Part 11

All this Detective Brissard learnt by judicious inquiries in Soho, London. Then the search for M. Morant began in real earnest. Dessaure made friends with many of the French people in this part of London, ever seeking information. The owner of the restaurant formerly run by "Martin" was not the man who had purchased the place from him. His predecessor, however, was, and could be found at an address in Brussels. To this city Detective Brissard now went, leaving Dessaure in London. Yes; the Belgian knew where M. "Martin" had gone, for a trunk was left behind which he had sent to a house in Houston Street, New York City, U.S.A. Also, the daughter of M. "Martin" was living, he believed, in Brussels, she having married a travelling jeweller.

Brissard cabled to America, and received an answer from the American police to the effect that the address given was the office of a transfer company, and they were looking over the books to see what disposal had been made of the trunk. Brissard next began a search for the former Mlle. Morant in Brussels. As, however, there were some hundreds of jewellers in that city, this was no small undertaking. Successful detectives often admit that "luck" is a potent factor in their work, and the French detective now experienced a little good fortune. The various cities prominent as diamond markets are possessed of clubs at which congregate buyers and sellers of precious stones, and which also serve the purpose of a market where the members do business among themselves. With the assistance of a Belgian official, Brissard was introduced into such a club in Brussels, and here he learnt that a young Belgian--not a member, but a good judge of stones--had married a French girl named Martin. The fact was remembered because the young man had, shortly after his marriage, become possessed of several uncommonly valuable emeralds and diamonds. This man's address was given to M. Brissard, who at once called there--first, however, changing his appearance as a measure of precaution.

The jeweller was not at home, he learnt; he was in Amsterdam, but was returning on the morrow. M. Brissard, posing as a brother jeweller, said he would call again. The lady of the house now came forward, and asked if there was anything she could do. One glance was enough for the detective--she was the daughter of the man Brissard was searching for! But he still was a long way from M. Morant himself, as after events proved.

Calling the next day in company with a Belgian detective officer, M. Brissard was ushered in and presently the jeweller came into the room. The detective briefly made known his business, informing the jeweller that it rested with him whether he would be arrested or not, for it was known that some of the stolen jewels had been in his keeping. Thereupon the man told a most straightforward story to the following effect.

He had been to London on business, and took his meals as usual in the locality frequented by his compatriots, dining at "Martin's." There he met his present wife, they fell in love with each other, and he was accepted as a prospective son-in-law. Being an authority on the value of precious stones, M. "Martin" confided to him that an aged sister had left him a few heirlooms, her husband having been a wealthy man. Would his future son-in-law appraise them? He had done so, greatly surprised at their value and size, and had further, shortly after his marriage, undertaken to sell several unset stones for his father-in-law. His wife was absolutely ignorant of all this, and not until that moment did he know that her real name was other than Martin.

The young woman was called and questioned, and it soon became evident that she knew nothing of her father's affairs. He had changed his name and impressed upon her that under no circumstances must she use the name of Morant, and thus she had been led to deceive even her husband. The gems given him for disposal, the jeweller added, had been sold in Amsterdam to a buyer there, a Mr. H. Van Kloof, for twenty thousand francs (eight hundred pounds). He had not heard from his father-in-law for two years, his last address being in Second Avenue, New York City. M. Brissard, convinced of the truth of this story, took his leave, after having given certain instructions to the Belgian detectives.

On his return to his hotel he found the following cablegram awaiting him: "Trunk forwarded Martin, Second Avenue; receipt signed 'Mrs. Martin.'"

Brissard now communicated with the American authorities, only to learn that no such person as Martin had resided at the number in Second Avenue in the memory of the present tenant, the place being a French boarding-house.

The detective now returned to London, where Dessaure met him, frantically excited. He had found a countryman who had seen Morant in New York, where he held the position of _chef_ at a prominent and fashionable hotel. This was only six months ago, but the man could not remember the name of the hotel, having lost or mislaid the card Morant had given him. One thing he _did_ remember, however--Morant was going under the name of "Melin."

M. Brissard, believing that Morant was still in New York and that he could expedite matters by going there himself, promptly took passage with Dessaure. It struck him as peculiar that a man who was in possession, or had been in possession, of what was practically a small fortune should seek employment; but the officer did not know, perhaps, that the position of _chef_ in a large hotel is a most lucrative one. The two searchers arrived in due course in New York and rooms were taken in the French quarter of the city, both men posing as wine merchants. Dessaure, who had been in America before, took rooms in a house much frequented by cooks, while Brissard lived in a small French hotel near by. For several weeks the two worked with untiring energy, making careful inquiries. Brissard himself visited every hotel of prominence in New York and Brooklyn, inquiring there of the hotel detectives for a M. Melin, and being quietly taken into the kitchen to look over the various staffs. Not until three long months had passed, however, did they come upon even the semblance of a clue. Then, one evening, as M. Brissard and Dessaure were sitting at a small table in the bar-room of Brissard's hotel, there entered a young man whom the detective knew. He had at one time been a pastry-cook in the household of a French diplomat, and had been an habitué of Morant's wine-shop in Paris. Greetings were exchanged, and after some conversation Brissard casually remarked, "I wonder what became of old Morant?"

