Evening Star Newspaper, January 5, 1930, Page 87

any of your other painters to smell a rat.” Regagie sighed. “That is true” Beaucourt nodded. “With- out doubt, Artus has a great talent. One accepts that. You acquit him, then?” “Oh, no. I never acquit anybody till I know the charge. What is it?” “Ah, my friend!” Dubois rolled back in his chair. “Causing perturbation of mind to the eminent Mr. Fortune and poor old Dubois. That is true, eh? We do not like it and we have seen some things in our time. Unhappily, that is not yet a ground of arrest. What to do?” “Well, you know, you might find out if Artus really has left Paris.” Reggie smiled. “You wish still to meet him?” “I'm going to meet him—if he’s still alive,” said Reggie. “So serious as that?” Dubois put up his eyebrows. “Yes, I think so,” Reggie said. . “Somebody’'s been hurt—being hurt. Somebody else now. After all, that's what we're for, Dubois.” THE next morning Reggie was drinking his coffee when Dubois came into the bed room. “This Artus—he is, in fact, gone. He left Paris the day before yesterday. Exactly as his servant said “As soon as he had Beaucourt’s letter about Miss Everard.” “That is not sure. If he received it before he left, he went at once. What is sure—he is gone to a little country house he has in Berry. He is there now.” “Berry? That's round Bourges, isn't it?” He went to the telephone and demanded a car for a tour, a big car. “Me—I am not on a holiday,” said Dubois. “This isn’t,” Reggis mumbled. The car made speed over a bleak and drab flat country, where the few farms were squalid and every creature, human or beast, looked old. “Cheery!” Reggie mumbled. “It is one of our deserts. The Sologne.” “Oh yes. Yes. This is where he painted his other picture, ‘Harvest’?” The road led down from that plateau to richer land, and before them the towers of the Cathedral of Bourges rose from its hill, Through quiet, quaint streets, they came to a little square in the center of the town, and a hotel of solid old comfort, “This will do, eh?" Dubois said. “Rest in peace. I go to report myself to the police.” Reggie wandered away to the cathedral, looked up at the “Last Judgment,” where Christ, strong and terrible, sits above the angel of Jjustice, and went into the peaceful infinitude of the nave. The windows glowed, the great Spaces. were warm with every gracious color of light. He stood long, When he came out his round face was grave and benign. He looked again at the “Last Judgment” and saw the devil with a goat’s face claiming that child-woman who waits, meek hands folded, to hear her doom. He wandered away into the town and loitered by the castle house of Jacques Coeur, faithful minister of a king who plundered him and drove him into exile. On either side of the door is carved a servant—on the left, & man; on the right, a woman—as if they were looking out of windows. Dubois came up. “Aha. That is an irony. Maitre Jacques Coeur, he had his servants put up so for a kindly jest. And one morning he 8oes out, and he comes back never. Five hundred years ago, and -still the faithful ser- vants look out for their master. And see his motto, ‘A vaillants coeurs rien impossible.” A great irony, what? To valiant hearts nothing is impossible.” He chuckled. “You do not like the omen, my friend? But do not despair yet, At least Monsieur Artus has come back. He is safe in his house. It is four miles out of the town. He has had the house some years now. They know nothing against him. It is the most respectable household. One or two old servants, and monsieur never has company. He lives there only to paint. I think we can leave him to the morning.” Dubois winked. “We might see him paint then. A little stroll beforé din- ner, eh?” Reggie let himself be led through the winding streeis while Dubois lectured on the history of Bourges. They came to a garden below the cathedral, empty in the gloom of the chilling air. Iceggie dragged on Dubois’ arm. “Look! That's Miss Everard!” flitted through the dusk. “'Are you sure? She was alone?” “Yes. Yes. I think so.” “Come, then.” Dubois quickened his step. They swung around by an open space to avenues of trees and then heard a faint cry, a fall, When they reached her, she lay upon the ground. Under her shoulder Reggie found the hilt of a knife. Dubois spat out an oath. “Before my eyes! ‘Tcha, before my eyes!” He whistled. The doz- ing town awoke with clatter and scurry. He snapped orders to panting policemen and came back to Reggie. “She is dead?” “Not yet.” “Care for her, my friend. I do not forgive mys°If. This becomes an affair of honor.” “It always was,” Reggie murmured. The woman was carried away and he followed her. A woman LATE that night Dubois met him at the hos- pital. “She lives, then?” “So far, yes. I think we've stopped the bleed- Ing. It's been internal, of course. Rather nasty. But she had some luck. The knife seems to have missed anything fatal. I should say the fellow knew his job, but was flurried. Probably we hustled him.” Dubois made queer noises. “That—that is all I can do! The woman in the case I work on— I let her be stabbed before my eyes. But I hustled the assassin! Poor old Dubois! Go, grow cabbages.” “Yes. Haven't shone, have we? Warning against pride, this case. But, speaking ration- ally, we couldi’t know. I did think she might come here after him. That's why I was in a hurry to come, too. I never thought she'd be killed to keep her away. Why should Artus kill her? Why should any one? What is it that’s worth her life? This isn't decent human crime.” “Some one is mad, yes. I should have known it when the thing began with that cursed pic- THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C., JANUARY 5. 