Alias The Lone Wolf - Louis Joseph Vance
Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22
But, said Dupont, with other blasphemy, all the world knew that the
sacred rapides had no sacred accommodations for sacred passengers of
the second and third class. Was he not the peer of any sacred
first-class pig that ever travelled by train in France? If not, he
proved the contrary to his own satisfaction by paying for his ticket
from an imposing accumulation of French bank-notes.
Then, with half an hour to wait, he lumbered into the buvette and
gorged, while Lanyard--having secured his own transportation for Lyons
by the some route--skulked in the offing and kept a close eye on the
gourmand.
Having eaten ferociously, Dupont came out, slouched into a seat on a
bench and, his thick limbs a-sprawl, consumed cigarette after cigarette
in most absolute abstraction of mind.
Observed thus, off his guard and at tolerably close range, with his
face clean of soot, he projected a personality so forbidding that
Lanyard marvelled at the guilelessness which must have influenced the
ladies of Chateau de Montalais to accept the man at his own valuation
and give him a place in their household.
The face of fat features was of porcine cast; the forehead low and
slanted sharply back into bristles of black hair, the snout long and
blunt, the lips flabby, the chin retreating, the jowls pendulous; the
eyes a pig's, little, cunning, and predaceous; the complexion sallow
and pimply from unholy living, with an incongruous over-layer of
sunburn. A type to inspire distrust, one would think, at sight; a
nature as repellant as a snake's, and ten times as deadly; in every
line and lineament, in every move and gesture, an Apache of the
Apaches...
As for the baleful reflections with which Dupont was patently concerned
to the exclusion of all considerations of either surveillance or
environment, Lanyard found himself so inquisitive that he had never a
thought but to follow and study the fellow till he surprised his
secret, if possible--at least so long as it might seem safe to do so.
Moreover, nothing could have suited his own purpose better than to
proceed to Paris by way of Lyons.
Nothing hindered the carrying out of his design. Still lost in thought
and inattentive, Dupont entrained for Nimes and at that station changed
to the rapide for Lyons, where duly at four o'clock--with Lanyard still
a discreet shadow--he alighted in the Gare de Perrache.
Here again fortune favoured the voluntary sleuth. The station was well
thronged, a circumstance which enabled him to keep inconspicuously
close to his victim. Furthermore, Dupont was obviously looking for
somebody, and so distracted. Presently a shabby, furtive little rat of
a man nudged his elbow, and Dupont followed him to a corner, where they
confabulated in undertones for many minutes; while Lanyard loitered
just outside their normal range of vision. An unnecessary precaution:
they were unafraid of observation, interested only in their private
concerns. The little man did most of the talking; Dupont seeming
content with a listening role, and gratified by what he heard. He
nodded frequently, and once or twice a grim smile enhanced the ugliness
of his mouth, a smile terrible in its contained savagery, fit to make
one's blood run cold, that cruelly relished in anticipation the success
of some evil scheme.
Not to be able to hear a word was exasperating to a degree....
The smaller villain produced something--a slip of paper--from a
waistcoat pocket, and handed it to Dupont, who examined it with
disfavour, shaking his head repeatedly to the other's recommendations.
Of a sudden he ended the argument by thrusting the slip back into the
hands of the jackal, growled a few words of imperative instruction,
jerked his thumb toward the ticket bureau, and without more ado turned
and strode from the terminus.
Alone, the little man rolled appealing eyes heavenward. Then he
shrugged in resignation, and trotted over to the guichet. Lanyard, now
with no fear of being recognised, ranged alongside and listened openly.
It seemed that, booked for Paris on the rapide to leave at one-twelve
in the morning, this lesser rascal had been assigned a certain
sleeping-car berth. Business of displaying the ticket: identified by
Lanyard as the object over which the conference had split. Now,
however, it appeared that a friend was to journey to Paris by the same
train, but in another sleeping-car. It was greatly desired by both that
they be separated no farther than necessity might dictate, that this
reservation might be exchanged for another in the same carriage with
the friend.
Thus far without interruption from the clerk of the ticket bureau. But
here ensued inevitably the violent French altercation between the two
human beings on either side of the guichet. Then, as suddenly as it had
arisen, the squall blew over, an amicable settlement was arrived at,
the exchange of reservation was effected, the small scoundrel, with ten
thousand thanks and profuse assurances of deathless esteem, departed
grinning.
