CHAPTER VI

THE BOOKS OF THE DOMINO CLUB

It was at once evident that Sir Frank Tarleton had taken the measure of his opponent accurately. As soon as she felt the police officer’s touch Madame Bonnell’s confidence deserted her, and she collapsed in a state of mingled panic and bewilderment.

“_Mon Dieu!_ But what have I done? What is it that I am accused of?” She looked imploringly from Charles to Tarleton and from him to me.

It was the Inspector who answered.

“Obstructing the officers of the law in the course of their duty is the charge at present. There may be others later on. Meanwhile I have to caution you that anything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you.”

Madame’s reception of the stereotyped warning convinced me that this was the first occasion on which she had come into collision with the English law. It appeared to impress her favourably, and to dispel her first terrors.

“But there is some mistake,” she protested. “I did not understand. I have no wish to resist the law. I thought there was an understanding that this misfortune should not be dealt with by the police.”

“Nonsense,” my chief interjected roughly. “It is being dealt with by the police. They have been in possession of these premises since five o’clock this morning--since you called them in yourself. Do you intend to produce the register, or must we search for it?”

Madame Bonnell gave a last sigh of reluctance. Then she was all submission. She led the way out of the dancing-hall into the adjoining premises. Her private apartment was between the kitchen and the row of dressing-rooms for the accommodation of the dancers who preferred to assume their costumes on the spot. Drawn curtains on one side concealed what was no doubt Madame’s bed; the rest of the room having the aspect of a business man’s parlour, furnished with a roll-top desk, a typing machine and shelves for books and correspondence. In one corner was a cupboard with a stout door which the proprietress unlocked with a show of eagerness, and threw open for our inspection.

The contents of the cupboard seemed innocent enough. A private ledger, a file of accounts, a cash-box into whose contents Tarleton forbore to pry, and, more important for our purpose, two thin volumes bound in black leather, one of which was labelled “_Members_” and the other “_Visitors_.” It would have been unchivalrous to speculate as to the contents of certain little bottles and boxes on a lower shelf which had a look of feminine elegance.

My chief pointed to the two black-bound volumes.

“Will you take charge of these books, Cassilis. We can examine them at our leisure.”

The Frenchwoman uttered a faint groan as I stretched out my hand to obey. I could have groaned in sympathy with her. And yet I was not in any fear on my own account. I had no reason to think that my name would be found in the Visitors’-book. I had been too careful for that. But there was another name which I had only too much reason for expecting to see in the other volume. And I cursed the proprietress in my heart for not destroying the dangerous record while it was in her power. She had fancied herself secure, and had cared nothing for the security of her patrons. What did it matter to her who might be incriminated, as long as her livelihood was not threatened? True, she had done her best at the last moment to prevent the authorities from gaining access to these books. But it was easy to see her self-interest in that. Those records were part of her stock-in-trade. They gave her a hold on the members of the club, who might be disposed to forsake it as soon as any hint of the tragedy got abroad. In that case she had only to say to them, “Leave the club, throw me over, and I take my books to the newspaper offices, and sell them for what they will fetch.”

Such was the situation, so far as I could see it. Either the reputation of the Domino Club was to be saved, and all was to go on as before; or it would be for Madame’s benefit that the scandal should be as widespread as possible, and that every member and visitor should pay heavily for having his or her name kept out of it. In parting with these two volumes she was parting with her most valuable weapons as a blackmailer.

Whether any such considerations as these influenced my chief, I could not tell. Outwardly he seemed to have only one end in view--the tracing of the crime to its perpetrator. As soon as I had possessed myself of the two books he made a sign to Captain Charles.

“It will be as well for you to lock this cupboard and keep the key for the present. Unless there is anything that Madame Bonnell particularly wishes to remove first.”

Madame glanced longingly at the row of mysterious little boxes and bottles, but she prudently shook her head.

“_Merci, monsieur._ I will take nothing. I wish to have no secrets from the police. I prefer to replace my perfumes from the shop.”

