Chapter 14
"Not by any means," I replied quickly. "I intend, at all hazards, and at all costs, to still fathom the mystery. What we have learned since we came to Spain puts quite a different complexion upon matters. We are now in possession of certain facts concerning De Gex--facts of which we had no suspicion. We had never dreamed that to further his ends he did not hesitate to employ a notorious criminal to commit murder with malice aforethought. Neither did we know anything of his financial dealings with the Spanish Ministry of Finance, or his partnership with the Conde de Chamartin, or that the drug he used upon poor Gabrielle and myself was the obscure but most deadly and dangerous orosin. All these are points which may in the near future be of greatest advantage to us. Therefore we must not despair. Let us take courage and continue to probe the mystery--for the sake of poor Gabrielle Tennison," I urged. "Let us act as quietly and discreetly as our enemy is acting, and we may yet attain success!"
CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH
THE TRACK OF DESPUJOL
Having decided to still remain in Madrid I deemed it advisable to engage the services of a private inquiry agent to watch the movements of De Gex and Suzor, who still remained at the Ritz. The mystery-man, living under an assumed name, never went out in the daytime, though Suzor often went forth, paying visits to certain banks and commercial offices in connexion with the proposed new railway.
The man we engaged was an elderly ex-detective of the Seville police, named Pardo, who very soon discovered the identity of the secret agent employed to keep surveillance upon De Gex on behalf of the police so that no harm should befall him.
In consequence, I took Pardo into my confidence, and calling him to my hotel, explained that I desired to keep secret watch upon the Frenchman Suzor, without the knowledge of the detective watching De Gex.
"I particularly desire to know the addresses of any telegram which Suzor may send. Probably he may send some message to Italy. If so, please discover the address and the text of the message."
I believed that De Gex might communicate with Moroni, now that the plot of Despujol had failed.
"I will watch, señor," was the grey-haired Spaniard's reply. "If Señor Suzor sends any telegram I shall probably obtain a copy of it. They know me well at the chief telegraph office. Señor Suzor appears to be transacting a considerable amount of business in Madrid--a scheme for a new railway, I understand."
"Yes, I know. All I want you to do is to find out who visits Mr. De Gex, and whether any telegrams are sent by either him or Mr. Suzor."
"I quite understand, señor," was the detective's reply as he rose, and a few minutes later withdrew.
Late in the evening two days afterwards I returned to the hotel to find the man Pardo awaiting me. After I had taken him up to my room and closed the door, he drew a piece of paper from his pocket, saying in French:
"Señor Suzor sent a telegram at half-past eight this evening of which this is a copy."
The message he handed me was in a pencilled scribble, and was in English as follows:
"Charles Rabel, Rue de Lalande 163, Montauban.--
"Important that I should see you. Meet me at Hôtel Luxembourg, Nîmes, without fail, next Monday at noon.--O."
The initial "O" stood for Oswald--Oswald De Gex! So the mystery-man of Europe contemplated leaving Madrid!
I thanked the man Pardo, who said:
"Señor Suzor did not dispatch the telegram from the chief office in the Calle del Correo, but from the branch office in the Plaza del Progreso. He apparently wished to send it in secret."
"I wonder why?" I asked.
The Spaniard raised his shoulders.
The address conveyed nothing to me. But the message was proof that De Gex intended to leave Spain, and further, it was a source of satisfaction to know his destination in case he slipped away suddenly.
After Pardo had gone I sat and pondered. It struck me as very curious that Suzor should have gone to a distant telegraph office in order to send the message. It seemed that he feared to be recognized by the counter-clerk at the chief telegraph office. For over an hour I smoked reflectively. I confess that a curious ill-defined suspicion had arisen in my mind, a suspicion that became so strong that just about eleven o'clock I entered the Jefatura Superior de Policia in the Calle de la Princesa, and again inquired for Señor Andrade.
Fortunately he had been detained in his office, and I was shown into his presence.
He seemed surprised to see me, but at once he became interested when I said:
"I have a distinct suspicion that I know the whereabouts of Despujol."
"Have you?" he exclaimed quickly. "What causes you to suspect?"
