30 Suspense and Thriller Masterpieces. Гилберт Кит Честертон
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You know that I am aware in whose presence I am standing. You are Frederick-Christian II, King of Hesse-Weimar… and I, your Majesty, am Jerome Fandor, reporter on La Capitale … a journalist."
The King did not appear to attach much importance to Fandor's words. Peaceably, without haste, he put on his overcoat and hat. Then, picking up his cane, he moved toward the door.
"Here! what are you doing?"
"I'm going."
"You can't."
"Yes, I can; it's all right, don't worry, I'll arrange matters."
The King appeared so calmly confident that Fandor stood dumbfounded.
Here certainly was an individual out of the common! The journalist had seen many strange happenings in his adventurous career, but never had he come across such an amazing situation. For now he had no doubt of the guilt of the King. What, however, could have been the motive of such odious savagery? Was it possible he had taken seriously the innocent flirtation between Susy and himself? Had the King taken vengeance upon his mistress in a moment of jealous insanity?
No, that was out of the question.
In spite of his intoxication, Frederick-Christian seemed to be a man of normal temperament, and of a kindly disposition. His face betrayed none of the characteristics of the drink-maddened.
The young man was about to question Frederick-Christian further when the hall door bell rang sharply.
Fandor quickly opened the door and let in two policemen.
"Is it here the tragedy took place?"
"What! You know already?"
"The concièrge notified us, Monsieur."
Then turning to his companion:
"See that no one gets out."
"But I've sent for a doctor… . I must go and find one," cried Fandor.
"That has already been attended to. We are here to ascertain the facts, to make arrests. Where is the victim of the crime?"
As Fandor took the officer into the bedroom he expected at every moment to hear some exclamation at the discovery of the King. But the latter had mysteriously disappeared.
The officer surveyed the body of the young woman and seemed in doubt how to begin his interrogatory. Suddenly his attention was diverted to the vestibule, where whispering was going on.
Both men quickly returned to the hall door and Fandor overheard the final words of a third person who had entered the room, evidently the concièrge. She was saying:
"It must be 'him' … only treat him politely … he isn't like an ordinary … "
Upon seeing the journalist the old woman stopped abruptly and made him a deep bow.
"Ah, it's you, Madame," cried Fandor, "well, have you brought a doctor?"
"We're looking for one, Monsieur," replied the old woman, "but to-night they seem to be all out enjoying themselves."
One of the officers turned to Fandor and spoke with evident embarrassment.
"It might be better if Monsieur would tell us exactly what happened. On account of possible annoyances … besides, the business is too important … and then the Government … "
Fandor explained briefly all he knew. He was careful not to mention the King by name, leaving it to his Majesty to disclose his own identity when the time came.
"Then Monsieur means to say that a third person was present?" one of the officers asked.
"Of course!" replied Fandor.
"And where is this third person?"
The officer looked decidedly skeptical and the journalist began to grow uneasy.
"He was here with me just now; probably he's in one of the other rooms. Why don't you search?"
But the search disclosed nobody.
What on earth had become of the King? thought Fandor. He couldn't have jumped out of the window. The servant's staircase came into his mind, but the door to that he found locked.
"It is useless for Monsieur to say more; kindly come with us to the police station."
"After all, Monsieur was alone with the little lady," added the concièrge.
Fandor went rapidly to the dining-room. He would show the three places at the table. But suddenly he remembered his refusal to take a plate. There were only two places laid.
The two officers now held him gently by each arm and began to walk away with him.
"Don't make any noise, please," they urged, "we must avoid all scandal."
Without quite understanding what was happening, Fandor obeyed.
Chapter 4 WHO DO THEY THINK I AM?
The first faint light of dawn was filtering through the dusty windows of the police station.
Sergeant Masson, pushing aside the game of dominoes he had been playing with his subordinate, declared:
"I must go and see the chief."
"At his house?" demanded the other in a tone of alarm.
"Yes; after all, if I catch it for waking him that won't be so bad as having him come here at ten."
The sergeant rose and stretched himself. He had entire charge of the Station and was responsible for all arrests. As a rule he felt himself equal to the task, but this time the tragedy of the Rue Monceau and the peculiar circumstances surrounding it seemed too much of a burden to bear alone.
Ought he to have arrested the individual now at the Station? Had he been sufficiently tactful? What was to be done now?
"Yes, I'm going to see the chief," he repeated, "besides, I shan't be gone long. Anything that 'he' asks for let him have, you understand?"
It was about five-thirty, and the sky threatened snow. The air was fresh and not too cold. A few milk carts were the only vehicles in the streets. Porters were busy brushing off the sidewalks. Paris was making her toilette. Sergeant Masson stopped at a small house in a quiet street and mounted to the third floor. There he hesitated. The wife of the chief was known for her sharp temper. However, there was nothing to be done but ring, and this he did in a timid manner.
In a few moments he heard the door-chain withdrawn, and a woman's voice cried:
"Who is there?"
"It is I, Madame, Sergeant Masson."
"Well, what do you want?"
"The chief is wanted at the Station right away."
At these words the door opened wide and the woman stood revealed. She was about forty, dressed in her wrapper and with her hair still in curl papers.
"Louis must go to the Station?" she demanded.
"Yes, Madame, an arrest has been made … "
"He must go to the Station?" she repeated in a menacing tone.
Sergeant Masson retreated to the landing. He simply nodded his head.
"But he is there! He told me he was! Ah, I see how it is!… He's been lying again. He's been running after women … all right, he'll pay for it when he gets home!"
The door shut with a bang and the lady disappeared.
"What an idiot I've been," muttered the discomfited sergeant. "I ought to have known better. Of course he's not with his wife, he's with his mistress!"
Several minutes later he reached another apartment in a neighboring street.
This time he had no misgivings and congratulated himself upon his professional cleverness in tracking his man down.
The