CHAPTER XIV

COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE

Chi rende alla meschina La sua felicità[9]

Oh! what a noble heart was here undone, When Science self destroyed her favourite son! Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit, She sowed the seeds, but death hath reaped the fruit.

Byron, on the death of Kirke White.

Concurritur: horae Momento cità mors venit.

_Horace_, S. 1. 1. 7.

As Riche turned the handle of the drawing-room door it was violently shut in his face. He tried to turn the handle again, but the pressure behind was too great, and before he could force the door he heard the key click in the lock.

The doctor hurled himself against it several times, but the door was well made and would not yield.

"There is some mischief going on inside," he said to himself, and shouted to Villebois to come and help him. Fortunately with his assistance they managed to burst the door open. As he entered he looked round the room.

"I say, Villebois, this is a suspicious state of things. The conservatory blinds are down and the gaslights are burning, while the window is wide open. Evidently the bird has flown. Quick, follow me, we may catch the fellow yet," and so saying he dashed through the dining-room into the hall, and out of the front door into the street, followed by the rest.

Being the most active of them all, Riche arrived at the corner of the cross-street first, just in time to see the door of a fiacre shut, and to watch it drive off at a gallop.

"I saw the villain close the door of the fiacre," he said out of breath to Villebois and Marcel, who had caught him up, "but I was just too late to make out who he was. But no matter, we shall lay our hands on him yet."

Evidently it was quite impossible to overtake the fiacre, so after shaking their fists in the direction of the retreating vehicle they all retraced their steps to the drawing-room. They looked around and saw Delapine sleeping peacefully on his couch.

"I wonder," said Marcel, "why the conservatory blinds are drawn?"

"I can't imagine," replied Villebois. "But see, the window is wide open. The villain must have escaped through it."

"Mon Dieu, what is this?" said Riche, picking up a hypodermic syringe. "It is two-thirds full of some fluid. We will keep this liquid gentlemen, its contents may prove extremely useful."

Procuring a small empty phial, he poured the contents into it, and corking it up put it into his pocket. "Ah, here is the needle," he added, as he picked it up from the floor. "It is evidently broken too, and the fracture appears quite recent."

"Riche, come here," said Villebois, looking at Delapine, "do you notice anything unusual about him?"

Riche stood with folded arms, gazing silently at the professor. He gently shook him, but found that there was no responsive movement in the body. Delapine's face had the appearance of marble, and when Riche raised one of the arms it dropped down again motionless. No sign of pulsation could be detected at the wrist. Riche took up a match and waved it in front of the sleeper's eyes. He watched them carefully, but the pupils failed to respond.

Dr. Riche was completely nonplussed. Although he was accustomed to see death in all its varying forms, both in the hospitals and in the battlefield, without his professional calmness being in any way perturbed, a sudden horror at the awful fate of his friend seized him as he bent over the body. He became ashy pale, and trembling like an aspen leaf he cried out aloud, "Oh! my God, Delapine is dead."

Riche carefully examined the parts of the body which were exposed, and opened his shirt, but failed to discover any signs of injury. Just as he was about to relinquish his search he noticed a spot on one of the arms.

"Hullo," he cried, "what's this?" and pulling out a pocket magnifier he scrutinized a small red spot a short distance above the wrist. "Come here, Villebois, and tell me what you think of this."

Villebois took the magnifier out of Riche's hand, and carefully examined the spot. He looked up in an enquiring manner as if he expected Riche to speak for him.

"Well, what do you make of it?" said Riche as he looked at him with a peculiar expression and curl of the mouth which he always wore when he knew beforehand what the answer would be.

"Tell me, what is it?" he repeated as Villebois hesitated.

"I think it is a hypodermic puncture. Isn't that your opinion?"

"I don't think anything about it, I am sure of it; and what's more I feel convinced it was made with the needle found on the floor. The rascal was evidently injecting the poison at the very moment when we interrupted him as he was trying to open the door. Don't you agree with me?"

"Yes, you are perfectly right," said Villebois, nodding his head. "How fortunate you were to find the syringe, and half full of the poison too. Don't lose the fluid whatever you do. It appears to me to be the key to the whole mystery."

"You trust me," said Riche, "I am not going to let the matter drop, my little bottle will bring the scoundrel to the guillotine yet." Meanwhile the firemen had arrived, and as there was an abundance of water, the fire was soon under control. Although the contents of Riche's room were destroyed, no damage was done outside it except by the water. On entering the room the firemen smelt the pungent odour of burnt naphtha, and a few shavings still glowing with the heat were to be seen in a corner of the room.