Tarleton smiled with a grudging respect. This was an adversary after his own heart, one who knew every point in the game, and knew when to play for safety. The Inspector locked the door and pocketed the key with the same wooden precision with which he would have taken the number of a taxi or arrested the Crown Prince of Slavonia.

“Is Madame Bonnell still under arrest?” he inquired stolidly.

“Not as far as I am concerned,” the physician said lightly. “My business with Madame is over. All I have to do now is to make the medical examination, and to wait for the result of your inquiries elsewhere.”

A significant nod conveyed to the Inspector that there was no occasion to let the Frenchwoman know of the search that had been set on foot among the costumiers. It was not unlikely that the proprietress of the club could have thrown some light on the identity of Salome and the mysterious Leopardess, and could have told us whether the Crown Prince had masqueraded as Zenobia, if she had chosen. But it was a good deal more likely that any question put to her on the subject would result in the parties being privately warned.

Inspector Charles formally released his prisoner who affected to take the step as a matter of course. I had remarked, however, a light of intense gratification in her black eyes when Sir Frank announced that he had dismissed her from the case. She impressed me as the sort of woman who could never breathe quite easily in the near neighbourhood of the police.

The arrangements for the removal of the body were soon made. A covered police-van was requisitioned to convey it to the retired house in Montague Street, and the consultant and I drove on in advance, taking the black-covered volumes with us. He talked to me quite cheerfully on the way.

“An interesting woman, that. Her mind would be a curious study for a psychologist--a real one, I mean, not a charlatan like this wretched Weathered. The words right and wrong have no meaning at all for her, I should say. She must find it difficult to understand our point of view. In her opinion, I expect, the only thing that matters is that the name of the Crown Prince should be kept clear of scandal. If he has chosen to commit a murder, all that is necessary is that the King of Slavonia should send me the Order of Saint Somebody or other, and of course the investigation will be dropped.”

We reached the house in good time for lunch, and my kindly chief pressed me to make a good meal.

“You are looking fagged,” he observed. “If you weren’t a teetotaller I should prescribe a half-bottle of Burgundy. Our work is only beginning. As soon as lunch is over I am going through the Members’-book, comparing the names in it with those in Weathered’s appointment-book. In that way we may get a key to the mysterious numbers.”

I did my best to conceal the apprehension with which I heard of this intention. I could see the search narrowing by degree, and gradually isolating a few names among which I had too much reason to fear that one would be found which I would have given all I possessed to exclude. I made an effort to brighten up and eat the good things before me. The doctor knew how to make the best of life, and an excellent digestion enabled him to enjoy the lobster mayonnaise and the tender cutlets provided by his accomplished cook. He drank nothing stronger than claret, but it was such claret as is not often found in private cellars, and its perfume reached my nostrils across the table like the breath of roses.

As soon as I thought he was sufficiently warmed and cheered to relax a little I ventured to put the question that had been trembling on my lips for hours.

“Is it too soon to ask if you have formed any opinion as to the cause of death, Sir Frank?”

He looked at me rather sharply, and his bushy eyebrows drew together.

“I can form no opinion till I have made an autopsy. If you mean have I made any conjecture, I have made several, any one of which may be right or may be wrong. Up to a certain point I am inclined to agree with your theory.”

“With my theory!” I was surprised into repeating.

“Yes. If you recollect, you suggested that whoever administered opium to Weathered had no intention of causing death. The object seems to have been to send him off into a state of unconsciousness so as to obtain possession of his keys; and we know what the keys were wanted for.”

“To suppress the evidence against some patient, you mean?” I faltered.

“That is one view. Another possible view is that the person who stole the case-book wanted to obtain evidence for his own purposes. He may have wanted to put pressure on some patient--or patients.”

“Oh, no!” The protest escaped from me almost unawares. A slight lifting of Tarleton’s brows caused me to qualify it the next moment. “I mean that wasn’t my theory.” I pulled myself together as I went on. “Putting together everything we learnt from Madame Bonnell and from the waiter and from Miss Neobard, I suspect that Weathered had become a thorough scoundrel. My view is that he was taking advantage of the confessions made to him as a medical man to blackmail his patients, and that one of them was driven to desperation. She thought she could deliver herself by obtaining access to his safe, and destroying the documents. But she never dreamed that she was giving him a fatal dose.”