Lanyard secured the rejected berth and went about his business
profoundly mystified, but not downhearted. Beyond shadow of fair doubt
Dupont was up to some new devilment, but Lanyard would be surprised if
its nature failed to develop on the train or at latest upon its arrival
in Paris the next morning. For the present he was weary of the sight of
the fat Apache, glad to believe he had seen the last of him for some
hours; he had much to do on his own part, nothing less in fact than
utterly to obliterate from human ken the personality of Andre Duchemin.
This affair involved several purchases; for he was travelling light
indeed, having left even his rucksack at the Chateau de Montalais.
Nevertheless it was no later than seven in the evening when he left a
room which he had engaged in a hotel so pretentious and heavily
patronised that he was lost in its ebb and flow of life, an
inconsiderable and unconsidered bit of flotsam--and left it a changed
man.
The pointed beard of Monsieur Duchemin was no more; and a little stain,
artfully applied, had toned the newly exposed flesh to match the tan of
the rest. The rough tweed walking-suit had been replaced by a modest
and commonplace blue serge, the cap and heavy brown boots by a straw
boater and plain black shoes, the loose-throated flannel shirt by one
of plain linen with stiff cuffs and a fold collar and neat foulard tie.
So easily was Madame de Sevenie's buccaneer metamorphosed into the
semblance of a Government clerk!
But this was by no means all. The papers of Andre Duchemin were crisp
black ashes in the fireplace of the room which Lanyard had just
quitted, all but the letter of credit; and this last was enclosed in an
envelope, to be sent to London by registered post with a covering note
to request that the unpaid balance be forwarded in French bank-notes to
Monsieur Paul Martin, poste restante, Paris; Paul Martin being the name
which appeared on an entirely new set of papers of identification which
Lanyard had thoughtfully secreted in the lining of the tweed coat
before leaving London.
If Lanyard wanted better testimony than that supplied by his bedroom
mirror to the thoroughness of the transformation in his looks, he had
it unsought, and that twice within an hour.
The first time was when, leaving the hotel to seek the post office and
despatch his letter to London, he found himself suddenly face to face
with Dupont, who was seated at a cafe table near the hotel entrance and
narrowly scrutinising all who passed in and out; covering this
occupation with affected interest in the gossip of his companion, the
little rat man of the Gare de Perrache.
At this rencontre Lanyard knew a momentary shock of doubt; perhaps he
hadn't been so clever as he had thought himself in trailing Dupont all
the way from Combe-Re-donde to Lyons. But the beady little eyes of a
pig comprehended him in a glance, and rejected him as of positively no
interest to Albert Dupont, a complete stranger and a cheap one at that.
So he fared serenely on his way, and Dupont gave him never another
thought.
Returning, Lanyard was favoured with even less attention; an error in
judgment which enabled him to remark that Dupont was in an ugly temper,
sullen and snappy, it might be because of a disappointment of some
sort, possibly in consequence of the liberal potations indicated by the
tall stack of little saucers at his elbow. As for the lesser villain,
he was already silly with drink.
One would have been glad of a chance to eavesdrop again upon those two;
but there was no vacant place within earshot of their table. Besides
Lanyard wanted his dinner. So he re-entered the hotel and sought its
restaurant, where the untiring Long Arm of Coincidence took him by the
hand and led him to a table immediately adjoining one occupied
exclusively by Monsieur le Comte de Lorgnes.
And this one in turn looked Lanyard up and down but, detecting in him
not the remotest flavour of reminiscence, returned divided attention to
a soup and the door of the restaurant, which he was watching just as
closely and impatiently as Dupont, outside, was watching the main
entrance, and apparently with as little reward for his pains.
But now, Lanyard told himself, one knew what had dragged Dupont in such
hot haste to Lyons. Somehow word had reached him, probably by
telegraph, that monsieur le comte was waiting there to keep a
rendezvous. And if you asked him, Lanyard would confess his firm
conviction that the other party to the rendezvous would prove to be the
person (or persons) who had effected the burglary at Chateau de
Montalais.
So he settled to keep an eye on monsieur le comte, and promised himself
an interesting evening.
But as time passed it became evident that there had been a hitch
somewhere; de Lorgnes was only human, he couldn't rendezvous all by
himself alone, and nobody turned up to help him out. He was fretting
when Lanyard first saw him; before his dinner was half served his nerve
was giving way. Continually his distracted gaze sought the door only to
turn back in disappointment to his plate. Everlastingly he consulted
his watch. His appetite failed, the hand that too often carried a glass
to his lips shook so that drops of wine spattered the cloth like blood;
he could not even keep a cigarette alive, but burned more matches than
tobacco. A heavy sweat bedewed his forehead; the ruddy colour of that
plump countenance grew sadly faded, the good-natured features drawn and
pinched with worry. By nine o'clock the man was hag-ridden by fear of
the unknown, by terror of learning what fault had developed in the
calculations of his confreres.
