CHAPTER IX
MME. DAUVRAY'S MOTOR-CAR
They got into a cab outside the door. Perrichet mounted the box, andthe cab was driven along the upward-winding road past the HotelBernascon. A hundred yards beyond the hotel the cab stopped opposite toa villa. A hedge separated the garden of the villa from the road, andabove the hedge rose a board with the words "To Let" upon it. At thegate a gendarme was standing, and just within the gate Ricardo sawLouis Besnard, the Commissaire, and Servettaz, Mme. Dauvray's chauffeur.
"It is here," said Besnard, as the party descended from the cab, "inthe coach-house of this empty villa."
"Here?" cried Ricardo in amazement.
The discovery upset all his theories. He had expected to hear that ithad been found fifty leagues away; but here, within a couple of milesof the Villa Rose itself--the idea seemed absurd! Why take it away atall--unless it was taken away as a blind? That supposition found itsway into Ricardo's mind, and gathered strength as he thought upon it;for Hanaud had seemed to lean to the belief that one of the murderersmight be still in Aix. Indeed, a glance at him showed that he was notdiscomposed by their discovery.
"When was it found?" Hanaud asked.
"This morning. A gardener comes to the villa on two days a week to keepthe grounds in order. Fortunately Wednesday is one of his days.Fortunately, too, there was rain yesterday evening. He noticed thetracks of the wheels which you can see on the gravel, and since thevilla is empty he was surprised. He found the coach-house door forcedand the motor-car inside it. When he went to his luncheon he broughtthe news of his discovery to the depot."
The party followed the Commissaire along the drive to the coach-house.
"We will have the car brought out," said Hanaud to Servettaz.
It was a big and powerful machine with a limousine body, luxuriouslyfitted and cushioned in the shade of light grey. The outside panels ofthe car were painted a dark grey. The car had hardly been brought outinto the sunlight before a cry of stupefaction burst from the lips ofPerrichet.
"Oh!" he cried, in utter abasement. "I shall never forgivemyself--never, never!"
"Why?" Hanaud asked, turning sharply as he spoke.
Perrichet was standing with his round eyes staring and his mouth agape.
"Because, monsieur, I saw that car--at four o'clock this morning--atthe corner of the road--not fifty yards from the Villa Rose."
"What!" cried Ricardo.
"You saw it!" exclaimed Wethermill.
Upon their faces was reflected now the stupefaction of Perrichet.
"But you must have made a mistake," said the Commissaire.
"No, no, monsieur," Perrichet insisted. "It was that car. It was thatnumber. It was just after daylight. I was standing outside the gate ofthe villa on duty where M. le Commissaire had placed me. The carappeared at the corner and slackened speed. It seemed to me that it wasgoing to turn into the road and come down past me. But instead thedriver, as if he were now sure of his way, put the car at its top speedand went on into Aix."
"Was any one inside the car?" asked Hanaud.
"No, monsieur; it was empty."
"But you saw the driver!" exclaimed Wethermill.
"Yes; what was he like?" cried the Commissaire.
Perrichet shook his head mournfully.
"He wore a talc mask over the upper part of his face, and had a littleblack moustache, and was dressed in a heavy great-coat of blue with awhite collar."
"That is my coat, monsieur," said Servettaz, and as he spoke he liftedit up from the chauffeur's seat. "It is Mme. Dauvray's livery."
Harry Wethermill groaned aloud.
"We have lost him. He was within our grasp--he, the murderer!--and hewas allowed to go!"
Perrichet's grief was pitiable.
"Monsieur," he pleaded, "a car slackens its speed and goes on again--itis not so unusual a thing. I did not know the number of Mme. Dauvray'scar. I did not even know that it had disappeared"; and suddenly tearsof mortification filled his eyes. "But why do I make these excuses?" hecried. "It is better, M. Hanaud, that I go back to my uniform and standat the street corner. I am as foolish as I look."
"Nonsense, my friend," said Hanaud, clapping the disconsolate man uponthe shoulder. "You remembered the car and its number. That issomething--and perhaps a great deal," he added gravely. "As for thetalc mask and the black moustache, that is not much to help us, it istrue." He looked at Ricardo's crestfallen face and smiled. "We mightarrest our good friend M. Ricardo upon that evidence, but no one elsethat I know."
