One Wonderful Night: A Romance of New York
back here on off-chance that you might still be engaged in----"
"Before your lordship enters into details, allow me to introduce Mr.
John D. Curtis," said Steingall, silently thanking the fates which had
brought about a meeting so opportune to his own task if embarrassing to
its chief actors.
"Mr. John D. Curtis, the--the person who conspired with my daughter to
contract an illegal marriage!" barked the Earl, instantly dropping the
repose of Vere de Vere.
"John Delancy Curtis, at any rate," said Curtis gravely. "As your
son-in-law, may I remark that a few minutes' conversation with a lawyer
will enable you to correct two misstatements in the rest of your
description? There was no conspiracy, and the ceremony was
unquestionably legal."
The Earl gave him one searching and envenomed look, and appealed
forthwith to the detective.
"I charge that man with abduction and personation," he cried, and his
voice grew husky with wrath. "There can be no gainsaying the facts.
My daughter, it is true, had arranged a marriage with a Monsieur Jean
de Courtois. It was provisionally fixed to take place this evening at
eight o'clock, but, by some means not known to me, the marriage license
came into the hands of this admitted law-breaker, and he evidently
persuaded a foolish and impetuous girl to accept him instead of de
Courtois. I am not an authority on the laws of the State of New York,
but I stake my reputation on the belief that a flagrant offense has
been committed against the social ordinances of any well regulated
community. I now call on you to arrest him, or, if official process is
needed, to direct me to the proper authority."
"Have you any proof of the charge?" said Steingall, who had not failed
to observe Curtis's air of unconcern under the Earl's fiery
denunciation.
"Proof in plenty," came the snarling answer. "I have seen the license
and the signed register, and Monsieur de Courtois is known to me
personally. Besides, have you not this rascal's own admission?"
"Why omit the equally damning evidence of conspiracy?" demanded Curtis.
"What do you mean, you, you----"
"Interloper. How will that serve? It was you who spoke of conspiring,
though I grant you seem to have dropped that item of the indictment.
But Mr. Steingall, as representing the law, should hear the full tale
of villainy. If your lordship will produce de Courtois's letters,
cablegrams, and wireless messages to yourself and your confederate,
Count Ladislas Vassilan, he will begin to appreciate the true bearing
of a rather intricate inquiry."
It was a chance shot, but it went home. Curtis had not spent ten years
in counteracting Manchu scheming and duplicity without arriving at
certain basic principles in laying bare the methods of double-dealing,
and the Earl of Valletort was manifestly disturbed by this cold
analysis of facts which he imagined were known to an exceedingly
limited circle in New York.
But he had the presence of mind to waive aside Curtis's allegations as
unworthy of discussion.
"I address myself to you," he said to Steingall. "Have I made my
request clear, or shall I repeat it?"
"Have you any objection to answering a few questions, my lord?" said
the detective.
"None whatsoever."
"When did you and Count Vassilan arrive in New York?"
"At twenty minutes after eight to-night."
"How did you ascertain what was happening with regard to your daughter?"
"By inquiry."
"Of course, but from whom?"
"From the minister who performed an unauthorized ceremony."
"How did you know where to go so promptly to secure information?"
"I was kept informed of my daughter's movements by agents."
"Who were they?"
"Their names will be given at the right time."
"The right time is now."
"You are not a magistrate. I take it you are a police officer."
"Your lordship may feel well assured on that point. It is exactly
because I am a police officer that I press for a reply. Your grievance
against Mr. John D. Curtis is much more of a matter for a civil than a
criminal court. I guess he has broken the law, but the machinery for
putting it in motion is not under my control. I am investigating a
murder, and every word you have said confirms my belief that your
daughter's contemplated marriage was the indirect but none the less
certain cause of the crime. Now, Lord Valletort, who were your inquiry
agents?"
"Ha!" muttered Uncle Horace.
It was a simple enough ejaculation, but it served to drive home the
nail which the detective's outspoken declaration had hammered into the
Earl's startled consciousness. Here, in truth, was a new and
disturbing phase of the matrimonial problem contrived by Hermione,
aided and abetted by that mischievous scoundrel, Curtis. Still, he was
not one to be driven easily into a corner.
"You practically refer me to a lawyer for advice; I take you at your
word," he said, with a quick return to the self-controlled attitude of
an experienced man of the world.
"You decline, then, to answer the only vitally important question I
have put to you?" said Steingall.
"I decline to answer that question until I have consulted someone
better able--or shall I say, more willing?--to instruct me as to the
speediest means of punishing a malefactor."
"The noble lord is disqualified," broke in Devar. "This is the second
time since the flag fell that he has refused his fences."
"If you interrupt again I shall turn you out of the room, Mr. Devar,"
cried Steingall vexedly.
"But, dash it all, Steingall, somebody must see that John D. has fair
play. He only swerved once, and then for a single stride, while he----"
"I shall not warn you a second time," and Devar knew that the detective
meant what he said, and kept quiet.
"May I ask where the police headquarters are situated?" said the Earl
in the frostiest tone he could command at the moment.