The young Frenchman looked up sharply. "It's strange that you should speak of him," he said. "Only two weeks ago he took rooms at the house where I am living. It happened that I was going out just as he came in. I greeted him, but he refused to recognise me, and, stranger still, after paying a month's rent in advance he never came near the house again."

Here, at last, was something to work on--Morant was still in New York. Brissard now began what was practically a house-to-house search, for every place patronized by foreigners was visited, the detective taking one district and Dessaure another. It was tedious work, but Morant was somewhere in New York and Brissard meant to find him, his assistant being perhaps even more eager than himself. For two more weeks the pair searched for many hours each day; but it was Dessaure who got the first tangible evidence as to Morant's whereabouts, and this was in the identical house where Dessaure had lived on his first visit to America some years before! Dessaure himself had quite forgotten this, and when the ring of the bell was answered by a maid, he politely asked if "M. Melin" was living there.

"No one of that name is known here," was the answer. Dessaure, as usual, then produced a photograph of Morant.

"Ah," said the girl; "that is M. Martin, who has been here some four weeks. He and madame left only yesterday. They are returning to France."

Dessaure at once looked up Brissard and told him of his discovery. Together they returned to the house, and Brissard succeeded in gaining admittance to the rooms only just vacated by the Morants, where every scrap of paper in the rooms and wardrobe was carefully collected. Brissard had an interview with the proprietor of the place, and then hurried to police headquarters, from where men were sent to the different steamship offices to look over the bookings. The French authorities were notified, and the ships which had sailed the day before and on that day were communicated with by wireless telegraphy.

Meanwhile, Brissard had found the expressman who had removed Morant's belongings, taking them to the docks of the French line of steamers labelled for the ship sailing on the following day. This was getting close. With the assistance of the American police it was now ascertained that the luggage and its owners were booked under the name of "Martin," and a man was detailed to watch the trunks in case M. "Martin" changed his mind about sailing. Next morning, M. Brissard, Dessaure, and two American detectives, armed with a provisional warrant, awaited the appearance of the much-wanted man. The ship was to sail at noon, and shortly after ten a well-dressed woman walked slowly into the receiving dock and inquired the way to that portion of the pier where was located the letter "M" (all luggage being collected under the initial of its owner). She was directed some distance ahead, and, arriving at the location, inspected some of the luggage.

Evidently satisfied that everything belonging to her was there, she slowly walked away and out of the dock, apparently not caring to board the ship so early.

Detective Brissard watched this woman closely, but not quite closely enough. It was Mme. Morant, and she had seen him and recognised him, having been sent by her husband to see if the coast seemed clear for their flight. On reaching the street she took a handkerchief from a bag hanging at her waist and passed it across her face, an action which M. Morant observed from the window of a restaurant opposite, where he was anxiously watching. Brissard, not knowing he had been recognised, or that Morant had heard of the inquiries being made about him, followed Mme. Morant to the Elevated Railway. As she had still some two hours before sailing-time the detective naturally supposed she was going to meet her husband.

Mme. Morant left the train at Forty-Second Street, and made her way to the Grand Central Railway Station. There she turned round suddenly, as if looking for someone, and the detective instinctively felt that the woman knew she was being followed. Throwing discretion to the winds, Brissard now deliberately approached, and, raising his hat, said:--

"Good morning, Mme. Morant."

The woman smiled sweetly. "I seem to know your face," she replied, "but for the life of me I cannot recall your name."

"I will assist you, madame," said the officer. "I am M. Brissard, of Paris, detective agent."

Without showing the least perturbation, Mine. Morant held out her hand. "Ah, yes," she replied. "It is so long since I have been in Paris; I had forgotten. How do you do?"

M. Brissard assured the lady he was enjoying the best of health, and in turn asked after madame's husband.

"Ah, poor Morant!" was the answer. "He has been dead some years; I have married again."

Brissard sympathized with her. He was extremely sorry to trouble her, he said, but a certain event in the life of the late M. Morant was being looked into by the police, and he, Brissard, was afraid that madame would have to accompany him--simply to answer a few questions. The woman kept remarkably cool, only the pallor of her face giving evidence of the emotion she was trying so hard to control.