"Ei! Ei! this is the work of an incendiary," said one of the firemen. "Regardez-la, monsieur," he said to Villebois whom he knew by sight, holding up some of the half-burnt shavings, "don't you smell the naphtha?"

"I do, but mon Dieu, this is terrible," said Villebois, "We must send for the police at once, there's a crime here. It must be investigated at all costs."

Villebois ran to the telephone and called for the police to come immediately, while the firemen, now satisfied that the fire was extinguished, proceeded to take the hose-pipe out of the house. In a few minutes they had departed, leaving Villebois and his guests alone in the house looking at one another and wondering what it all meant.

Meanwhile Renée and Céleste, unable to control their anxiety, disobeyed Riche's instructions and ran back into the séance room where they met Riche bending over the professor.

"What is the matter with Delapine?" they both cried with a look of terror on their faces.

Riche looked very sad and distressed, but said nothing.

"Oh! doctor, do tell me, is there anything the matter?" said Renée, staring at him with her great eyes wide open.

"I am afraid so," said Riche in a subdued voice.

"You don't surely mean--that he is dead?" Renée asked in a broken voice, becoming deadly pale. "Oh, doctor, tell me quickly, what is the matter?"

"My poor girl--he is dead," he replied very solemnly.

"What!--what did you say, doctor? Dead! no--no--it can't be true."

Renée looked at his face half doubting, half believing, and then turning her face towards Delapine she flung her arms round him, and covered his face with kisses in an agony of grief.

"Henri! Henri! come back, come back to me, oh my beloved!" and she burst into tears, while her whole frame shook convulsively.

Céleste sobbed in sympathy, and even Riche, usually so calm, wiped away a tear.

Villebois looked at Renée with a puzzled expression mingled with sadness.

"Come, my poor little Renée," he said at length. "Wake up, my child; this grief will do you no good;" and he gently patted her head and kissed her; but Renée never moved.

The professor lay before them in the calm sleep of death. He looked unearthly yet beautiful with his serene, peaceful smile, like some newly created being, quietly waiting for the breath of life to be transformed into a living soul. Those penetrating eyes of his seemed to be piercing through the Veil into the Unseen Universe. All traces of pain and sorrow had vanished. One might almost fancy him quietly biding his time for the Easter Morn with a sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection. Where was that noble spirit, that great master mind which for years had been unfolding the secrets of nature, and directing its unalterable laws into channels of usefulness for the benefit of untold generations to come? All around him the clang and din of life could be heard, the murmur of many voices sounding like some confused discord breaking through the leaves of the forest, while here he lay resembling some marble effigy carved by a master hand. Was his spirit gazing with a prophetic eye through the half-opened portal of death on the vista of heaven unfolded before him, or was he joining the music of an angelic choir, or listening to the clinging memories of some half forgotten tale of happy childhood? Dead to him were all the wranglings of jealousy, the bitterness of malice, the aching heart, and the ceaseless strife. That mighty unselfish soul overflowing with love and goodwill to all, cheerful amid despair, unconquered by obstacles, unfaltering in its duty--where was it now? And the answer, like the echo of death, came back, "Toll for the mighty dead, he is no more, his soul is gone for ever."

Céleste silently slipped out of the room, and then ran as quickly as she could and told the others. They all hurried into the chamber, Céleste leading the way.

"Oh, papa," she cried, "whatever shall we do, isn't it dreadful? My poor darling sister, it will kill her, I know it will. You don't know how she loved him," and she knelt down at the foot of the couch and sobbed convulsively.

Villebois looked at Payot who was nervously twisting his fingers, while at the same time his face betrayed the conflict of emotions struggling within him.

It was true the obstacle to Payot's scheme was at length removed, and for a moment a feeling of satisfaction thrilled him, but an instant after, the latent affection for his only daughter, which Delapine had succeeded in fanning into a feeble flame, awoke a better feeling in his heart, and the sight of her unutterable grief met with a speedy response in his better nature.

He bent down and tenderly kissed his daughter.

Renée turned her head up to her father with a look of surprise, as she was quite unaccustomed to receive any tokens of affection from him.

"Villebois, mon cher," said Payot looking at him, "I hear someone knocking loudly at the door of the house."

Villebois immediately went out of the room, and François ran up to him in an excited manner.

"Monsieur le Commissaire de Police with two sergeants have arrived, and demand admittance in the name of the law; what am I to do?"

"Show them immediately into the library, and tell them I will be with them in a moment."

When Villebois entered the library a little gentleman, faultlessly attired in black, with a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, walked up to meet him.

