The Sign of the Seven Sins
manner without being pestered by mysterious individuals who mask
themselves and prophesy all sorts of unpleasant things if their orders
are not obeyed. Did you promise to go to London?”
“I said I would consider the advisability of doing so.”
“You were diplomatic--eh?” he said with a laugh. “It is unfortunate
this fellow has slipped through our fingers so cleverly, very
unfortunate.”
“But if he is known to you there will surely not be much difficulty in
rediscovering him?”
“Ah! that’s just the question, you see. We are not absolutely certain
as to his identity.” Then after a slight pause he glanced at me and
asked suddenly, “Mademoiselle has a friend--or had a friend--named
Cameron--a M’sieur Ernest Cameron? Is that so?”
I think I must have blushed beneath the pieces of black velvet that hid
my cheeks.
“That is correct,” I stammered. “Why?”
“The reason is unimportant,” he answered carelessly. “The fact is
written in the papers concerning the case, and we like always to verify
facts in such a case as this--that’s all.”
“But he has no connection with the tragic affair,” I hastened to
declare. “I haven’t spoken to him for nearly two years--we have been
apart for quite that time.”
“Of course,” said the man reassuringly. “The fact has nothing to do
with the matter. I merely referred to it in order to gain confirmation
of our information. You mentioned something of a proposed yachting
cruise. What did this mysterious individual say regarding that?”
“He warned me not to go on board the Vispera----”
“The Vispera?” he interrupted. “The owner of the yacht is m’sieur the
millionaire, is he not?”
I responded in the affirmative.
“And this M’sieur Keppel has invited you to go with others on a cruise
to Naples?”
“Yes. But how did you know that it was to Naples?” I inquired.
“All yachts sailing from Nice eastward go to Naples,” he answered,
laughing. “I suppose the programme includes a run to the Greek islands,
Constantinople, Smyrna, and Tunis--eh?”
“I think so, but I have not yet heard definitely.”
“You have accepted the invitation, I take it?”
I nodded.
“And that, of course, lends color to the belief that m’sieur the
millionaire is in love with you, for it is well known that although he
has that magnificent yacht he never goes on a pleasure cruise.”
“I can’t help what may be thought by gossips,” I said hastily. “Mr.
Keppel is a friend of mine--nothing further.”
“But this friendship has apparently caused certain apprehensions to
arise in the minds of some persons of whom your mysterious companion
was the mouthpiece--the people who threatened you with death should you
disobey them.”
“Who are those people, do you imagine?” I inquired, deeply in earnest,
for the matter seemed to grow increasingly serious.
“Ah!” he answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “If we knew that we
should have no difficulty in arresting the assassin of M’sieur Thorne.”
“Well, what do you consider my best course?” I asked, utterly
bewildered by the mysterious events of the evening.
“I should advise you to keep your own counsel and leave the inquiries
to us,” was the detective’s rejoinder. “If this man again approaches
you, make an appointment with him later and acquaint us with the time
and place at once.”
“But I don’t anticipate that I shall see him again.” Then, determined
to render the police agents every assistance, even though they had been
stupidly blind to allow the stranger to escape, I drew from my pocket
the small packet which he had given me.
“This,” I said, “he handed to me at the last instant, accompanied by a
hope that I would not fail to keep the appointment in London.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will you permit us to open it?” he inquired, much interested.
“Certainly,” I responded. “I am anxious to see what it contains.”
The detective took it and cut the string with his pocket-knife; then,
while his subordinate and the Director of the Casino craned their necks
to investigate, he unwrapped paper after paper until he came to a
square jewel-case covered in dark-crimson leather.
“An ornament, I suppose?” exclaimed the detective.
Then he opened the box, and from its velvet-lined depths something fell
to the ground which caused us to utter a loud cry of surprise in chorus.
The detective bent and picked it up.
I stood dumfounded and aghast. In his hand was a bundle of folded
French bank-notes--each for one thousand francs.
They were the notes stolen from Reginald Thorne by his assassin.
CHAPTER X
MAKES ONE POINT PLAIN
“Extraordinary!” ejaculated the detective, whose habitual coolness
seemed utterly upset by the unexpected discovery. “This adds an
entirely new feature to the case.”
“What, I wonder, could have been the motive in giving the notes to
mademoiselle?” queried his companion.
“How can we tell?” said the other. “It at least proves one thing,
namely, that the man in the owl’s dress is the individual we suspected.”
“Do you then believe him to be the actual assassin?” I asked.
But the detectives, with the aid of the Director of the Casino, were
busy counting the stolen notes. There were sixty, each for one thousand
francs.
They examined the leather jewelry case, but found no mark upon it nor
upon the paper wrappings. The box was such as might have once contained
a bracelet, but the raised velvet-covered spring in the interior had
been removed in order to admit of the introduction of the bank-notes,
which, even when folded, formed a rather large packet.
“They are undoubtedly those stolen from M’sieur Thorne,” the detective
said. “In these circumstances it is our duty to take possession of them
as evidence against the criminal. I shall lodge them with the Prefect
of Police until we have completed the inquiry.”