"Certainly I will go," was her reply. "Only you must excuse me for a moment."

M. Brissard gently pointed out that this was impossible, a cab was called, and Mme. Morant was driven to police head-quarters. Now, American police methods may be somewhat strenuous, but in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred they are successful. American officers brook no nonsense, treating criminals as they should be treated, and it must be admitted they seldom make mistakes. Madame was at once searched by a female attendant, and then she was asked a few questions by a detective inspector.

The "strenuous method" bore good results, for the Frenchwoman admitted that Morant was very much alive. When it came to divulging his whereabouts, however, she remained adamant. The trunks were now brought up from the docks and searched, but absolutely nothing was found in any way bearing on the missing jewels. Madame herself wore three very fine rings and a bar brooch containing two large diamonds, but all these were in modern settings, and, if they were part of the Martigny jewels, had been reset. But, careful as she and her husband had evidently been, they had not been quite careful enough, for madame was wearing a small watch encrusted with pearls, on the inside of which was inscribed, "12 Avril, 1877. C. J. de M."

This was evidence absolute, but Mme. Morant now resolutely refused to say another word, and the search for the erstwhile keeper of the little wine-shop in Paris had to be renewed. Meanwhile legal machinery was set in motion which resulted in Mme. Morant being extradited as an accessory, and shortly she was taken back to Paris in custody. Brissard and Dessaure were now assisted in their man-hunt by the authorities, and again several weeks went by uneventfully. Then M. Brissard heard from Brussels to the effect that Morant's daughter had gone to Paris to visit her mother, and also that she had paid several visits to Ostend. Following immediately on this came word to Dessaure that Morant had been seen in London and also in Ostend. Then came another piece of conclusive evidence. A man named O'Keefe, who travelled to and from Tilbury Docks in charge of cattle, was arrested in New York for creating a disturbance while under the influence of liquor. On him was found a valuable unset emerald. O'Keefe admitted stealing the jewel from a man who had worked his passage over on a cattle-boat, saying the stone had been dropped by this man. He, O'Keefe, had picked it up and kept it. He described the man, and beyond question it was Morant. Brissard and Dessaure at once crossed the Channel and looked up Dessaure's informant in London. The latter told them he had seen the wanted man in a restaurant, where he received a letter addressed to him. The proprietor of the eating-house, on being questioned, remembered the letter, and also that it bore a Belgian stamp. Furthermore, he said Morant had looked up the time of the boat-trains, and he was certain that he had gone to Ostend. Thither the searchers now went, and one of the first persons they saw after arriving was M. Morant's daughter. She was taking the train for Brussels, and M. Brissard at once went up to her. "Madame," he said, "you will at once tell me where your father is, or I must have you arrested."

The young woman staggered and would have fallen had not the detective assisted her. "Believe me, I do not know," she answered, piteously. "My mother sent me here with a message. I was to meet my father at the station. I have been here all day and have not seen him, so am returning."

Brissard hurriedly spoke to Dessaure, and then boarded the train which carried the young woman to Brussels. Dessaure now wore a full beard, and was not recognised by his former sweetheart. He went to a small hotel and had some food, then returned, as he had been told to do, to the railway station, to await word from M. Brissard at the telegraph office.

At a late hour this arrived, telling Dessaure to go on to Paris at once. This he did, meeting the detective the next day at the latter's rooms. Brissard seemed in very good spirits. "Our man is here in Paris," he said; "he is human, and has followed his wife. The son-in-law is an honourable fellow, and, although he has helped his father-in-law, is desirous of putting an end to all this. He will induce Morant to give himself up. I have every faith in him."

"But what about the reward?" asked Dessaure.

"We will see to that," replied the detective, confidently.

At nine o'clock the two men walked down the boulevards to the Montmartre district. Arriving in the vicinity of a wine-shop there, M. Brissard stationed himself directly opposite. Dessaure did not quite understand all this, nevertheless he did as he was told. Looking up casually toward a cross street, he saw approaching on the opposite side a man whom he thought he recognised. The man wore a light overcoat and a straw hat, and seemed to be looking for someone. With a cry Dessaure, unable to restrain himself, rushed across the street, and grasping the man by the throat struck him repeatedly in the face. It was the long-sought Morant! The men were separated by Morant's son-in-law, who had been waiting for him, and who upbraided M. Brissard for being there. He said he had given his word that he would bring Morant to the police, and that Brissard had broken faith with him.

"You are quite welcome to carry out your agreement," replied the detective. "All I want is the jewels this man has in his possession, and I thought it advisable to get them in case--well, in case he decided to leave them elsewhere before giving himself up."