"A man whom I believe to be an acquaintance of his has to-day sent an urgent telegram to Charles Rabel, Rue de Lalande, 163, in Montauban, in France, making an appointment to meet him at the Hôtel Luxembourg at Nîmes next Monday at noon."
"Who is his friend?" he asked eagerly.
"I regret, Señor Andrade, that I am not in a position to answer that question. The whole matter is only one of suspicion--very strong suspicion."
The Chief of Police looked very straight at me.
"Ah! Then you are in possession of certain secret knowledge concerning the man who made such a dastardly attempt upon your life!" he remarked. "And you suspect this Charles Rabel at Montauban to be the fugitive--eh?"
"Exactly," I replied.
He asked me to repeat the address, which he scribbled down, and then looking up, said:
"Personally, Señor Garfield, I think your suspicions are unfounded. Despujol, if he is ever found, will be discovered in hiding somewhere in the mountains of the north."
"But why not in Montauban?" I asked. "He is apparently a well-educated man, judging from his conversation with me. He speaks French well, and perhaps passes as a French subject."
"He could pass for a Spaniard, an Italian, a Greek, or a Frenchman," Andrade remarked. "And as forged passports are so cheap nowadays, and almost impossible to detect, the means of escape of such a daring criminal are both numerous and easy. But," he added, "I am interested in this person whom you believe to be a friend of the fugitive. Cannot you tell me who he is?"
I shook my head, and smiling replied:
"I have only come here to tell you of a very distinct suspicion I entertain that Despujol is at Montauban."
"Then his friend is your enemy--eh?" he suggested, his dark, penetrating eyes fixed upon mine. "You know the motive of that trap which Despujol set for you, and yet you will not reveal it to me!"
Again I shook my head and smiled.
"It would make my task much easier," he remarked.
"I am aware of that. But at present mine is only a suspicion. I have no actual knowledge that Charles Rabel is the man you are so desirous of arresting."
"And you really refuse to tell me who sent this message?" he asked in a tone of disappointment.
"It was sent in secret," I answered. "Indeed, it was that fact which caused me to suspect. You can, of course, obtain the original of the telegram by applying for it from the authorities. But it is only signed by an initial."
"How did you obtain knowledge of it?"
"Again I have no intention of disclosing the source of my information, Señor Andrade," I replied as politely as I could, "I am, as a matter of fact, here in Madrid attempting to solve a very remarkable mystery which occurred in London a few months ago."
"This is most interesting! You never told me that before!" he exclaimed. "I confess I wondered with what motive you and your friend Señor Hambledon, living at separate hotels, had in remaining here. It was regarded as suspicious by the detective force that being such intimate friends you lived at separate hotels, and met only in secret. Reports have reached me of your movements, and of your meetings," he laughed. "More than once you have been regarded as suspected persons," he added.
"Well, I hope you do not regard me as a suspected person any longer, Señor Andrade!" I exclaimed with a smile.
"No, no," he laughed. "But I confess you are something of a mystery. Why should the notorious Despujol dare to put his foot into Madrid and lay that deadly plot to kill you? You know the motive, and yet you will not disclose it to me."
"Not at present," I said. "If it is found that Charles Rabel is really Despujol, then I will come forward and state all that I know."
"You promise that?"
"I do."
"Very well--then I will give orders to have your suspicions investigated," replied the patient, urbane official. "A detective shall leave by the next train for Montauban with a request to the Prefect of Police of the Department of Tarn-et-Garonne for the arrest of the individual in question, if he should be identified."
"Then I will accompany him," I said.
"Excellent," he exclaimed. "It would be well if Señor Rivero, the head of the Detective Department, whom you have met, went in person to France. I will ring him up at his house."
He took up the telephone and a few minutes later spoke rapidly in Spanish to the chief detective of Spain.
Presently after a rapid conversation he put down the receiver, and said:
"Señor Rivero will meet you at the Delicias Station at two o'clock to-morrow morning. The express for Barcelona leaves at two-fifteen. From Barcelona you can get direct to Nîmes, and on to Montauban. And," he added, "I only hope you will be successful in arresting the notorious Despujol."