Efforts to fix his mind on an evening newspaper failed miserably. And
this was not for lack of interest in the news it published to the
citizens of Lyons. For Lanyard had a copy of the same sheet, and knew
that Eve had loyally kept her promise; a brief despatch from Millau
told of the simultaneous disappearance of one Andre Duchemin and the
jewels of Madame de Montalais, and added that the police were already
active in the case.
At length, unable longer to endure the growing tension of anxiety and
keep up a pretence of eating, de Lorgnes called for his addition and
fled the restaurant. Lanyard finished his own meal in haste, and
arrived in the foyer of the hotel in time to see de Lorgnes settle his
account at the bureau and hear him instruct a porter to have his
luggage ready for the one-twelve rapide for Paris. In the meantime,
anybody who might enquire for Monsieur le Comte de Lorgnes should be
directed to seek him in the cafe.
Thither Lanyard dutifully repaired; and wasted the rest of that
evening, which he had thought would prove so amusing, watching Dupont
and company watch de Lorgnes, to whom Dupont's barely dissembled
interest plainly meant nothing at all, but whose mental anguish grew to
be all but unbearable. Nor did the quantities of veeskysoda consumed by
the unhappy nobleman help him bear it, though undoubtedly he assured
himself it did. By midnight he was more than half-fuddled and wholly in
despair. Half an hour later he finished his eighth veeskysoda and wove
an unsteady but most dignified way back to the foyer of the hotel.
Immediately Dupont and his fellow, both markedly the worse for wear,
paid and left the cafe.
Lanyard returned to his room to get a new-bought travelling bag, and
started for the train afoot, a neat brown paper parcel under one arm.
On the way he made occasion to cross the Saone by one of its dozen
bridges, and paused in the middle of the span to meditate upon the
witchery of the night. When he moved on the brown paper parcel was
bearing merrily downstream the mortal remains of Andre Duchemin, that
is to say his discarded clothing.
In the Gare de Perrache Lanyard witnessed an affecting farewell scene
between the little man and Dupont. Not much to his surprise he
discovered that the former was not travelling to Paris that night,
after all; it was on Dupont's account alone that he had taken so much
trouble to secure the change of reservation.
And when Monsieur le Comte de Lorgnes had wavered through the gateway
in tow of a luggage-laden porter; and Dupont had torn himself away from
his fond familiar and lurched after the count; and Lanyard, after a
little wait, had followed in turn: he was able to see for himself that
Dupont had contrived to be berthed in the same carriage with de
Lorgnes; proving that he did not mean to let the count out of sight,
day or night.
Well weary, Lanyard proceeded to his own compartment, in the car ahead,
and turned in. A busy day, and not altogether unprofitable; whatever
expectations had been thwarted in this mild outcome, one had learned
much; and to-morrow one would resume the chase anew and, one rather
fancied, learn a deal more.
But he was not of those who sleep well on trains. In spite of his
extreme fatigue he woke up every time the rapide stopped. He was awake
at Dijon, at four in the morning, and again at Laroche, about a quarter
after six. There, peering out of the window to identify the station, he
was startled to see the broad, round-shouldered back of Albert Dupont
making away across the rails--leaving the train!
It was not feasible to dress and pursue, even had it been wise. And
Lanyard was vexed. Dupont, he felt, was hardly playing fair, after
giving one every reason to believe he meant to go through to Paris. And
what under heaven did the brute think to accomplish in Laroche? Was he
still after the Comte de Lorgnes? Then the latter must likewise have
fled the train! Or else ...
Something sinister in the slant of the Dupont shoulders, as he
vanished, something indescribably evil in his furtive yet heavy tread
of a beast of prey, struck a thrill of horror into the mind of Lanyard.
He shuddered, and warned himself he must learn to hold his imagination
in better check.
The newspapers of Paris, that day, had a sensation that crushed into
insignificance the news from Chateau de Montalais: in a compartment
which he had occupied alone on the night rapide from Lyons, a man had
been found with his throat cut, his clothing ripped to rags, even his
luggage slashed to ribbons.
Whether through chance or intention, every possible clue to the
victim's identity was missing.