“Certainly,” I answered. “I have no desire to keep them in my
possession. The history connected with them is far too gruesome. But
whatever motive could there be in handing them to me?”
“Ah, that we hope to discover later,” the detective responded,
carefully folding them, replacing them in the case, and taking charge
of the wrappings, which it was believed might form some clue. “At
present it would seem very much as though the assassin handed you the
proceeds of his crime in order to convince you that robbery was not the
motive.”
“Then you do believe that the man in the owl’s dress was the real
culprit?” I cried eagerly. “If so, I have actually danced to-night
with poor Reggie’s murderer!” I gasped.
“It is more than likely that we shall be able to establish that fact,”
the subordinate observed in a rather uncertain tone.
“How unfortunate,” ejaculated his superior, “that we allowed him to
thus slip through our fingers--and with the money actually upon him
too!”
“Yes,” observed the Director of the Casino. “You have certainly
to-night lost an excellent opportunity, messieurs. It is curious that
neither of you noticed mademoiselle in the box talking with this
mysterious individual.”
“That was, I think, impossible,” I remarked. “We sat quite back in the
small alcove.”
“What number was your box?” the Director asked.
“Fifteen.”
“Ah! of course,” he said quickly. “There is, I remember, a kind of
alcove at the back. You sat in there.”
“Well,” observed the chief detective, “no good can be done by remaining
here longer, I suppose, so we had better endeavor to trace this
interesting person by other means. The fact that he has given up the
proceeds of the crime is sufficient to show that he means to leave
Nice. Therefore we must lose no time,” and he glanced at his watch.
“Ten minutes to two,” he said. Then turning to his assistant, he
ordered him to drive to the station and see whether the man who had
worn the disguise of the night-bird was among the travellers leaving
for Marseilles at two-thirty.
“Remain on duty at the station until I send and relieve you,” he said.
“There are several special trains to Cannes and Monte Carlo about three
o’clock on account of the ball. Be careful to catch them all. It is my
opinion that he may be going to cross the frontier at Ventimiglia. I’ll
telephone there as soon as I get down to the bureau.”
“Bien, m’sieur,” answered the other, and as they went out, wishing me
good-night, I followed them, asking of the senior of the pair,--
“Tell me, m’sieur, what should be my best course of action. Do you
think the threats are serious?”
“Not at all,” he answered reassuringly. “My dear mademoiselle, don’t
distress yourself in the very least regarding what he has said. He
has only endeavored to frighten you into rendering him assistance. Act
just as you think proper. Your experience to-night has certainly been a
strange one; but if I were in your place I would return to the hotel,
sleep soundly, and forget it all until--well, until we make an arrest.”
“You expect to do so, then?”
“We, of course, hope so. In my profession, you know, everything is
uncertain. So much depends upon chance,” and he smiled pleasantly.
“Then I presume you will communicate with me later as to the further
result of your investigations?” I suggested.
“Most certainly. Mademoiselle shall be kept well informed of our
operations, never fear.”
We were at the door of the Casino, where a great crowd had assembled to
watch the maskers emerging.
“Shall I call you a fiacre?” he asked quite gallantly.
“No, thank you,” I responded. “I’ll walk. It’s only a few steps to the
Grand.”
“Ah, of course,” he laughed. “I had forgotten. Bon soir, mademoiselle.”
I wished him good-night, and next second he was lost in the crowd,
while with my mind full of my extraordinary adventure I walked along
the Quai St. Jean Baptiste to the hotel.
The incidents had been so strange that they seemed beyond belief.
I found the faithful Felicita dozing, but Ulrica had not returned.
When she entered, however, a quarter of an hour later, she was in
the highest of spirits, declaring that she had experienced a most
delightful time.
“My opinion of the Carnival ball, my dear, is that it is by far the
jolliest function on the Riviera,” she declared. Then in the same
breath she proceeded to give me an outline of her movements from the
time we were lost to one another in the crowd. She had, it appeared,
had supper with Gerald and several friends, and the fun had been fast
and furious. Her dress was badly torn in places, and certainly her
dishevelled appearance showed that she had entered thoroughly into the
boisterous merriment of the Carnival.
“And you?” she inquired presently. “What in the world became of you? We
searched everywhere before supper, but couldn’t find you.”
“I met a rather entertaining partner,” I responded briefly.
“A stranger?”
“Yes,” and I gave her a look by which she understood that I intended to
say nothing before Felicita.
Therefore the subject was dropped, and as I resolved to tell her of my
adventure later, she left me for the night.
I am seldom troubled by insomnia, but that night little sleep came to
my eyes.
I lay there thinking it all over. I had now not the slightest doubt but
that the man in the owl’s dress was the assassin of poor Reggie. And I
had chatted amicably with him. I had actually danced with him! The very
thought held me horrified.
What marvellous self-confidence the fellow had displayed; what cool
audacity, what unwarrantable interference in my private affairs, and
what a terrible counter-stroke he had effected in presenting me with
the actual notes filched from the dead man’s pockets! The incident was
rendered none the less bewildering on account of the entire absence of
motive. I lay awake reflecting upon it the whole night long.
When we took our morning coffee together I related to Ulrica all that