I thanked him, and suggested that if we should be fortunate enough to identify him, we should watch for the keeping of the appointment at the Hôtel Luxembourg at Nîmes on the following Monday.
"With whom is he keeping the appointment?" asked Señor Andrade.
"That I will disclose later," was my reply. "I know that the appointment has been fixed, and if we watch, we shall, I feel assured, gain some knowledge of considerable interest."
"As you wish," replied the Chief of Police, who now seemed convinced by my manner that I was in possession of certain actual facts. "You will meet Señor Rivero--eh?"
"Certainly," I said.
"Then I wish the pair of you the good fortune of arresting the assassin Despujol," he said as we shook hands and parted.
I drove at once to Hambledon's hotel, where I found that he had just retired to bed. As he stood in his pyjamas, surprised at my unexpected visit at that hour, I told him what I had arranged.
"Then I will remain here and watch De Gex's departure," he said.
"Yes. But be very careful of yourself," I urged. "Keep your revolver handy, for you never know when an attack may be made upon you. These fellows, though great men in the eyes of the world, employ desperate characters to do their dirty work."
"I'm quite alive to that fact, Hugh," replied my friend. "But we won't give up till we punish those responsible for poor Miss Tennison's state--will we?"
"No, we won't," I declared determinedly. "Of course we may be on a wrong scent, but something seems to tell me that we are pretty hot on the trail. The assassin Despujol would never have been employed by them if they did not hold us in dread."
"Your journey to Montauban will prove whether you are right, Hugh," he said, and then, after arranging that he should follow Suzor should De Gex leave without him, and that he should at once wire me word to the Poste Restante at Nîmes, I left, and returning to the hotel packed my suit-case and later met the bald-headed but famous detective.
The latter proved an amusing companion who, during the long night journey to the Mediterranean, recounted to me many of his interesting experiences. His French was better than his English, so we conversed in the former tongue.
There was no sleeping carriage upon the train, therefore, after my companion had spoken to the conductor, we made ourselves as comfortable as we could in the first-class compartment which had been reserved for us. At half-past three in the morning, with true Spanish forethought, he produced some sandwiches, fresh fruit, and a bottle of excellent wine, upon which we made a hearty meal, after which we dozed in our corners till dawn.
Throughout the day my companion, who was quite as eager as myself to arrest the notorious Despujol, chatted in French as we went slowly down the fertile valley of the Ebro and suddenly out to where on our right lay the broad blue sea. Not until late afternoon did we arrive at Barcelona, and having two hours to wait we went along the Paseo de San Juan to the Francia Station, and having deposited our bags there, strolled along to the Plaza de Cataluña, where, at the gay Maison Dorée, we had coffee and cigarettes, while my companion read the _Diario_ and I watched the picturesque crowd about us. Rivero knew Barcelona well, so after we had finished our cigarettes we took a taxi to the Central Police Office, where we had a chat with the chief of the Detective Department, a short stout little man with a round boyish face and a black moustache. After that we took another taxi along to the toy-fair in the Plaza de la Constitución, it being the Feast of St. George, the patron saint of Catalonia, which accounted for the bustle and gaiety of the city.
Then, after an interesting half-hour, we returned to the station and set out upon our slow eight-hour journey through the rich wine lands of Catalonia, with their quaint mediæval villages and towns, with occasional glimpses of sapphire sea, and passing over many ravines and gullies we at last, long after nightfall, entered a long tunnel at the end of which was the station of Port-Bou, the French frontier.
The usual prying douaniers were quickly at work, and after some coffee at the Restaurant Baqué, which is so well known to travellers to Southern Spain, we re-entered the train for Narbonne, where in the morning we changed and travelled to Montauban, by way of Carcassonne and Toulouse.
It was late in the afternoon when, on arrival at our destination, we took rooms at the Hôtel du Midi on the opposite side of the Tarn to the prosperous pleasant little French town, once a headquarter of the Inquisition, and even now containing in its Museum the executioner's axe and many instruments of torture. After a wash and a meal, for we were both very hungry, we set out to find Monsieur Charles Rabel, whose address was Rue de Lalande, number 163.
