upon the ground. Then he ran tothe grass border between the gravel and the bushes.

  "Look!" he said to Wethermill; "a foot has pressed the blades of grassdown here, but very lightly--yes, and there again. Some one ran alongthe border here on his toes. Yes, he was very careful."

  They turned again into the main drive, and, following it for a fewyards, came suddenly upon a space in front of the villa. It was a smalltoy pleasure-house, looking on to a green lawn gay with flower-beds. Itwas built of yellow stone, and was almost square in shape. A couple ofornate pillars flanked the door, and a gable roof, topped by a giltvane, surmounted it. To Ricardo it seemed impossible that so sordid andsinister a tragedy had taken place within its walls during the lasttwelve hours. It glistened so gaudily in the blaze of sunlight. Hereand there the green outer shutters were closed; here and there thewindows stood open to let in the air and light. Upon each side of thedoor there was a window lighting the hall, which was large; beyondthose windows again, on each side, there were glass doors opening tothe ground and protected by the ordinary green latticed shutters ofwood, which now stood hooked back against the wall. These glass doorsopened into rooms oblong in shape, which ran through towards the backof the house, and were lighted in addition by side windows. The roomupon the extreme left, as the party faced the villa, was thedining-room, with the kitchen at the back; the room on the right wasthe salon in which the murder had been committed. In front of the glassdoor to this room a strip of what had once been grass stretched to thegravel drive. But the grass had been worn away by constant use, and theblack mould showed through. This strip was about three yards wide, andas they approached they saw, even at a distance, that since the rain oflast night it had been trampled down.

  "We will go round the house first," said Hanaud, and he turned alongthe side of the villa and walked in the direction of the road. Therewere four windows just above his head, of which three lighted thesalon, and the fourth a small writing-room behind it. Under thesewindows there was no disturbance of the ground, and a carefulinvestigation showed conclusively that the only entrance used had beenthe glass doors of the salon facing the drive. To that spot, then, theyreturned. There were three sets of footmarks upon the soil. One set ranin a distinct curve from the drive to the side of the door, and did notcross the others.

  "Those," said Hanaud, "are the footsteps of my intelligent friend,Perrichet, who was careful not to disturb the ground."

  Perrichet beamed all over his rosy face, and Besnard nodded at him withcondescending approval.

  "But I wish, M. le Commissaire"--and Hanaud pointed to a blur ofmarks--"that your other officers had been as intelligent. Look! Theserun from the glass door to the drive, and, for all the use they are tous, a harrow might have been dragged across them."

  Besnard drew himself up.

  "Not one of my officers has entered the room by way of this door. Thestrictest orders were given and obeyed. The ground, as you see it, isthe ground as it was at twelve o'clock last night."

  Hanaud's face grew thoughtful.

  "Is that so?" he said, and he stooped to examine the second set ofmarks. They were at the righthand side of the door. "A woman and aman," he said. "But they are mere hints rather than prints. One mightalmost think--" He rose up without finishing his sentence, and heturned to the third set and a look of satisfaction gleamed upon hisface. "Ah! here is something more interesting," he said.

  There were just three impressions; and, whereas the blurred marks wereat the side, these three pointed straight from the middle of the glassdoors to the drive. They were quite clearly defined, and all three werethe impressions made by a woman's small, arched, high-heeled shoe. Theposition of the marks was at first sight a little peculiar. There wasone a good yard from the window, the impression of the right foot, andthe pressure of the sole of the shoe was more marked than that of theheel. The second, the impression of the left foot, was not quite so farfrom the first as the first was from the window, and here again theheel was the more lightly defined. But there was this difference--themark of the toe, which was pointed in the first instance, was, in this,broader and a trifle blurred. Close beside it the right foot was againvisible; only now the narrow heel was more clearly defined than theball of the foot. It had, indeed, sunk half an inch into the softground. There were no further imprints. Indeed, these two were notmerely close together, they were close to the gravel of the drive andon the very border of the grass.

  Hanaud looked at the marks thoughtfully. Then he turned to theCommissaire.

  "Are there any shoes in the house which fit those marks?"

  "Yes. We have tried the shoes of all the women--Celie Harland, themaid, and even Mme. Dauvray. The only ones which fit at all are thosetaken from Celie Harland's bedroom."

  He called to an officer standing in the drive, and a pair of grey suedeshoes were brought to him from the hall.