1930. ture. That is madness, my friend. One cannot calculate what madness will do, Lut one can be careful. It is my blame. I should have had the girl watched. I forgive myself, never. Is she to die?” “I can’t say,” Reggie said. “She ought to live, T shouldn’t be afraid of the wound. It's her general condition. Shock upon shock. The life in her is beaten down, fainting. I don't know if it’s strong enough to come round.” “She has said nothing?” “Oh, no. Not yet. You won't be able to get any secrets out of her. I don't suppose she knows who struck her.” “She would not see him, of course. He came from behind. She may know very well.” “Yes. She may guess. I doubt if she does. I think she’s bewildered by everything—by the picture—by the name of Artus—by this attack. It seems to her the world’s gone mad to hur\z her” “Poor little one,” Dubois growled. “Not a nice case, no. What are we doing about it?*” “Aha. Pirst, T send a man to the house of Monsieur Artus. He is to make inquiries, some nonsense, about burglars. He discovers that Monsieur Artus is already at home. That is almost an alibi, but not quite. He sees also the servants of Monsieur Artus, an old man and wife. He has it from them Monsieur Artus has not been out all day. Quite an alibi if you believe them. But tomorrow I go through Bourges with a small-tooth comb to find out who saw any one in the Place Seraucourt in the twilight.” “Yes. Quite neat. We won’t alarm Monsieur Artus yet, please. There's a little medical evi- dence. The blow was struck with great force and downward. Her left arm was abnormally dragged back and there was a thread loosened in her coat. I should say her bag was snatched from her.” “Bag snatching!” Dubois cried. it a vulgar robbery!” “I wouldn’t say that. No. But it was done for some reason, So, on the whole, I wouldn't say anything to our Artus just yet. But you might have your people look up his youth.” Dubois laughed. “It is being done. This poor old Dubois, he does not leave out any- thing more. Good-night.” They had come to their sleeping hotel, but he turned and strode away. In the morning, when Reggie rose to go to the hospital, they told him that Dubois was already gone out. Reggie had come back and was making a second little breakfast when he came in, “You have been with her?” asked Dubois. “Yes. No worse. That means better. But her life is faint.” Dubois drank black coffee and nibbled at a roll. “Well, I have news.”” He looked up at Reggie. “Her bag has been found.” Reggie smiled. “Oh, yes. Where?” “It was lying beside a drunken vagabond on the Nevers road.” Reggle lit his pipe. “I told you it was taken for some reason. And very neat, too.” “You understand it? Good. Poor old Du- bois, he is so dull. My colleagues in Bourges, they also understand it. It is the usual case. It happens a hundred times a year. Made- moiselle was walking alone in the dark; this tramp stabs her, robs her, goes away and gets drunk on her money and an intellegent gen- darme runs him in.” “I see. Yes. Who is he?” “Oh, my friend! Who are they ever, these vagabonds? Dirt on the wind. This one is certainly a stranger. That is bad. What is far worse, he has no papers. We are in France, my friend. Almost every rascal has some papers—though they are not his own. But he—none, none. He is certainly an assassin.” “Yes. What does he say about it?” “He will say nothing. They ask him who he is. He is silent. They ask him where he got the bag. He stares at it. He is still silent. They say to him it is the bag of Miss Everard. He makes no answer. They tell “You make him that she was stabbed last night in the Place Seraucourt. He only stares.” “I wonder,” Reggie murmured. “Have you seen him yourself?” “Oh, yes. It is a small man with a yellow beard and hair. He has a fair skin under the dirt. He is of a fragility. A face not bad, but he has not lived well, the wretch.” “Has he had a doctor?” “Certainly. The doctor says an alcoholic a neurotic—but mad? He is not sure, he does not think so.” “Yes. It could be. And how far is it from where he was found "to Artus’ house?’ “Ahal” The big face twisted. “He does not seem to you the simple bandit? Nor to me. But we do not say that yet to our colleagues in Bourges. 1t is three miles. Monsieur Artus has a car. The bandit could have been taken there ready drunk, in a few minutes. It is easily possible. But also one cannot tell that the wretch was ever in Artus’ house. These people know only of two old servants.” “Nobody knows anything about Artus.” Reggie was plaintive. *“That makes all the trouble. Your fellows in Paris who are turn- ing up Artus’ past—you might tell them to look for a yellow-haired little man in it.” “Poor old Dubois! You do not trust him any more. But I have told them, my friend. Come, the examining magistrate is to question our bandit. I have obtained a permit for the eminent Monsieur Reginald Fortune to be pres- ent because he desires to study our methods.” Dubois made a grimace. Monsieur Clement, the magistrate, welcomed Reggie to the bare office as one potentate an- other. Then he made a quick change from the majestic to the ferocious. He snapped at Du- bois, he barked at his clerk, he roared at a po- liceman. The prisoner was brought in, and he sat back grinning and glaring. “So. This is the animal. I understand. You have no name, you