"I have the honour to address Monsieur le Docteur Villebois, I presume?" said the little man as he presented his card.

Villebois took the proffered card which bore the inscription:--

ADOLPHE BIRON,

COMMISSAIRE DE POLICE.

"Monsieur le docteur," said the little man with a slight bow, "I have come in answer to the telephone message, from which I understand that there has been a fire here, and that it is probably the work of an incendiary."

"Pardon, monsieur, who told you that?"

"One of the firemen who assisted in extinguishing the flames--am I right in my suspicions?"

"Perfectly," replied Villebois, "but that is only a trifle."

"Only a trifle?" replied Monsieur Biron, astonished. "Arson is not regarded as a trifling matter by the law."

"That is so, but I fear a murder has been committed as well."

"Oh! oh!! oh!!!" cried the commissaire in an ascending scale, tapping his two fingers on the table.

He remained silent for a few moments, and then he called his two satellites. "You, Georges, go round to the front gate, and you, Raoul, go to the back of the house and see that no one passes out without my permission.

"Now, Monsieur Villebois, let us go together and see the victim."

They stepped carefully across the wet, slippery floor, and entered the séance room in silence.

Monsieur Biron went up to Delapine's body and carefully examined him.

"He is quite dead," he remarked; "as to that there can only be one opinion."

Then, turning to Villebois, he asked him the names and addresses of all the guests, and entered them in his official memorandum book.

"These are all guests of mine," said Villebois, "I will make myself responsible for them."

"Good," replied the commissaire. "Let them please retire into the next room, while we go into the matter privately here."

Dr. Riche took Monsieur Biron aside in order to acquaint him with the true facts of the case and of his struggle at the door, but the Commissaire of Police interrupted him impatiently.

"Pardon, monsieur, but I am on duty, and you will please excuse me if I listen to you later."

"Allow me to present my card, monsieur le commissaire. I am Dr. Riche. I was witness of----"

"I regret, monsieur le docteur, but I cannot allow you to interfere with me in my investigations."

"Excuse me, monsieur, I am the only person who saw----"

"Please do not interrupt me, monsieur le docteur."

"But time is of the greatest importance," said Dr. Riche, "and I can assist----"

"For the last time I shall be obliged if you will postpone your explanation," said the little man with an air of official importance, and he looked him up and down through his spectacles, until poor Riche felt half convinced that he himself must in some way or other have committed the crime.

"But, monsieur," interposed Villebois, "my friend, Dr. Riche, saw----"

"Pardon me, but I must request you to stop talking," he replied, becoming at length really angry; "you are here to answer questions and not to speak to me."

Villebois, somewhat nettled at being addressed in this style, was about to remonstrate, but the fierce glance of the commissaire took his breath away, and he stammered out something incoherently, and finally collapsed utterly cowed.

"Now I must request you all to be good enough to retire immediately into the next room, and not to move until I call you," said Monsieur Biron as he ordered the guests off with a majestic wave of the hand, "and you, Dr. Villebois, will remain here with me."

"Are you acquainted with the deceased?" he enquired of Villebois as soon as they were alone.

"He has been my guest for three months now, and is my most intimate friend."

"And his name?"

"Professor Henri Delapine."

"What!" he exclaimed, "Professor Delapine, the renowned professor at the Sorbonne?"

"The same."

"Mon Dieu! he was one of the most amiable men I ever had the good fortune to meet. What reason could anyone have to seek his death? But that we can go into later. How long has he been dead?"

"I cannot say. All that I know is that he was alive and well a little more than half an hour ago."

"Half an hour ago," said Monsieur Biron, astonished; "but what could have killed him?"

"That is what I want to know."

"This is a most extraordinary affair. Let us examine his body at once."

Villebois and the commissaire proceeded carefully to strip him, scrutinising each garment as they removed it with the utmost care.

"I see no marks of violence," said Biron as he examined the corpse from head to foot. "What makes you think that he has been killed? Can it not be a simple case of heart failure?" and the commissaire gave him a searching look.

"That is possible," replied Villebois, "but apparently not from natural causes."

"Then you mean to say that he really has been murdered?"

"I am sure of it."

"Be careful what you say, doctor. It is a very terrible statement to make, and you will have to be confronted with the Juge d'Instruction, who will compel you to prove it or suffer the consequences."

Dr. Villebois looked very frightened at the severe glances of Monsieur Biron, and twisted his fingers together nervously. "I have every reason to suspect it," he said in a tone of apology. "Have you examined his arms, monsieur?"