Hanaud laughed immoderately at his joke. He alone seemed to feel nodisappointment at Perrichet's oversight. Ricardo was a little touchy onthe subject of his personal appearance, and bridled visibly. Hanaudturned towards Servettaz.
"Now," he said, "you know how much petrol was taken from the garage?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Can you tell me, by the amount which has been used, how far that carwas driven last night?" Hanaud asked.
Servettaz examined the tank.
"A long way, monsieur. From a hundred and thirty to a hundred and fiftykilometres, I should say."
"Yes, just about that distance, I should say," cried Hanaud.
His eyes brightened, and a smile, a rather fierce smile, came to hislips. He opened the door, and examined with a minute scrutiny the floorof the carriage, and as he looked, the smile faded from his face.Perplexity returned to it. He took the cushions, looked them over andshook them out.
"I see no sign--" he began, and then he uttered a little shrill cry ofsatisfaction. From the crack of the door by the hinge he picked off atiny piece of pale green stuff, which he spread out upon the back ofhis hand.
"Tell me, what is this?" he said to Ricardo.
"It is a green fabric," said Ricardo very wisely.
"It is green chiffon," said Hanaud. "And the frock in which Mlle. Celiewent away was of green chiffon over satin. Yes, Mlle. Celie travelledin this car."
He hurried to the driver's seat. Upon the floor there was some darkmould. Hanaud cleaned it off with his knife and held some of it in thepalm of his hand. He turned to Servettaz.
"You drove the car on Tuesday morning before you went to Chambery?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Where did you take up Mme. Dauvray and Mlle. Celie?"
"At the front door of the Villa Rose."
"Did you get down from the seat at all?"
"No, monsieur; not after I left the garage."
Hanaud returned to his companions.
"See!" And he opened his hand. "This is black soil--moist from lastnight's rain--soil like the soil in front of Mme. Dauvray's salon.Look, here is even a blade or two of the grass"; and he turned themould over in the palm of his hand. Then he took an empty envelope fromhis pocket and poured the soil into it and gummed the flap down. Hestood and frowned at the motor-car.
"Listen," he said, "how I am puzzled! There was a man last night at theVilla Rose. There were a man's blurred footmarks in the mould beforethe glass door. That man drove madame's car for a hundred and fiftykilometres, and he leaves the mould which clung to his boots upon thefloor of his seat. Mlle. Celie and another woman drove away inside thecar. Mlle. Celie leaves a fragment of the chiffon tunic of her frockwhich caught in the hinge. But Mlle. Celie made much clearerimpressions in the mould than the man. Yet on the floor of the carriagethere is no trace of her shoes. Again I say there is something herewhich I do not understand." And he spread out his hands with animpulsive gesture of despair.
"It looks as if they had been careful and he careless," said Mr.Ricardo, with the air of a man solving a very difficult problem.
"What a mind!" cried Hanaud, now clasping his hands together inadmiration. "How quick and how profound!"
There was at times something elephantinely elfish in M. Hanaud'sdemeanour, which left Mr. Ricardo at a loss. But he had come to noticethat these undignified manifestations usually took place when Hanaudhad reached a definite opinion upon some point which had perplexed hi
m.
"Yet there is perhaps, another explanation," Hanaud continued. "Forobserve, M. Ricardo. We have other evidence to show that the carelessone was Mlle. Celie. It was she who left her footsteps so plainlyvisible upon the grass, not the man. However, we will go back to M.Wethermill's room at the Hotel Majestic and talk this matter over. Weknow something now. Yes, we know--what do we know, monsieur?" he asked,suddenly turning with a smile to Ricardo, and, as Ricardo paused:"Think it over while we walk down to M. Wethermill's apartment in theHotel Majestic."
"We know that the murderer has escaped," replied Ricardo hotly.
"The murderer is not now the most important object of our search. He isvery likely at Marseilles by now. We shall lay our hands on him, neverfear," replied Hanaud, with a superb gesture of disdain. "But it wasthoughtful of you to remind me of him. I might so easily have cleanforgotten him, and then indeed my reputation would have suffered aneclipse." He made a low, ironical bow to Ricardo and walked quicklydown the road.