XIII
ATHENAIS
In London, about noon of that day, a gentleman whom Lanyard most often
thought of by the name of Wertheimer deciphered a code message whose
contempt for customary telegraphic brevity was quite characteristic of
the sender, indeed a better voucher for his bona fides than the
initials appended in place of a signature. With some editing in the
way of punctuation, it follows:
"Dear old bean:--Please advise Prefecture de Police without revealing
your source of information, unidentified man found murdered on rapide
arriving Gare de Lyon eight-thirty this morning stopped yesterday Hotel
Terminus, Lyons, under name of Comte de Lorgnes. During entire evening
before entraining he was shadowed by two Apaches, one of whom, passing
as Albert Dupont--probably recent and temporary alias--booked through
to Paris occupying berth in same carriage with Lorgnes, but detrained
Laroche six-fifteen, murder remaining undiscovered till arrival in
Paris. [An admirably succinct sketch of the physical Dupont is here
deleted.] 'In return for gift of this opportunity to place Prefecture
under obligations, please do me a service. As stranger in Paris I crave
passionately to review Night Life of Great City but am naturally timid
about going about alone after dark. Only society of beautiful,
accomplished, well-informed and agreeable lady of proved discretion can
put me thoroughly at ease. If you can recommend one such to me by
telegraph, stipulating her amiability must begin to function this
evening, you may depend on my not hesitating to ask further favours as
occasion may arise. Presume you have heard your old friend Duchemin,
now missing, is suspected of looting jewels of Madame de Montalais,
Chateau de Montalais, near Millau. He counts on your discretion to
preserve secret of his innocence pending further advices. Paul Martin
here stopping Hotel Chatham. Toodle-oo.
"M. L."
A telegram from London addressed to M. Paul Martin, Hotel Chatham,
Paris, was delivered late in the afternoon:
"Prefecture tipped off. Many thanks. Heartfelt regrets poor Duchemin's
success keeping out of gaol. Uneasy about him as long as he remains at
large. Fully appreciate you cannot trust yourself alone in the dark.
Therefore cheerfully delegating preservation your virtue while in Paris
to Mlle. Athenais Reneaux, maiden lady mature charms whom I beg you
will respect as you would my sister. Wishing you enjoyable intellectual
evening--
"W."
It needed receipt of a petit-bleu, while he was dressing for dinner, to
cure Lanyard of an attack of premonitory shivers brought on by
recollection of the awful truth that one is never really safe in
trifling with an Englishman's sense of humour. "Dear monsieur
Martin:--It is too sweet of you to remember your promise to ask me to
dine the first time you came to Paris. Since you leave it to me, shall
we say the Ritz, at half past seven? In case your memory for faces is
poor--it has been a long time since we met, hasn't it?--I shall be
wearing the conventional fast black with my very best ingenue
expression; and my feather fan will be flame-coloured.
"Always to you--
"Athenais Reneaux."
Now that sounded more like ...
Only it was a bit debilitating to contemplate, as the mirror insisted
one must, the shortcomings of machine-made evening clothes, whose
obviously exorbitant cost as a post-War luxury did nothing to make
amends for their utter want of personal feeling. For one needs sympathy
in a dress-coat quite as much as cloth.
Still, it was a tolerably personable figure that suffered Lanyard's
critical inspection. And an emergency is an emergency. Those readily
serviceable clothes were of more value than the most superbly tailored
garments that could possibly have been made up for him in any
reasonable length of time. For to-morrow night it might, and as Lanyard
held surely would, be too late to accomplish what he hoped to
accomplish to-night, and for whose accomplishment evening dress was
indispensable. Since Wertheimer had passed the word on, the name of the
Comte de Lorgnes would be published to the world in the morning papers,
and by evening the birds, if they were wise, would be in full flight.
Whereas to-night, while still that poor mutilated body lay nameless in
the Morgue...
Mademoiselle Athenais Reneaux lived up in most gratifying fashion to
the tone of her note. In the very beginning she demonstrated excellent
discretion by failing to be on hand and eager when Lanyard strolled
into the Ritz on the minute of their appointment. To the contrary she
was all of twenty-five minutes late; a circumstance so consistently
feminine as to rob their meeting of any taint of the extraordinary;
they might have been simple sweethearts meeting to dine remote from
jealous or censorious eyes, rather than one of the most useful Parisian
agents of the British Secret Service under orders to put her talents at
the disposition of a man who was to her nothing more than an everyday
name.
