The two men mounted the steps leading to the ornate porch. On their right were the windows of a large room which formed the angle between the two streets.
‘You can see into that room rather too clearly for my taste,’ said Burnley. ‘Why, if that’s the drawing-room, as it looks to be by the furniture, every caller can see just who’s visiting there as they come up to the door.’
‘And conversely, I expect,’ returned Lefarge, ‘the hostess can see her visitors coming and be prepared for them.’
The door was opened by an elderly butler of typical appearance, respectability and propriety5 oozing6 out of every pore of his sleek7 face. Lefarge showed his card.
‘I regret M. Boirac is not at home, monsieur,’ said the man politely, ‘but you will probably find him at the works in the rue8 Championnet.’
‘Thanks,’ returned Lefarge, ‘we have just had an interview with Mr. Boirac, and it is really you we wish to see.’
‘Yes, messieurs?’ he said.
‘Did you see an advertisement in this morning’s papers for the identification of a lady’s body?’
‘I saw it, monsieur.’
‘I am sorry to say it was that of your mistress.’
Fran?ois shook his head sadly.
‘I feared as much, monsieur,’ he said in a low tone.
‘M. Boirac saw the advertisement also. He came just now to the S?reté and identified the remains11 beyond any doubt. It is a painful case, for I regret to tell you she had been murdered in a rather brutal12 way, and now we are here with M. Boirac’s approval to make some inquiries13.’
The old butler’s face paled.
‘Murdered!’ he repeated in a horrified14 whisper. ‘It couldn’t be. No one that knew her could do that. Every one, messieurs, loved Madame. She was just an angel of goodness.’
‘Well, messieurs,’ he continued, after a pause, ‘any help I can give you to get your hands on the murderer I’ll give with real delight, and I only hope you’ll succeed soon.’
‘I hope so too, Fran?ois. We’ll do our best anyway. Now, please, will you answer some questions. You remember M. Boirac being called to the works on Saturday the 27th of March, the evening of the dinner party, at about a quarter to nine. That was about the time, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, monsieur.’
‘He went out at once?’
‘He did, monsieur.’
‘Then he telephoned at about half-past ten that he could not return until later. Was that about the time?’
‘Rather earlier than that, I should think, monsieur. I don’t remember exactly, but I should think it was very little, if at all, past ten.’
‘About ten, you think? Can you tell me what words he used in that message?’
‘He said the accident was serious, and that he would be very late, and possibly might not get back before the morning.’
‘You told your mistress, I suppose? Did the guests hear you?’
‘No, monsieur, but Madame immediately repeated the message aloud.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Shortly after that, about 11.00 or 11.15, the guests began to leave.’
‘All of them?’
The butler hesitated.
‘There was one, a M. Felix, who waited after the others. He was differently situated16 to them, being a friend of the family. The others were merely acquaintances.’
‘And how long did he wait after the others?’
Fran?ois looked confused and did not immediately reply.
‘Well, I don’t know, monsieur,’ he said slowly. ‘You see, it was this way. I happened to have a rather bad headache that evening, and Madame asked me if I was not well—it was just like her to notice such a thing—and she told me to go to bed and not to sit up for Monsieur. She said M. Felix was waiting to get some books and would let himself out.’
‘So you went to bed?’
‘Yes, monsieur. I thanked her, and went after a little time.’
‘About how long?’
‘Perhaps half an hour.’
‘And had M. Felix gone then?’
‘No, monsieur, not at that time.’
‘And what happened then?’
‘I fell asleep, but woke up suddenly again after about an hour. I felt better and I thought I would see if Monsieur was in and if everything was properly locked up. I got up and went towards the hall, but just as I came to the staircase I heard the front door close. I thought, ‘That’s Monsieur coming in,’ but there was no sound of any one moving in the hall and I went down to see.’
‘Yes?’