come from nowhere, you work at nothing,” Clement roared. “Good. You will be no loss when you go to the guillotine. You hear me? That is where you go, wretch. Attend, now. You were in the Place Seraucourt last night.” He started up. “It is dusk. You see there a lady. You follow her.” Clement acted it, slinking 'round the room. “You spring upon her from behind, you strike her 80. Assassin! She falls to die.” He stopped suddenly, for a silence to be felt, then cried out. “See, her bleod is on you!" He pointed to the man’s blouse. BUT the little man did not look down. He gave no sign or movement, he stood gazing straight before him at nothing. “Why do you kill her, wretch?” Clement cried. “She has done you no wrong. What is she to you—this Englishwoman, Miss Everard, Miss Alice Everard?” He stopped again. “If you have a reason to kill her, speak!” he roared. Still the man was silent, but he shook and beads of sweat came upon his brow. “You have no reason but to rob her, beast. You snatch her bag and run away to get drunk. A life is gone that you may be drunk for a night”” He waited a moment,. The little man kept silence a while longer, Then, faintly, “Is it finished?” he said. “Oh, no,” Clement laughed. “This is only the beginning, animal. You shall pay. Speak now. You suffer less. And then the little man shook his head. “That—that is not true,” he said. “Wait, then,” Clement laughed savagely. “Wait and endure. I am content. Take him away.” “A moment,” Reggic said. “You permit?” He bowed to Clement. He went to the man's side, ran a hand down his right arm, bent to the dirty blouse and smelt it. “Go, then,” he said gently. He came back to Clement. “A thousand pardons. You made the affair so interesting. Let me thank you for a most valuable demonstration.” Clement had become again the sublime of- ficial. He took these compliments as his due and condescended to ask for more, “Sir, 1 When they reached her, she lay upem the ground. Under her shoulder Reggie found the hilt of a knife. have perhaps some little methods which are may own. If anything strikes you, pray tell me frankly.” g “But it was all striking,” Reggie murmuved. “You have from him all that can be learned at this stage. But what I most admired was your restraint. You gave the man no hint of your suspicions.” Once more Clement made a quick change. But this was not studied. The stiffening went out of him, he was deflated. “My suspicions,” he repeated. “Ah, my suspicions, yes. Por example, what were you thinking of?” “Well, you know, I'm not very quick. I didn't understand at first. But when you asked him everything—absolutely—except the one thing which is crucial”—Reggie beamed— “ah, my friend, that was masterly.” A horrid uncertainty could be seen troubling Clement. “And your one thing, what is that?"” he cried. “But of course you have it in your head. Where did he get drunk?” “Where did he get drunk?” Clement repeated and tried to look mysterious. “Ah, that in- deed. You conceive, at this stage, I desired not to suggest to the animal that was im- portant.” “You are right. Dubois?” ““Most marvelous, my friend.” “We are fortunate that the affair has come before Monsieur Clement.” And Reggie bowed and they all bowed. “My dear sir, whem I came into the room I expected that you would find it an ordinary case of robbery with vio- lence. But your acuteness has divined a crime much more subtle.” Reggie contemplated the bewildered Clement with admiration. ‘““Tell me, what first suggested that?” But Clement could only struggle to look knowing. “Ah, the mind has its own secrets. Perhaps it was when you saw this fellow has not the strength for the blow that was struck.” Clement jumped at that. “As you see, he is a poor animal. I put it to you, Monsieur For- tune, as a surgeon——" “Oh, of course. He couldn't. But you are 80 quick. You divined at once that the ques- tion is who is behind him. You have made vour preparations for him to let us know that. My dear sir, a most brilliant piece of work, You have put us on the track of the villainy which Dubois and I are come from Paris to seek.” “I—I shall be most happy,” Clement stam- mered. “I do not understand.” “There is a mystery around this poor lady. She has some enemy who fears her. Who he is, we do not knéw. What is the cause of his malice, we cannot tell. But he does not shrink from murder. And it is Monsieur Clement wha has shown us how we may discover him. Again I thank you.” “‘Sir, the honor is mine. What to do?” Reggie smiled. “My dear sir! T am not quick, but I see the plan you have formed, It is admirable. This fellow is not the assassin, and we have no evidence that he knew of the crime. But if you let him loose he will lead us to his friend. And then—then we have him and them. Tell me, do I guess right? That was to be your way?” “Clement, my friend, It is marvelous, is it not, But how then? “Aha,” Dubois said. you should not be in Bourges but in Paris.” Clement smirked. “In fact, I must confess, something of this sort I had thought of. It is a great pleasure to co-operate with a mind so brilliant as Monsieur Fortune, Come, them, I let the wretch out and—-—" “And poor old Dubois will do the rest. Yes. I have some of my men here now. Thousand thanks.” He looked at his watch. “We let him out without a word, it is understood. At once, then.” “No. In an hour,” said Reggie. “It is as you please.” Clement spread out his hands. They left him dazed but swelling again. When they were outside Dubois took Continued on Twenty-first Page