The four men now proceeded to the Prefecture of Police, where Morant, on being searched, was discovered to have on his person more than half of the twice-stolen jewels.

He now told his story. How his wife, sitting at a third-storey window, drying her hair after a shampoo, had been an interested spectator of Dessaure's man[oe]uvres in burying the box, and after his departure had informed her husband. Morant had promptly dug the case up and, on discovering what it contained, at first intended to hand it over to the police. Then greed overcame him, and, despite the protestations of his wife, he decided to keep them. He narrated how he reburied the jewels in another spot, in case Dessaure should divulge their original hiding-place to the police, and how he waited for some months alter Dessaure's conviction before selling his _café_. Then he departed for London and opened a restaurant there. He knew the detectives in America were searching for him, he said, and so took a situation as _chef_ in another name. The jewels had proved a curse to him throughout. Morant's story was listened to by the Prefect, and he was then placed under arrest as an "accessory after the fact."

He was tried some weeks later, convicted, and sent to prison for a term of three years. His nerves had been completely shattered by his long ordeal, however, and five weeks after his reception at the Santé Morant died in the prison hospital.

THE LAND OF SUPERSTITION.

BY FREDERIC LEES.

Nowhere in France are curious beliefs so rife as in Finistère, the Morbihan, and the Côtes-du-Nord, where most of the little-known facts contained in the following pages were collected. As to the photographs by M. Paul Géniaux, the well-known authority on Breton folk-lore, they are unique, since they represent for the first time a number of the superstitious ceremonies to which the Bretons, in spite of the spread of education, still pin their faith.

We were cycling through Brittany--my Breton friend and I--and the turn of the road suddenly brought us within sight of a typical Finistère village, with its picturesque grey cottages surrounded by verdant orchards. Slackening speed, we began to look about us, and it was then that, glancing to my right down a narrow side road, I beheld a scene that made me dismount and call to my companion.

"I say, Géniaux, whatever are they doing to the little chap?" I cried. "Are they grilling him for supper?"

My friend's only reply was a chuckle and the click of the shutter of his camera, which, on coming to me, he had instinctively swung into the right position for a snapshot. Not until the photographic record had been obtained and the plate had been changed did he vouchsafe to give me an explanation of what we saw before us. In the middle of the road a small bonfire was merrily crackling. Over it a boy of six or seven was being held by a man and a woman, whilst three other peasant-women and some children looked on with solemn faces. What could be the meaning of this extraordinary proceeding, which looked for all the world like a human sacrifice?

"No; he's not being prepared for supper," replied Paul Géniaux, with another chuckle. "That boy has something the matter with his leg--hip-disease, I should say; and these good people think they are going to effect a cure by holding him over a bonfire on St. John's Day. I hope they'll succeed. Poor little chap! We are lucky to have seen the ceremony and got a photograph, for this is one of the most curious of our Breton superstitions. I'd quite forgotten that to-day was the 'Jour de Saint-Jean.' Many a bonfire will be lit in Brittany to-night, and many a cripple will be submitted to this ordeal of fire."

Whilst my friend was speaking the ceremony had come to an end and the little boy had been handed over to his mother, who departed on her way, probably rejoicing. As the other members of the group were about to disperse we drew near, with the usual salutations, and entered into conversation. Though I knew that my fellow-traveller's knowledge was quite equal to that of these simple peasant folk, I was anxious to learn something from their own lips, and above all to judge for myself of their sincerity. At first they were decidedly shy, but when my friend spoke a few words to them in their native Breton they became quite open, and evidently no longer regarded us as "strangers."

"Yes; we were quite right," explained the man. "The boy was suffering from hip-disease; and as all the doctors in the district had failed to do him any good they were trying a remedy in which they had every faith. It was a great pity that the mother had not resorted to it sooner. But she was a young woman, full of all sorts of new ideas, and she had preferred to waste her money on the doctors. _He_ was a believer in the old remedies. He had known a 'feu de Saint-Jean' perform miracles. But to be thoroughly effective it was essential that the two people who held the child should concentrate their thoughts on the work and have perfect faith. Nothing could be done without faith."

There was such a ring of sincerity in his voice that we two sceptics were disarmed. It was useless to try to disillusionize the man, so we asked him further questions and obtained the additional information that a "feu de Saint-Jean" was good for other things besides complaints and diseases. A horse, for instance, that had been passed through the fire was rendered proof against illness, and would perform its work much better than one that had not undergone the ordeal. This chance meeting with an interesting example of Breton superstition prompted an idea. We determined that whilst on our journey through Brittany we would collect as many similar examples as we could, so as to form the nucleus of a book on the folklore of that part of France. And wherever we went we found something to add to our records, as the following examples will show.