CHAPTER XXIV
"V-E-N-G-E-N-C-E"
At half-past seven on the morning following M. Levi's visit the Count deGuise opened the door of 59b Bedford Court Mansions to that eccentricold art expert. M. Levi was accompanied by his partner, a tall, heavilybearded man, who looked like a Russian, and by two other strangers, onean alert-eyed, clean-shaven person in a tweed suit, the other a youngerman, evidently Scotch, who carried a little brown bag. These two wouldcommence an inventory, m'sieur being agreeable.
Entering the dining-room, with its massive old oak furniture, de Guise,who found something uncomfortably fascinating in the eye of the partner,lighted a cigarette and took up a position on the rug before the fire,hands characteristically locked behind him.
"This is the Greuze," said Dr. Lepardo, pointing.
The Count, with the others, turned to look at the picture.
_Click! Click!_
He was securely handcuffed.
With an animal scream of rage the Count turned upon Lepardo, the veinthrobbing on his temple, his eyes glaring in maniacal fury. He sought tospeak, but only a slight froth rose to his lips; no word could he utter.
"Sit down in that chair," said Dr Lepardo.
With a gurgling scream de Guise's fury found utterance.
"Release me immediately. What----"
_"Sit down!"_
De Guise ground his white teeth together. The pulsing vein on his browseemed like to burst. He dropped into a chair, trembling and quiveringwith passionate anger.
"You--shall--pay for--this!"
"My friend," said Lepardo, turning to the man who had carried the bag,"this gentleman"--nodding at his companion in the tweed suit--"wouldlike to hear who you are, and for what you visited Moorgate Place lastevening."
"I am Lawrence Guthrie," explained the young man, "and yesterday, muchagainst my inclinations, but to prevent Graham's exposing the state ofmy affairs to my father, I was forced to leave with him, as security forfifty pounds, a Turkish yataghan worth considerably more."
"Stop! When I came to your Bart's last night, what did I tell you?"
"That Graham had been murdered with my yataghan."
"Well?"
"You said that the crime looked like the work of an old hand, for themurderer had worn gloves. You told me that you had recognised, in one ofthe victim's most important creditors, a notorious French criminal,Andre Legun----"
The Count, deathly pale, his throbbing forehead wet as if douched, drewa long, hissing breath. His eyes stared glassily at Dr. Lepardo.
"By what means?"
"By certain facial peculiarities."
"Rule 85."
"And particularly by a vein in his left temple, only visible when he wasroused. You had secured, by a trick----"
"Article Six."
"An imprint of his thumb upon a cheque. This you had compared withcertain in your possession--and forwarded to Paris."
"Unnecessary, but a usual form."
"You had secured from the grate in his study a pocketful of ash, somescraps of torn leather--bloodstained--and some few other fragments.These you and I spent the night examining and arranging. Amongst theashes was a patent glove button, also bloodstained."
"What have I yet to find?"
"A pair of boots."
"I depart to find them."
Dr. Lepardo quitted the room. Count de Guise followed him with his eyesuntil he had disappeared. No one spoke nor stirred until the brown olddoctor returned, carrying a pair of glace kid boots.
He placed them on the table beside the bag and pointed a long finger ata gap in one row of buttons.
"Scotland Yard can complete the set, Andre," he said with grim humour."In this bag are the results of our examination. In your grate are moreashes and fragments for the English Home Office to check us by. In thisbag is a complete account of how you came to Moorgate Place, knocked atGottschalk's door and were admitted. I do not know how you had _meant_to kill him, but the yataghan, left on his table by Mr. Guthrie, wastempting, eh? You then commenced to collect certain letters and papers,Andre. You tore from his private book the page containing your littleaccount. Then you tore out others, to blind us all. You had begun uponthe letter files when you were interrupted by one entering with a key.That was fortunate. It was file G you had commenced upon, Andre. And oneof the torn pages was G. So I knew that you were a G, too, my friend.With what you took from the safe and with the letters and other papers,you slipped down the back stair you knew of into Copthall Avenue. By mygreat good luck, and not by my skill, I get upon your trail. But by myskill I trap you."
The prisoner, whose handsome face now had assumed a leaden hue, whoseeyes were set in a fixed stare of horror and hatred, spoke slowly,clearly.
"You talk nonsense. You taunt me, to drive me mad. I ask you--who areyou? You are not Levi, you are some spy."
Dr. Lepardo, or M. Isidor Levi, removed a grey wig and a pair ofspectacles and seemed by some relaxation of the facial muscles, to meltout of existence, leaving in his place a heavy-eyed man, with stainedskin and thin, straggling hair.
De Guise, as though an unseen hand pushed him, stepped back--andback--and back--until a heavy oak chair prevented further retreat.There--like a mined fortress, hitherto staunch, defiant--he seemed tocrumble up.
"The good God!" he whispered. "It is _Victor Lemage_!"
"Andre Legun--Chevalier d'Oysan--Comte de Guise," said the famouscriminologist, "Paris wants you, but London now has a better claim. So,when I have stolen back my cheque from your pocket-book, I hand you overto London."
With the bravado of the true French criminal, Legun forced a smile tohis lips.
