At the Villa Rose (29 page)

"You will remember I made you all promise silence as to the finding of
Mme. Dauvray's jewellery. For I thought, if they have taken the girl
away so that suspicion may fall on her and not on Vauquier, they mean
to dispose of her. But they may keep her so long as they have a chance
of finding out from her Mme. Dauvray's hiding-place. It was a small
chance but our only one. The moment the discovery of the jewellery was
published the girl's fate was sealed, were my theory true.

"Then came our advertisement and Mme. Gobin's written testimony. There
was one small point of interest which I will take first: her statement
that Adele was the Christian name of the woman with the red hair, that
the old woman who was the servant in that house in the suburb of Geneva
called her Adele, just simply Adele. That interested me, for Helene
Vauquier had called her Adele too when she was describing to us the
unknown visitor. 'Adele' was what Mme. Dauvray called her."

"Yes," said Ricardo. "Helene Vauquier made a slip there. She should
have given her a false name."

Hanaud nodded.

"It is the one slip she made in the whole of the business. Nor did she
recover herself very cleverly. For when the Commissaire pounced upon
the name, she at once modified her words. She only thought now that the
name was Adele, or something like it. But when I went on to suggest
that the name in any case would be a false one, at once she went back
upon her modifications. And now she was sure that Adele was the name
used. I remembered her hesitation when I read Marthe Gobin's letter.
They helped to confirm me in my theory that she was in the plot; and
they made me very sure that it was an Adele for whom we had to look. So
far well. But other statements in the letter puzzled me. For instance,
'She ran lightly and quickly across the pavement into the house, as
though she were afraid to be seen.' Those were the words, and the woman
was obviously honest. What became of my theory then? The girl was free
to run, free to stoop and pick up the train of her gown in her hand,
free to shout for help in the open street if she wanted help. No; that
I could not explain until that afternoon, when I saw Mlle. Celie's
terror-stricken eyes fixed upon that flask, as Lemerre poured a little
out and burnt a hole in the sack. Then I understood well enough. The
fear of vitriol!" Hanaud gave an uneasy shudder. "And it is enough to
make any one afraid! That I can tell you. No wonder she lay still as a
mouse upon the sofa in the bedroom. No wonder she ran quickly into the
house. Well, there you have the explanation. I had only my theory to
work upon even after Mme. Gobin's evidence. But as it happened it was
the right one. Meanwhile, of course, I made my inquiries into
Wethermill's circumstances. My good friends in England helped me. They
were precarious. He owed money in Aix, money at his hotel. We knew from
the motor-car that the man we were searching for had returned to Aix.
Things began to look black for Wethermill. Then you gave me a little
piece of information."

"I!" exclaimed Ricardo, with a start.

"Yes. You told me that you walked up to the hotel with Harry Wethermill
on the night of the murder and separated just before ten. A glance into
his rooms which I had—you will remember that when we had discovered
the motor-car I suggested that we should go to Harry Wethermill's rooms
and talk it over—that glance enabled me to see that he could very
easily have got out of his room on to the verandah below and escaped
from the hotel by the garden quite unseen. For you will remember that
whereas your rooms look out to the front and on to the slope of Mont
Revard, Wethermill's look out over the garden and the town of Aix. In a
quarter of an hour or twenty minutes he could have reached the Villa
Rose. He could have been in the salon before half-past ten, and that is
just the hour which suited me perfectly. And, as he got out unnoticed,
so he could return. So he did return! My friend, there are some
interesting marks upon the window-sill of Wethermill's room and upon
the pillar just beneath it. Take a look, M. Ricardo, when you return to
your hotel. But that was not all. We talked of Geneva in Mr.
Wethermill's room, and of the distance between Geneva and Aix. Do you
remember that?"

"Yes," replied Ricardo.

"Do you remember too that I asked him for a road-book?"

"Yes; to make sure of the distance. I do."

"Ah, but it was not to make sure of the distance that I asked for the
road-book, my friend. I asked in order to find out whether Harry
Wethermill had a road-book at all which gave a plan of the roads
between here and Geneva. And he had. He handed it to me at once and
quite naturally. I hope that I took it calmly, but I was not at all
calm inside. For it was a new road-book, which, by the way, he bought a
week before, and I was asking myself all the while—now what was I
asking myself, M. Ricardo?"

"No," said Ricardo, with a smile. "I am growing wary. I will not tell
you what you were asking yourself, M. Hanaud. For even were I right you
would make out that I was wrong, and leap upon me with injuries and
gibes. No, you shall drink your coffee and tell me of your own accord."

"Well," said Hanaud, laughing, "I will tell you. I was asking myself:
'Why does a man who owns no motor-car, who hires no motor-car, go out
into Aix and buy an automobilist's road-map? With what object?' And I
found it an interesting question. M. Harry Wethermill was not the man
to go upon a walking tour, eh? Oh, I was obtaining evidence. But then
came an overwhelming thing—the murder of Marthe Gobin. We know now how
he did it. He walked beside the cab, put his head in at the window,
asked, 'Have you come in answer to the advertisement?' and stabbed her
straight to the heart through her dress. The dress and the weapon which
he used would save him from being stained with her blood. He was in
your room that morning, when we were at the station. As I told you, he
left his glove behind. He was searching for a telegram in answer to
your advertisement. Or he came to sound you. He had already received
his telegram from Hippolyte. He was like a fox in a cage, snapping at
every one, twisting vainly this way and that way, risking everything
and every one to save his precious neck. Marthe Gobin was in the way.
She is killed. Mlle. Celie is a danger. So Mile. Celie must be
suppressed. And off goes a telegram to the Geneva paper, handed in by a
waiter from the cafe at the station of Chambery before five o'clock.
Wethermill went to Chambery that afternoon when we went to Geneva. Once
we could get him on the run, once we could so harry and bustle him that
he must take risks—why, we had him. And that afternoon he had to take
them."

"So that even before Marthe Gobin was killed you were sure that
Wethermill was the murderer?"

Hanaud's face clouded over.

"You put your finger on a sore place, M. Ricardo. I was sure, but I
still wanted evidence to convict. I left him free, hoping for that
evidence. I left him free, hoping that he would commit himself. He did,
but—well, let us talk of some one else. What of Mlle. Celie?"

Ricardo drew a letter from his pocket.

"I have a sister in London, a widow," he said. "She is kind. I, too,
have been thinking of what will become of Mlle. Celie. I wrote to my
sister, and here is her reply. Mlle. Celie will be very welcome."

Hanaud stretched out his hand and shook Ricardo's warmly.

"She will not, I think, be for very long a burden. She is young. She
will recover from this shock. She is very pretty, very gentle. If—if
no one comes forward whom she loves and who loves her—I—yes, I
myself, who was her papa for one night, will be her husband forever."

He laughed inordinately at his own joke; it was a habit of M. Hanaud's.
Then he said gravely:

"But I am glad, M. Ricardo, for Mlle. Celie's sake that I came to your
amusing dinner-party in London."

Mr. Ricardo was silent for a moment. Then he asked:

"And what will happen to the condemned?"

"To the women? Imprisonment for life."

"And to the man?"

Hanaud shrugged his shoulders.

"Perhaps the guillotine. Perhaps New Caledonia. How can I say? I am not
the President of the Republic."