She swept spiritedly into the lounge of the Ritz, a tall, fair girl,
very good-looking indeed and brilliantly costumed, and placed Monsieur
Paul Martin in one glance, on the instant of his calculated start of
recognition. At once her face lighted up with a charming smile--few
women could boast teeth as white and fine--and almost before Lanyard
could extricate himself from his chair she was at pause before him,
holding his hand.
"Paul!" she cried in lilting accents. "I'm so glad! It's been simply
ages.... And looking so well! I don't believe you've changed a bit."
The nicely judged pitch of her voice, neither so high nor so low as to
attract more than passing attention, won approval which Lanyard put
into the pressure of his lips upon her hand and the bow, at once
punctilious and intimate, that accompanied it.
"And you, Athenais, always exquisite, but to-day...Truly one has never
seen you looking better."
"Flattery," she commented. "But I love it!"
Meanwhile her gaze, that seemed so constant to his eyes, reviewed other
people in the lounge in one swift, searching glance, and returned to
Lanyard with a droop of the lashes, imperceptible to all but him, that
signified there was no one present likely in her esteem to prove
dangerous to their peace of mind.
"Flattery? To you? But impossible!"
He delighted her, and she showed it openly. But her lips said only:
"Have I kept you waiting a frightfully long time, poor boy?"
"Let your appetite accuse you, Athenais."
"But I am starving!"
"Then, as I take it, nothing on earth can prevent our going in to
dinner."
Lanyard had already consulted with the maitre d'hotel over the menu and
the reservation. As the two settled down at a table on the side of the
room, not conspicuously far from any other in use, and at the same time
comfortably detached, their iced melon was waiting to be served.
"Always the most thoughtful of men," Mademoiselle Reneaux declared. "No
fussing with the carte, no thrusting it into one's hand and saying:
'See anything you'd like, my dear? I rather fancy the boeuf-a-la-mode
for myself!' That's why I'd adore dining with you, Paul, even if I
didn't adore you for yourself."
"One is well repaid when one's modest efforts are so well appreciated."
"Blague, my friend, sheer blague. You know you relish a good dinner of
your own ordering far more than anybody's appreciation, even mine."
The waiters had retired, leaving them alone in a momentary oasis of
public isolation.
"Mademoiselle," said Lanyard in more formal vein, "I am sure,
underestimates my capacity for appreciation. May one venture to
compliment mademoiselle, who is marvellous in so many bewitching ways?"
"Why not, monsieur? Was ever music sweeter?" The girl laughed; then her
eyes sobered while her features retained their appearance of complete
amusement. "Monsieur received a telegram this afternoon?"
"Yes, mademoiselle. And you?"
"It is here--since I am. May I see yours?"
With a gay gesture she handed over her telegram from London and took
his in exchange.
The ordinary cipher of the B. S. S. was as readily intelligible to both
as if the messages had been couched in open French or English.
Lanyard read:
"Kindly place yourself beginning with dinner to-night and for duration
his stay in Paris at the commands of Paul Martin, Hotel Chatham,
lunatic but harmless and of great value to us. He seems to be at
present concerned with some affair outside our knowledge, but
presumably desperate, else he would not be interested. Please exert
best endeavours to get him out of France alive as soon as possible."
The girl was laughing as she returned Lanyard's telegram and received
her own.
"'Mature charms'!" she pouted. "'Enjoyable intellectual evening'! Oh,
how depressing! Poor Paul! but you must have felt discouraged."
"I did--at first."
"And afterwards--?"
"Disappointed."
"And are you going to obey that injunction to treat me as somebody's
sister?"
"Never in my life!"
"How then?"
"As anybody's wife." Perplexity knitted a little pucker in her
delicately lined brows.
"Paul! you couldn't speak French so well and be an Englishman!"
"I assure you, Athenais, I am--mentally--a native of France."
She sighed luxuriously. "What an amusing prospect! And this is the sort
of man at whose commands I am required to place myself."
"Not required, Athenais, requested--begged, besought!"
"I like that better. And," she enquired demurely, "may one ask what
are monsieur's commands?"
"First: you will continue to flirt with me as at
present--outrageously."
"Even when you make it so difficult?"
"And then, to waste an evening in my society."
"Must it be wasted?"
"That will be as it falls out."
"And what do we do with this evening of such questionable value?"
"We finish dinner here at our leisure; we smoke and chat a while in the
lounge, if you like, or if nothing better offers we go to a play; and
then you will take me by the hand, if you please, mademoiselle..."