We crossed the wonderful old brick bridge from Villebourbon to the town--a bridge built in the fourteenth century with an internal passage running beneath the roadway to the ancient Château. Then, making our way past the old Church of St. Jacques, with its fine Gothic octagonal tower, and passing through a number of streets we found ourselves in the narrow old-world Rue de Lalande.
Just as we entered the street, which contained a number of small shops, I halted.
"He must not see me!" I exclaimed.
"I quite agree," replied the Spanish detective. "There is a little café over there. Go in and wait for me. I will make some discreet inquiries concerning this Monsieur Rabel."
Hence we parted, and while Señor Rivero sauntered along the street in search of the house in question, I went into the café and ordered a bock.
Full of anxiety lest, after all, this man Rabel should be a respectable citizen, I waited.
Time passed slowly. Half an hour went by. I ordered a mazagran and sat smoking, trying to suppress my eagerness. An hour elapsed--an hour and a half--two hours!
I waited yet another half-hour until the proprietor of the café began to look askance at me. Then I paid, and rising, went out into the street.
It was now dark. There was no sign of my friend the Spanish police agent. He had disappeared!
I stood upon the pavement full of anxiety and bewilderment.
What could have happened to him?
CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH
MADEMOISELLE JACQUELOT
I returned to my rather barely-furnished room at the Hôtel du Midi which overlooked the Place outside the station in the suburb across the river, and sank into a chair to reflect.
The concierge--a lad who wore the concierge's cap--the concierge being off duty at his evening meal--informed me that my friend had not returned. He seemed an alert French lad of that type so frequently seen in Continental hotels.
Señor Rivero had disappeared! For an hour I waited seated alone in my room reflecting deeply. My sole desire and fixed object was to solve the enigma of Gabrielle Tennison's unfortunate mental state and to bring to justice those unscrupulous blackguards responsible for it. As I sat there her pale beautiful face arose before me--the wonderful countenance of the girl who had, in such a strange and indescribable manner, taken possession of my soul. To analyse my feelings towards her was impossible. I put to myself the query why I loved her, but I was utterly unable to answer it.
I loved her most passionately and devotedly. That was all.
The tragedy of the situation was that I loved one who, alas! could not return my affection as a girl with her mental balance unaffected could do. Her poor unbalanced brain could never allow her to understand me, or to return my love.
I was tired after the long sleepless journey from Spain, and I suppose I must have dozed in my chair.
I awoke suddenly, hearing a tap upon the door, and an elderly chambermaid entered with a telegram.
I tore it open and found it had been dispatched from Castelsarrasin, and was from Rivero, saying: "Absence unavoidable. Hope to be back by midnight."
"Where is Castelsarrasin?" I inquired of the woman.
"It is about sixteen kilomètres from here, m'sieur," replied the buxom woman in the strong accent of Toulouse. "It is on the road to Agen and the railway junction for Beaumont-de-Lomagne. Just a small town. They say that the name is a corruption of Castel-sur-Azin. At least my mother used to tell me so."
What, I wondered, had taken the head of the Madrid detective force out there? He must be following some fresh clue.
So I went forth across the bridge to a big café opposite the theatre, and there idled till nearly midnight, when I returned eagerly to meet my friend.
He entered my room just before one o'clock in the morning, tired and dusty, for he appeared to have walked a long distance. I had some cognac and a syphon of seltzer awaiting him, and sinking exhausted into a chair, he took a long and refreshing drink before he spoke.