“I needn’t tell you that would be no defence in the eye of the law if it actually was fatal,” the specialist put in grimly. “So you think it was the work of a woman, do you?”

“The evidence, Gerard’s evidence, is to that effect, surely? He described three women in connection with the masked Inquisitor--not one man.”

“He described one woman as being rather like a man. He suspected Zenobia of being His Royal Highness.”

I hardly knew what to say. If there were any chance of the waiter’s theory being adopted by my chief, the relief to me would be as great as to Madame Bonnell herself. But dare I hope anything of the kind? The situation was so critical that I feared to commit myself one way or the other. I fell back on the other point in doubt.

“Do you consider it possible, sir, that an otherwise harmless dose of morphia might prove fatal if the person to whom it was given had already saturated his system with opium?”

Again the specialist’s voice had a note of surprise.

“I should have thought your own knowledge was amply sufficient to answer that question, Cassilis. In ordinary circumstances, no; quite the contrary, the dose would fail even to produce the effect intended; it would hardly render the victim insensible. But suppose that he had just taken his maximum dose, and the extra quantity was administered immediately after, then the effect might be very serious, indeed.”

Somehow I felt that I was being fenced with. Tarleton must have perceived a lack of candour on my part in discussing the problem, and decided to withhold his confidence for the time being. I had to remind myself of the admissions I had been driven to make in the course of the morning. My chief knew that I had been a visitor to the Domino Club on one occasion. He knew that I had heard something of Dr. Weathered, and heard it in confidence, as he supposed, or affected to believe, from a patient of my own. He must have put two and two together by this time. Some inkling of the truth must be in his mind. It did not call for very much acuteness on his part to see in me the confidential adviser of one of Weathered’s patients--perhaps one of his victims--possibly of the very one who had administered the fatal dose, and carried off the incriminating book.

I resolved to hold my tongue for the future. I would make no more attempts to sound Sir Frank, and would trust to his respect for professional secrecy to protect me from any awkward questions from him. The resolution was easier to take than to keep.

As soon as lunch was over the consultant led the way upstairs to his study. It appeared that the autopsy was to be postponed; the first business was to be the examination of the books that Madame Bonnell had been so unwilling to give up.

The physician seated himself at his massive bureau, a combination of desk and cabinet, and drew the volume labelled “_Members_” in front of him, while I placed myself respectfully on a chair at the side.

“The list of members isn’t a very large one,” was his first observation. “One could hardly expect it to be. The Domino Club has more the character of a secret society than a club; a society for the pursuit of illicit pleasures, let us say. Whom have we here?” He opened the book as he spoke, and ran his eye slowly down the first page. “The Duke of Altringham--I am not surprised at seeing his name; General Sir Francis Uppingham, K.C.B.; the Countess of Eardisley; Honourable Janet Wilbraham; Mrs. Worboise; Sir George Castleton, Bart.--h’m, we are beginning to come across some of the names in the appointment-book, but I don’t see anything to account for the numbers attached to them. And I shall be very much surprised if those numbers don’t contain the true key to the mystery.”

He paused in reflection, and took Weathered’s diary from his pocket. “The first thing, it seems to me, is to make out a list of the members who were also patients, and to underline the names of those who had a number as well. It is among them that we may expect to find Zenobia and Salome and possibly the Leopardess as well, though her behaviour suggests that she can hardly have been a patient. She may have been one formerly.”

I listened anxiously. Every moment I was expecting the name which I foresaw too surely would be found in the final list of suspects. Suddenly Tarleton turned to me with an unexpected order.

“While I am comparing these two books you can go through the Visitors’-book It may interest you to find the entry of your own name.”

I could not tell whether my dismay was visible to the gray eyes that seemed to look at me with such perfect indifference. My dilemma was truly critical. I knew, of course, that my name did not appear in the