"At the corner of Center Street and Grand," said Steingall
indifferently. He was about to add the unpleasing fact--unpleasing to
Lord Valletort, that is--that the man on duty at the Detective Bureau
would certainly refer an inquirer to him, Steingall, when the clerk
reappeared.
"A patrolman has brought a note for you," he said, handing Steingall a
sealed letter, which the detective opened instantly after glancing at
the superscription. It was from the police captain, and ran:
"Count Vassilan has just left the Waldorf-Astoria in a taxi. Clancy is
driving."
Steingall's face betrayed no more expression than that of the Sphinx,
though inwardly he was consumed with laughter; he himself was chief of
the Bureau, and Clancy was his most trusted assistant! Certainly, the
gods were contriving a spicy dish for the news-loving inhabitants of
New York.
CHAPTER VIII
TEN-THIRTY
The Earl of Valletort turned on his heel, and went out abruptly.
Therefore, he missed Steingall's first words to the hotel clerk, which
would have given him furiously to think, while it is reasonable to
suppose that he would have paid quite a large sum of money to have
heard the clerk's answer.
For the detective said:
"Do you happen to know anything about a Frenchman, name of Jean de
Courtois?"
And the clerk replied:
"Why, yes. He's in his room now, I believe."
"In his room--where?"
"Here, of course. He came in about 6.30, took his key and a
Marconigram, and has not showed up since."
Uncle Horace could withstand the strain no longer.
"Would you mind sending the waiter again?" he gasped. "If I don't get
a pick-me-up of some sort quickly, I'll collapse."
Aunt Louisa would dearly have loved to put in a word, but she knew not
what to say. Life at Bloomington supplied no parallel to the rapidity
of existence in New York that evening. She was aware of statements
being made in language which rang familiarly in her ears, but they had
no more coherence in her clogged understanding than the gabble of
dementia.
Steingall was the least surprised of the five people who listened to
the clerk's words. The notion that de Courtois might be close at hand
had dawned on him already; still, he was not prepared to hear that the
man was actually a resident in the hotel.
"Has Monsieur de Courtois lived here some time?" he asked, not without
a sharp glance at Curtis to see how the suspect was taking this new
phase in his adventure.
"About a month," said the clerk.
"Has he received many visitors?"
"A few, mostly foreigners. A Mr. Hunter called here occasionally, and
they dined together last evening. I believe Mr. Hunter is connected
with the press."
The clerk wondered why he was being catechized about the Frenchman. He
had no more notion that de Courtois and Hunter were connected with the
tragedy than the man in the moon.
"Take me to Monsieur de Courtois's room," Said Steingall, after a
momentary pause.
"May I come with you?" inquired Curtis.
"Why?"
"I am deeply interested in de Courtois, and I may be able to help you
in questioning him. I speak French well."
"So do I," said Steingall. "But, come if you like."
"For the love of Heaven, don't leave me out of this, Steingall,"
pleaded Devar.
The detective was blessed with a sense of humor; he realized that the
inquiry had long since passed the bounds of official decorum, and its
irregularities had proved so illuminative that he was not anxious to
check them yet a while.
"Yes," he said, "you'll do no harm if you keep a still tongue in your
head."
"You'll come back to us, John, won't you?" broke in Mrs. Curtis,
desperately contributing the first commonplace remark that occurred to
her bemused brain.
"Yes, aunt. I'll rejoin you here. Shall I have some supper sent in
for both of you?"
"No, my boy," said Uncle Horace, who had revived under the prospect of
a long drink. "If any feasting is to be done later it is up to me to
arrange it. The night is young. I hope to have the honor of toasting
your wife before I go to bed."
Curtis smiled at that, but made no reply, the moment being inopportune
for explanations, but Devar murmured, as they crossed the lobby with
Steingall and the clerk:
"That uncle of yours is a peach, John D. He points the moral like a
Greek chorus."
"I fear he will regard me as a hare-brained nephew," said Curtis. "As
for my aunt, poor lady, she must think me the most extraordinary human
being she has ever set eyes on. What puzzles me most is----"
"Wow! I know what aunts are capable of," broke in Devar rapidly, for
he was doubtful now how his friend would regard the publicity he had
not desired. "Mrs. Curtis, senior, is thanking her stars at this
minute that she will have a chance of paralyzing Bloomington with full
details of her nephew's marriage into the ranks of the British
aristocracy. The odd thing is that I'm tickled to death by the notion
that I, little Howard, put you in for this night's gorgeous doings.
Didn't you wonder why I passed up an introduction to _my_ aunt and my
cousins in the Customs shed? Man alive, if Mrs. Morgan Apjohn had made
your acquaintance to-day she would have insisted on your dining with
the family to-night, and at 7.30 P.M. your feet would have been safely
tucked under the mahogany in her home on Riverside Drive instead of
leading you into the maze you seem to have found so readily. All I
wanted was an excuse to get away soon. Gee whizz! What a fireworks
display you've put up in the meantime!"
"Fifth," said the clerk to the elevator attendant, and the four men
shot skyward.
As each floor above the street level was a replica of the next higher
one, Curtis happened to note that the route followed to the Frenchman's
room was similar to that leading to 605.
"What number does Monsieur de Courtois occupy?" he inquired.
"505," said the clerk.