"For a cumbersome man he is extraordinarily active," said Mr. Ricardoto Harry Wethermill, trying to laugh, without much success. "A heavy,clever, middle-aged man, liable to become a little gutter-boy at amoment's notice."
Thus he described the great detective, and the description is quoted.For it was Ricardo's best effort in the whole of this business.
The three men went straight to Harry Wethermill's apartment, whichconsisted of a sitting-room and a bedroom on the first floor. A balconyran along outside. Hanaud stepped out on to it, looked about him, andreturned.
"It is as well to know that we cannot be overheard," he said.
Harry Wethermill meanwhile had thrown himself into a chair. The mask hehad worn had slipped from its fastenings for a moment. There was a lookof infinite suffering upon his face. It was the face of a man torturedby misery to the snapping-point.
Hanaud, on the other hand, was particularly alert. The discovery of themotor-car had raised his spirits. He sat at the table.
"I will tell you what we have learnt," he said, "and it is ofimportance. The three of them--the man, the woman with the red hair,and Mlle. Celie--all drove yesterday night to Geneva. That is only onething we have learnt."
"Then you still cling to Geneva?" said Ricardo.
"More than ever," said Hanaud.
He turned in his chair towards Wethermill.
"Ah, my poor friend!" he said, when he saw the young man's distress.
Harry Wethermill sprang up with a gesture as though to sweep the needof sympathy away.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
"You have a road map, perhaps?" said Hanaud.
"Yes," said Wethermill, "mine is here. There it is"; and crossing theroom he brought it from a sidetable and placed it in front of Hanaud.
Hanaud took a pencil from his pocket.
"One hundred and fifty kilometres was about the distance which the carhad travelled. Measure the distances here, and you will see that Genevais the likely place. It is a good city to hide in. Moreover the carappears at the corner at daylight. How does it appear there? What roadis it which comes out at that corner? The road from Geneva. I am notsorry that it is Geneva, for the Chef de la Surete is a friend of mine."
"And what else do we know?" asked Ricardo.
"This," said Hanaud. He paused impressively. "Bring up your chair tothe table, M. Wethermill, and consider whether I am right or wrong";and he waited until Harry Wethermill had obeyed. Then he laughed in afriendly way at himself.
"I cannot help it," he said; "I have an eye for dramatic effects. Imust prepare for them when I know they are coming. And one, I tell you,is coming now."
He shook his finger at his companions. Ricardo shifted and shuffled inhis chair. Harry Wethermill kept his eyes fixed on Hanaud's face, buthe was quiet, as he had been throughout the long inquiry.
Hanaud lit a cigarette and took his time.
"What I think is this. The man who drove the car into Geneva drove itback, because--he meant to leave it again in the garage of the VillaRose."
"Good heavens!" cried Ricardo, flinging himself back. The theory socalmly enunciated took his breath away.
"Would he have dared?" asked Harry Wethermill.
Hanaud leaned across and tapped his fingers on the table to emphasisehis answer.
"All through this crime there are two things visible--brains anddaring; clever brains and extraordinary daring. Would he have dared? Hedared to be at the corner close to the Villa Rose at daylight. Why elseshould he have returned except to put back the car? Consider! Thepetrol is taken from tins which Servettaz might never have touched fora fortnight, and by that time he might, as he said, have forgottenwhether he had not used them himself. I had this possibility in my mindwhen I put the questions to Servettaz about the petrol which theCommissaire thought so stupid. The utmost care is taken that thereshall be no mould left on the floor of the carriage. The scrap ofchiffon was torn off, no doubt, when the women finally left the car,and therefore not noticed, or that, too, would have been removed. Thatthe exterior of the car was dirty betrayed nothing, for Servettaz hadleft it uncleaned."
Hanaud leaned back and, step by step, related the journey of the car.