The commissaire looked at Villebois to see if he were joking with him, and being convinced of his earnestness, he took up each arm in turn and examined them with great care on all sides.

"I see nothing, nothing at all," he replied.

"Look here, monsieur," said Villebois, pointing to a little swollen spot just above the wrist of the left arm. "Do you see that?"

Monsieur Biron looked at it carefully, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Ce n'est rien, monsieur; it is only a mosquito bite."

Villebois examined it with a pocket magnifier, and gently squeezed it. A drop of glistening fluid came out tinged with blood. The commissaire at once became intensely interested. "Lend me the glass," he cried, and impatiently taking it from Villebois, he carefully examined the spot.

"H'm," he muttered, "the puncture is certainly too large for an insect to make. Can you account for it, doctor?" he said, relinquishing for the first time his authoritative tone.

"I can, but Dr. Riche whom you saw just now can tell you more about it than I can. It was Dr. Riche who told me that he had heard someone moving about the room, and when the doctor ran to the door, before he could open it wide enough to see who was inside, it was violently shut in his face and locked. Dr. Riche and myself together managed to force the door, only to find that the rascal had escaped. Riche raced after him, but the fellow was too quick, and before Riche could get near enough to recognise him, he had disappeared in a fiacre."

"Mon Dieu, but why didn't you tell me all this before?" asked M. Biron.

"Monsieur, I could not, as the whole affair has altogether unnerved me. Besides, Dr. Riche was about to tell you, but you stopped him, if you remember, and threatened to arrest him if he spoke."

The little man stamped on the ground with vexation and chagrin.

"Well, well," he replied somewhat mollified, "I trust it is not too late yet; bring him here at once."

Villebois opened the door and beckoned to him to come in. Riche had taken the commissaire's conduct so much to heart that at first he refused to answer.

"A thousand pardons, M. le docteur, for appearing so rude," said the commissaire in a very apologetic tone, "but I understand that you are able to give some clue to this assassination?"

Dr. Riche, seeing that M. Biron's apology was sincere, slowly thawed and became more amiable.

"Yes, monsieur," he replied, "I came downstairs during the fire to look after the professor, who was fast asleep on a couch, and just as I was about to enter the chamber, the door was shut in my face and locked. When I entered the room the bird had flown, but I picked up a hypodermic syringe half full of liquid, from the floor."

"But didn't you try to find the fellow?"

"Of course I did. I ran round the house into the street, and on arriving at the first corner I saw a man entering a cab, but he was half inside, and too far away for me to recognise who he was. I ran as hard as I could, and shouted to the cocher, but he lashed his horse into a gallop and disappeared. When I returned to the house I searched the room again, and found the broken injection needle on the floor, and guessing that there was some connection between this needle and Professor Delapine's condition, I examined him and discovered that life was extinct."

"Excellent, excellent," said the commissaire, delighted, and rubbing his hands together as if he had heard a good story.

"Parbleu," he cried, "but, mon ami, this is exceedingly interesting, perfectly romantic. Ah, mon cher docteur, our task grows more and more delightful. I must instruct my attendants this instant," and excusing himself he ran off as fast as his little legs could carry him. In the midst of his haste, however, a sudden thought struck him, and he returned to Dr. Villebois, and taking him on one side asked:

"Can you tell me, doctor, what was the cause of the fire?"

"It was undoubtedly a case of arson," replied Villebois and Riche together.

"Why do you think so?" enquired the commissaire.

"One of the firemen found a handful of half-burnt shavings in a corner of Dr. Riche's room which smelt strongly of petroleum, indeed the whole atmosphere reeked of it."

"Let us go to the room at once," said M. Biron.

On arriving at Riche's room they found the place in a terrible state. Everything was saturated with water, and all the contents were charred, and had been piled up by the firemen in a heap. As Dr. Villebois had said, the place reeked of naphtha and bore traces of having been intentionally set on fire.

"I understand it all," said Riche. "Someone has set fire to my bedroom in order to draw the guests away from the séance room, so that he might have a free hand to inject the poison unobserved into the arm of the sleeping professor."

"Ha, ha, you are a born detective, Dr. Riche. Nothing can be clearer," and the commissaire adjusted his spectacles to his entire satisfaction. "A sprat to catch a mackerel, eh?" and he positively beamed with professional pride.

M. Biron, having made his inspection of the house, and cross-questioned all the guests without obtaining any fresh information, cordially shook hands with the two doctors and departed, bubbling over with zeal, and feeling intoxicated with the importance of his mission.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 9: Ah, who will give the lost one her vanished dream of bliss?]