‘There was no one there, so I looked into the different rooms. They were all empty, though lighted up. I thought to myself, ‘This is strange,’ and I went to find Suzanne, Madame’s maid, who was sitting up for her. I asked her had Madame gone to bed, but she said not. “Well,” I said, “she’s not downstairs. Better go up and see if she’s in her room.” She went and came down in a moment looking frightened, and said the room was empty, but that Madame’s hat and fur coat and a pair of walking shoes were gone. Her evening shoes that she had been wearing were lying on the floor, where she had changed them. I went up myself and we searched around, and then I heard the latch17 of the front door again and went down. Monsieur was just coming in and, as I took his coat and hat, I told him about hearing the door close. He asked where Madame was, and I answered I did not know. He looked himself, and in the study he found a note which I suppose was from her, for after he had read it he asked no more questions, but told me she had had to go to Switzerland to her mother, who was ill. But I knew when he got rid of Suzanne two days later that she wasn’t coming back.’
‘What time did M. Boirac come in?’
‘About one o’clock, or a few minutes after.’
‘Were his hat and coat wet?’
‘Not very wet, monsieur, but he had been evidently walking through rain.’
‘You didn’t make any further search to see if anything else had been taken, I suppose?’
‘Yes, monsieur. Suzanne and I searched the entire house most thoroughly18 on Sunday.’
‘With no result?’
‘None, monsieur.’
The butler started as this new idea struck him.
‘Why, no, monsieur,’ he said, ‘it would have been absolutely impossible. I myself looked in every spot and opened everything large enough to contain it.’
‘Thank you, I think that’s about all I want to know. Can you put me in touch with Suzanne?’
‘I believe I can get you her address, monsieur, from one of the parlourmaids with whom she was friends.’
‘Please do, and in the meantime we shall have a look through the house.’
‘You will not require me, monsieur?’
‘No, thanks.’
The plan of the downstairs rooms was simple. The hall, which was long and rather narrow, stretched back from the entrance door in the rue St. Jean to the staircase in a direction parallel to the Avenue de l’Alma. On the right was the drawing-room, a large apartment in the angle between the two streets, with windows looking out on both. Across the hall, with its door facing that of the drawing-room, was the study, another fine room facing on to the rue St. Jean. A small sitting-room, used chiefly by the late Madame Boirac, and the dining-room were situated behind the study and the drawing-room respectively. To the rear of the doors of these latter rooms were the staircase and servants’ quarters.
The detectives examined these respective rooms in detail. The furnishing was luxurious20 and artistic21. The drawing-room furniture was Louis Quatorze, with an Aubusson carpet and some cabinets and tables of buhl. There was just enough of good Sèvres and Ormolu, the whole selection of arrangement reflecting the taste of the connoisseur22. The dining-room and boudoir gave the same impression of wealth and culture, and the detectives as they passed from room to room were impressed by the excellent taste everywhere exhibited. Though their search was exhaustive it was unfortunately without result.
The study was a typical man’s room, except in one respect. There was the usual thick carpet on the floor, the customary book-lined walls, the elaborate desk in the window, and the huge leather arm-chairs. But there was also what almost amounted to a collection of statuary—figures, groups, friezes23, plaques24, and reliefs, in marble and bronze. A valuable lot, numerous enough and of sufficient excellence25 not to have disgraced the art galleries of a city. M. Boirac had clearly the knowledge, as well as the means, to indulge his hobby to a very full extent.
Burnley took his stand inside the door and looked slowly round the room, taking in its every detail in the rather despairing hope that he would see something helpful to his quest. Twice he looked at the various objects before him, observing in the slow, methodical way in which he had trained himself, making sure that he had a clear mental conception of each before going on to the next. And then his gaze became riveted26 on an object standing27 on one of the shelves.
It was a white marble group about two feet high of three garlanded women, two standing and one sitting.
‘I say,’ he said to Lefarge, in a voice of something approaching triumph, ‘have you heard of anything like that lately?’
There was no reply, and Burnley, who had not been observing his companion, looked around. Lefarge was on his knees examining with a lens something hidden among the thick pile of the carpet. He was entirely28 engrossed29, and did not appear to have heard Burnley’s remark, but as the latter moved over he rose to his feet with a satisfied little laugh.