  "See, M. Hanaud, it is a pretty little foot which made those clearimpressions," he said, with a smile; "a foot arched and slender. Mme.Dauvray's foot is short and square, the maid's broad and flat. NeitherMme. Dauvray nor Helene Vauquier could have worn these shoes
. They werelying, one here, one there, upon the floor of Celie Harland's room, asthough she had kicked them off in a hurry. They are almost new, yousee. They have been worn once, perhaps, no more, and they fit withabsolute precision into those footmarks, except just at the toe of thatsecond one."

  Hanaud took the shoes and, kneeling down, placed them one after theother over the impressions. To Ricardo it was extraordinary how exactlythey covered up the marks and filled the indentations.

  "I should say," said the Commissaire, "that Celie Harland went awaywearing a new pair of shoes made on the very same last as those."

  As those she had left carelessly lying on the floor of her room for thefirst person to notice, thought Ricardo! It seemed as if the girl hadgone out of her way to make the weight of evidence against her as heavyas possible. Yet, after all, it was just through inattention to thesmall details, so insignificant at the red moment of crime, so terriblyinstructive the next day, that guilt was generally brought home.

  Hanaud rose to his feet and handed the shoes back to the officer.

  "Yes," he said, "so it seems. The shoemaker can help us here. I see theshoes were made in Aix."

  Besnard looked at the name stamped in gold letters upon the lining ofthe shoes.

  "I will have inquiries made," he said.

  Hanaud nodded, took a measure from his pocket and measured the groundbetween the window and the first footstep, and between the firstfootstep and the other two.

  "How tall is Mlle. Celie?" he asked, and he addressed the question toWethermill. It struck Ricardo as one of the strangest details in allthis strange affair that the detective should ask with confidence forinformation which might help to bring Celia Harland to the guillotinefrom the man who had staked his happiness upon her innocence.

  "About five feet seven," he answered.

  Hanaud replaced his measure in his pocket. He turned with a grave faceto Wethermill.

  "I warned you fairly, didn't I?" he said.

  Wethermill's white face twitched.

  "Yes," he said. "I am not afraid." But there was more of anxiety in hisvoice than there had been before.

  Hanaud pointed solemnly to the ground.

  "Read the story those footprints write in the mould there. A young andactive girl of about Mlle. Celie's height, and wearing a new pair ofMlle. Celie's shoes, springs from that room where the murder wascommitted, where the body of the murdered woman lies. She is running.She is wearing a long gown. At the second step the hem of the gowncatches beneath the point of her shoe. She stumbles. To save herselffrom falling she brings up the other foot sharply and stamps the heeldown into the ground. She recovers her balance. She steps on to thedrive. It is true the gravel here is hard and takes no mark, but youwill see that some of the mould which has clung to her shoes hasdropped off. She mounts into the motor-car with the man and the otherwoman and drives off--some time between eleven and twelve."

  "Between eleven and twelve? Is that sure?" asked Besnard.

  "Certainly," replied Hanaud. "The gate is open at eleven, and Perrichetcloses it. It is open again at twelve. Therefore the murderers had notgone before eleven. No; the gate was open for them to go, but they hadnot gone. Else why should the gate again be open at midnight?"

  Besnard nodded in assent, and suddenly Perrichet started forward, withhis eyes full of horror.

  "Then, when I first closed the gate," he cried, "and came into thegarden and up to the house they were here--in that room? Oh, my God!"He stared at the window, with his mouth open.

  "I am afraid, my friend, that is so," said Hanaud gravely.

  "But I knocked upon the wooden door, I tried the bolts; and they werewithin--in the darkness within, holding their breath not three yardsfrom me."

  He stood transfixed.

  "That we shall see," said Hanaud.

  He stepped in Perrichet's footsteps to the sill of the room. Heexamined the green wooden doors which opened outwards, and the glassdoors which opened inwards, taking a magnifying-glass from his pocket.He called Besnard to his side.

  "See!" he said, pointing to the woodwork.

  "Finger-marks!" asked Besnard eagerly.

  "Yes; of hands in gloves," returned Hanaud. "We shall learn nothingfrom these marks except that the assassins knew their trade."

  Then he stooped down to the sill, where some traces of steps werevisible. He rose with a gesture of resignation.

  "Rubber shoes," he said, and so stepped into the room, followed byWethermill and the others. They found themselves in a small recesswhich was panelled with wood painted white, and here and theredelicately carved into festoons of flowers. The recess ended in anarch, supported by two slender pillars, and on the inner side of thearch thick curtains of pink silk were hung. These were drawn backcarelessly, and through the opening between them the party looked downthe length of the room beyond. They passed within.