"Well?" he said with a sigh. "You have been wondering why I disappeared so mysteriously--eh? The fact is I was compelled. On making inquiry of a shoemaker who has a little shop near Charles Rabel's house I learned that the man for whom we are searching lived in a flat on the first floor of the house kept by a widow named Cailliot. But he was frequently absent in England or in Italy. Only for short spells was he there, for he was a commercial traveller representing a Lyons firm of silkweavers. As we were speaking, the shoemaker pointed to a rather smart young woman who was at that moment leaving the house, and said: 'Look! That is Mademoiselle Jacquelot, the fiancée of Monsieur Charles! She might tell you where he is. I do not think he is at home to-day. I saw him four days ago and spoke to him as he passed. But I believe he has left again!' I thanked him, and at once followed Mademoiselle, hence I had no time to tell you, for I had no idea where she was going. I saw that by following Rabel's fiancée I might gain some useful knowledge. She walked to the station, and took a ticket for Castelsarrasin. I did the same. We had half an hour to wait, but I spent it patiently, and when we left I travelled alone with her in the same compartment. Soon I managed to get into conversation with her, whereupon I mentioned that I had a friend, Monsieur Charles Rabel, in Montauban, and that we had met in Paris. He had once shown me her photograph and I believed I was not mistaken that she was Mademoiselle Jacquelot. At first she was surprised, but I told her a very plausible story, whereupon she explained that Charles had gone to Toulouse on business three days before, but that he was returning at noon to-morrow. She herself lived in Castelsarrasin."
"But do you anticipate that we shall discover in Charles Rabel the notorious Despujol?" I inquired eagerly.
Rivero raised his shoulders and elevated his black eyebrows, saying:
"From facts I gathered from Mademoiselle concerning him I certainly think that we are really upon his track. It hardly seems possible, but we must remain in patience till to-morrow. Then, if we find our surmise correct, we must act with the greatest caution if we are to watch him to Nîmes where he is to meet your mysterious friend--the man whose name you refuse to reveal."
"When they meet you will at once recognize him," I said. "I may be mistaken," I added. "But I do not anticipate that I am. If all goes well, then you will arrest the notorious Despujol."
"I only wish that the fellow would fall into my hands," replied my companion. "If so, then revelations will be made that will startle Europe."
"And incidentally gain you promotion in the service--eh?" I laughed.
He nodded and admitted:
"I hope so, Señor Garfield. I sincerely hope so," he replied, and we parted for the night.
Next day I woke early and sought my friend. We idled about till nearly noon, when we went together to the railway station to watch the arrival of the train from Toulouse.
A number of people were about, for the dusty lumbering express from Bordeaux to Marseilles had, at that moment, arrived, and considerable bustle ensued in consequence.
While we stood watching the crowd Señor Rivero suddenly touched my arm, and whispered:
"Look yonder! The girl in dark blue! That is Mademoiselle Jacquelot! She must not see me. I wonder why she is here--if not to warn him of the inquiries made concerning him by a stranger!"
I glanced in the direction he had indicated and saw a tall, slim, rather good-looking girl sauntering idly in our direction. Her attention had, for the moment, been diverted by an advertisement upon the wall.
"Quick!" cried my friend. "Let us slip back here."
And next moment we had repassed the barrier, back into the booking-office.
"If she sees me her suspicions will be aroused--if they are not already aroused," said my companion. "The fact that she is here gives rise to the question whether she is really so innocent as she pretends. She may know of her lover's escapades, and suspects me of having followed her out to her home."
"If she does suspect, then she is cleverer than you anticipated," I remarked.
"Yes. But in any case we had better act independently. You return to the platform, for she has never seen you. You will remain well concealed and watch them meet, while I shall be at the exit to identify him if you find that you cannot get near enough to him without courting observation."
As he spoke the bell was clanging, and there came the roar of the engine entering the big echoing station.
I slipped back instantly upon the platform and standing at a point against the corner of the bookstand where I hoped to escape unobserved, I turned my head away as the train came along. Then, when it drew up, I held my breath anxiously as I turned around.
The girl in navy blue was not far from me searching along the train until, of a sudden, she espied a man in a dark overcoat and dark-green velour hat, who had just alighted, carrying in his hand a small leather case. His countenance was ruddy, and he had a small black moustache.
My heart fell. The man was a stranger to me! The countenance was not that of the man whom I had surprised in my bedroom at Madrid. He bent and greeted her affectionately, but next moment it was apparent that she was explaining something which caused his countenance to grow serious.
He put one or two swift questions to her. Then halting suddenly, he glanced at his watch.
I strove to get sufficiently near to look well into his face, but I feared recognition.