‘Look here!’ he cried. ‘Look at this!’
Stepping back to the cross wall adjoining the door, he crouched30 down with his head close to the floor and his eyes fixed31 on a point on the carpet in a line between himself and the window.
‘Do you see anything?’ he asked.
Burnley got into the same position, and looked at the carpet.
‘No,’ he answered slowly, ‘I do not.’
‘You’re not far enough this way. Come here. Now look.’
‘Jove!’ Burnley cried, with excitement in his tones. ‘The cask!’
On the carpet, showing up faintly where the light struck it, was a ring-shaped mark about two feet four inches diameter. The pile was slightly depressed32 below the general surface, as might have been caused by the rim33 of a heavy cask.
‘I thought so too,’ said Lefarge, ‘but this makes it quite certain.’
He held out his lens, and indicated the part of the floor he had been scrutinising.
Burnley knelt down and, using the lens, began to push open the interstices of the pile. They were full of a curious kind of dust. He picked out some and examined it on his hand.
‘Sawdust!’ he exclaimed.
‘Sawdust,’ returned the other, in a pleased and important tone. ‘See here,’—he traced a circle on the floor—‘sawdust has been spilled over all this, and there’s where the cask stood beside it. I tell you, Burnley, mark my words, we are on to it now. That’s where the cask stood while Felix, or Boirac, or both of them together, packed the body into it.’
‘By Jove!’ Burnley cried again, as he turned over this new idea in his mind. ‘I shouldn’t wonder if you are right!’
‘Of course I’m right. The thing’s as plain as a pike-staff. A woman disappears and her body is found packed in sawdust in a cask, and here, in the very house where she vanishes, is the mark of the same cask—a very unusual size, mind you—as well as traces of the sawdust.’
‘Ay, it’s likely enough. But I don’t see the way of it for all that. If Felix did it, how could he have got the cask here and away again?’
‘It was probably Boirac.’
‘It’s complete enough, so far as that goes. But how do we know it’s true? We have had no real confirmation35 of it so far.’
‘Except from Fran?ois. If either Boirac or Felix did it, Fran?ois must have been in it, too, and that doesn’t strike me as likely.’
‘No, I admit the old chap seems all right. But if they didn’t do it, how do you account for the cask being here?’
‘Maybe that had something to do with it,’ answered Burnley, pointing to the marble group.
Lefarge started.
‘But that’s what was sent to Felix, surely?’ he cried, in surprise.
‘It looks like it, but don’t say anything. Here’s Fran?ois. Let us ask him.’
The butler entered the room holding a slip of paper which he gave to Lefarge.
‘Suzanne’s address, messieurs.’ Lefarge read:—
‘Mlle. Suzanne Daudet,
rue Popeau, 14b,
Dijon.’
‘Look here, Fran?ois,’ said the detective, pointing to the marble group. ‘When did that come here?’
‘Quite recently, monsieur. As you see, Monsieur is a collector of such things, and that is, I think, the latest addition.’
‘Can you remember the exact day it arrived?’
‘It was about the time of the dinner-party, in fact, I remember now distinctly. It was that very day.’
‘How was it packed?’
‘It was in a cask, monsieur. It was left in here that Saturday morning with the top boards loosened for Monsieur to unpack36. He never would trust any one to do that for him.’
‘Was he, then, in the habit of getting these casks?’
‘Yes, monsieur, a good many of the statues came in casks.’
‘Two days later, monsieur, on Monday evening.’
‘And what happened to the cask?’
‘It was returned to the shop. Their cart called for it two or three days later.’
‘You don’t remember exactly when?’
The butler paused in thought.
‘I do not, monsieur. It was on the Wednesday or Thursday following, I believe, but I’m not positive.’
‘Thank you, Fran?ois. There is one other thing I should be greatly obliged if you could do for me. Get me a sample of Madame’s writing.’
Fran?ois shook his head.