"It is finished, Victor," he said, dropping his affected manner andspeaking with an exaggerated low Paris accent. "I am glad it was you,and not some stupid policeman of England who took me. Well, who cares? Ihave had a short life but a merry one. You know, Victor, that mymisfortune in being the son of an aristocrat has pursued me always. Ihave such refined tastes, and such a skill with the cards. You recallthe little house near the fortifications? But the inevitable run of badluck came. One question. Why"--he glanced at the Russian-looking manwith something like fear creeping again into his bold eyes--"why do youhunt me down?"
The black beard and moustache were pulled off in a second by theirwearer, revealing a face of severely classic beauty. Lawrence Guthriestared hard.
"Mr. Guthrie," said the whilom Russian, "behold me at your mercy. Youknow me innocent of one, at least, of the sins ascribed to me. I amSeverac Bablon."
Guthrie hesitated for one tremendous moment; he looked from the handsomeface of the most notorious man in Europe to that of his companion whowore the tweed suit, and whom he knew to be H. T. Sheard, the well-knownmember of the _Gleaner_ staff. His decision was made. He stretched outhis hand and took that of Severac Bablon.
"You ask," said the latter sternly to Legun, "why we have hunted youdown. I answer--first, in the sacred interest of Justice; second,because you imputed your vile crime to _me_."
"What! To _you_? No! never!"
Victor Lemage's eyelids lifted quickly.
"Spell vengeance."
"V-e-n-g-e-a-n-c-e."
"My friends," said Lemage, reaching for the wide-brimmed hat of Dr.Lepardo, "I all but have spoiled this, my greatest case, by a stupidblunder. I have an early call to make. Advance your packing in myabsence. I shall shortly return."
And so it happened that Mr. Julius Rohscheimer, in Park Lane, was justarising when his man brought him a card:
_Detective-Inspector Sheffield_ _C.I.D.,_ _New Scotland Yard._
Rohscheimer, who looked as though he had spent a poor night, orderedthat Inspector Sheffield be shown up without delay. Immediatelyafterwards there came in a tall, black-bearded man, wearing bluespectacles, an old rain-coat, and a dilapidated silk hat. The drive,though short, had been long enough to enable Victor Lemage, secure fromobservation behind the drawn blinds of Severac Bablon's big car, tomerge his personality into tha
t of another man, distinct from Dr.Lepardo--unlike M. Levi.
"Who are you?" blustered Rohscheimer, changing colour, and drawing abrilliant dressing-gown more closely about him. "Who the blazes areyou?"
"_Ssh!_ I am Inspector Sheffield--disguised. You will excuse me if, evenhere, I continue to impersonate an eccentric French character. You placeyourself within the reach of the law, my friend. You lay yourself opento the suspicion of murder."
Julius Rohscheimer swallowed noisily. His flabby face assumed a dingyhue; his eyes protruded to an unpleasant degree.
"Here, upon this, my card, write the words, 'Vengeance is mine.'"
Rohscheimer rose unsteadily; his puffy hands groped as if, feelinghimself slipping, he sought for something to lay hold upon.
"I swear----"
"Write!"
Rohscheimer shakily wrote the words, "_Vengence is mine._"
"No 'a,'" cried Lemage triumphantly, "no 'a'! Of all the stupid pigs Iam he. But I had not given you the credit of such nerve, M. Rohscheimer.I had forgotten how once you lived the rough life in South Africa. It isso? I did not think you had the courage to write--though wobbly--thoselying words in presence of the dead Gottschalk. Why did you do it, youbad, foolish fellow? The yataghan already was stuck in the desk, eh?That Legun is a fury when the blood thirst is upon him, when the bigvein throb. And you saw the blank paper? Yes? Or you feared thatyou--you--the mighty Julius might be suspect? Yes, a little? Principallyyou hope that this will spur the police and that _he_ will hang. Youprefer that the real one--who slays your partner--shall go free, if _he_can be blackened. You throw sand in the eye of Justice, eh? Well--youhave influence; you shall use it to get yourself made Scotch-free. Verygood. You will now write in a few words how all this is. That or--I havemen outside. It is a public removal to--Good, you will write."
* * * * *
At about that hour when, at thousands of breakfast tables, horrifiedreaders learned that Severac Bablon's Arabs had committed a ghastlycrime in Moorgate Street, a cart drove up to New Scotland Yard, and twogreen-aproned individuals both of whom would have been improvedartistically by a clean shave, dragged a heavy packing-case into theoffice, said it contained curiosities from Bedford Court Mansions andwas for Inspector Sheffield.
When, half an hour later, the unwieldy box had been opened, out glared abound and gagged man, upon whose left temple there pulsed and throbbed adark blue vein!
Detailed evidence proving that this was the murderer of Gottschalk, hisrecord, his measurements, his thumb-prints, his boots, a number of tubescontaining scraps of stained leather, a number containing ashes, and allneatly labelled together with a written confession, signed "JuliusRohscheimer," to the authorship of the words "Vengeance is mine" werealso in this box. Finally, there was the following note:
"DEAR INSPECTOR SHEFFIELD,
"I enclose herewith Andre Legun, the man who murdered Paul Gottschalk, together with sufficient evidence to ensure a conviction, and completely to exculpate myself. I claim no credit. We both are indebted to M. Victor Lemage, who not only has surpassed his own brilliant records in the conduct of this case, but who kindly assisted me to carry the result of his labours into the office at New Scotland Yard. We both regretted our inability to see you personally.
"SEVERAC BABLON."