"The man leaves the gate open; he drives into Geneva the two women, whoare careful that their shoes shall leave no marks upon the floor. AtGeneva they get out. The man returns. If he can only leave the car inthe garage he covers all traces of the course he and his friends havetaken. No one would suspect that the car had ever left the garage. Atthe corner of the road, just as he is turning down to the villa, hesees a sergent-de-ville at the gate. He knows that the murder isdiscovered. He puts on full speed and goes straight out of the town.What is he to do? He is driving a car for which the police in an houror two, if not now already, will be surely watching. He is driving itin broad daylight. He must get rid of it, and at once, before peopleare about to see it, and to see him in it. Imagine his feelings! It isalmost enough to make one pity him. Here he is in a car which convictshim as a murderer, and he has nowhere to leave it. He drives throughAix. Then on the outskirts of the town he finds an empty villa. Hedrives in at the gate, forces the door of the coach-house, and leaveshis car there. Now, observe! It is no longer any use for him to pretendthat he and his friends did not disappear in that car. The murder isalready discovered, and with the murder the disappearance of the car.So he no longer troubles his head about it. He does not remove thetraces of mould from the place where his feet rested, which otherwise,no doubt, he would have done. It no longer matters. He has to run toearth now before he is seen. That is all his business. And so the stateof the car is explained. It was a bold step to bring that carback--yes, a bold and desperate step. But a clever one. For, if it hadsucceeded, we should have known nothing of their movements--oh, butnothing--nothing. Ah! I tell you this is no ordinary blundering affair.They are clever people who devised this crime--clever, and of anaudacity which is surprising."
Then Hanaud lit another cigarette.
Mr. Ricardo, on the other hand, could hardly continue to smoke forexcitement.
"I cannot understand your calmness," he exclaimed.
"No?" said Hanaud. "Yet it is so obvious. You are the amateur, I am theprofessional--that is all."
He looked at his watch and rose to his feet.
"I must go" he said and as he turned towards the door a cry sprang fromMr. Ricardo's lips "It is true. I am the amateur. Yet I have knowledge,Monsieur Hanaud which the professional would do well to obtain."
Hanaud turned a guarded face towards Ricardo. There was no longer anyraillery in his manner. He spoke slowly, coldly.
"Let me have it then!"
"I have driven in my motor-car from Geneva to Aix," Ricardo criedexcitedly. "A bridge crosses a ravine high up amongst the mountains. Atthe bridge there is a Custom House. There--at the Pont de laCaille--your car is stopped. It is searched. You must sign your name ina book. And there is no way round. You would find sure and certainproof whether or no Madame Dauvray's car trav
elled last night toGeneva. Not so many travellers pass along that road at night. You wouldfind certain proof too of how many people were in the car. For theysearch carefully at the Pont de la Caille."
A dark flush overspread Hanaud's face. Ricardo was in the seventhHeaven. He had at last contributed something to the history of thiscrime. He had repaired an omission. He had supplied knowledge to theomniscient. Wethermill looked up drearily like one who has lost heart.
"Yes, you must not neglect that clue," he said.
Hanaud replied testily:
"It is not a clue. M. Ricardo tells that he travelled from Geneva intoFrance and that his car was searched. Well, we know already that theofficers are particular at the Custom Houses of France. But travellingfrom France into Switzerland is a very different affair. InSwitzerland, hardly a glance, hardly a word." That was true. M. Ricardocrestfallen recognized the truth. But his spirits rose again at once."But the car came back from Geneva into France!" he cried.
"Yes, but when the car came back, the man was alone in it," Hanaudanswered. "I have more important things to attend to. For instance Imust know whether by any chance they have caught our man atMarseilles." He laid his hand on Wethermill's shoulder. "And you, myfriend, I should counsel you to get some sleep. We may need all ourstrength to-morrow. I hope so." He was speaking very bravely. "Yes, Ihope so."
Wethermill nodded.
"I shall try," he said.
"That's better," said Hanaud cheerfully. "You will both stay here thisevening; for if I have news, I can then ring you up."
Both men agreed, and Hanaud went away. He left Mr. Ricardo profoundlydisturbed. "That man will take advice from no one," he declared. "Hisvanity is colossal. It is true they are not particular at the SwissFrontier. Still the car would have to stop there. At the Custom Housethey would know something. Hanaud ought to make inquiries." But neitherRicardo nor Harry Wethermill heard a word more from Hanaud that night.