‘I haven’t such a thing, monsieur,’ he replied, ‘but I can show you her desk, if you would care to look over it.’
They went into the boudoir, and Fran?ois pointed38 out a small davenport finished with some delicate carving39 and with inlaid panels, a beautiful example of the cabinetmaker’s art. Lefarge seated himself before it and began to go through the papers it contained.
‘Somebody’s been before us,’ he said. ‘There’s precious little here.’
He produced a number of old receipted bills and circulars, with some unimportant letters and printed papers, but not a scrap40 in Madame’s handwriting could he discover.
Suddenly Fran?ois gave an exclamation41.
‘I believe I can get you what you want, messieurs, if you will wait a moment.’
‘Yes,’ he said, as he returned a few seconds later, ‘this will perhaps do. It was framed in the servants’ hall.’
It was a short document giving the work of the different servants, their hours of duty, and other similar information, and was written in the hand, so far as the detectives could recollect42, of the letter of farewell to M. Boirac. Lefarge put it away carefully in his notebook.
‘Now let us see Madame’s room.’
They examined the bedroom, looking particularly for old letters, but without success. Next they interviewed the other servants, also fruitlessly.
‘All we want now,’ said Lefarge to the old butler, ‘is a list of the guests at that dinner, or at least some of them.’
‘I can tell you, I think, all of them, monsieur,’ returned Fran?ois, and Lefarge noted43 the names in his book.
‘What time is M. Boirac likely to return?’ asked Burnley, when they had finished.
‘He should have been here before this, monsieur. He generally gets back by half-past six.’
It was now nearly seven, and, as they waited, they heard his latchkey in the door.
‘Ah, messieurs,’ he greeted them, ‘so you are here already. Any luck?’
‘No luck so far, M. Boirac,’ replied Lefarge, continuing after a pause: ‘There is a point on which we should be obliged for some information, monsieur. It is about this marble group.’
‘Yes?’
‘Could you tell us the circumstances under which you got it, and of its arrival here?’
‘Certainly. I am a collector of such articles, as you must have noticed. Some time ago, in passing Dupierre’s in the Boulevard des Capucines, I saw that group and admired it greatly. After some hesitation44 I ordered it and it arrived—I believe it was the very day of—of the dinner-party, either that or the day before—I am not positive. I had the cask containing it brought into the study to unpack myself—I always enjoy unpacking45 a new purchase—but I was so upset by what had happened I hadn’t much heart in doing so. However, on the following Monday evening, to try and distract my thoughts, I did unpack it, and there you see the result.’
‘Can you tell me, monsieur,’ asked Burnley, ‘was M. Felix also interested in such things?’
‘He was. He is an artist and painting is therefore his specialty46, but he had a good knowledge of sculpture also.’
‘He wasn’t interested in that particular group, I suppose?’
‘Well, I can hardly tell you that. I told him about it and described it to him, but, of course, so far as I am aware he had not seen it.’
‘Did you happen to mention the price?’
‘I did, fourteen hundred francs. That was the thing he specially47 asked. That, and the shop at which I had bought it. He said he could not afford it then, but that at some time he might try and get another.’
‘Well, I think that’s all we want to know. Our best thanks, M. Boirac.’
‘Good-evening, messieurs.’
They bowed themselves out, and, walking to the top of the Avenue, took the Metro48 to Concorde, from which they passed up the rue Castiglione to the Grands Boulevards to dine and spend the time until they were due back at the S?reté.
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1
footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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friezes
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| n.（柱顶过梁和挑檐间的）雕带，（墙顶的）饰带( frieze的名词复数 ) | |
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plaques
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| （纪念性的）匾牌( plaque的名词复数 )； 纪念匾； 牙斑； 空斑 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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36
unpack
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| vt.打开包裹（或行李），卸货 | |
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unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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unpacking
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| n.取出货物，拆包[箱]v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的现在分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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specialty
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| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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metro
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| n.地铁；adj.大都市的；(METRO)麦德隆(财富500强公司之一总部所在地德国，主要经营零售) | |
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