The Sign of the Seven Sins
the young American gentleman,” she said. “That is perfectly the truth.
Indeed, all that has been said is the truth--save one thing. I did not
commit the murder, nor had I any knowledge of it until afterwards.”
“But the stolen notes were actually in your possession on the following
morning,” the detective observed in a tone of doubt.
“They were given to me for safe-keeping.”
“By whom?”
“I refuse to say.”
The detective shrugged his shoulders, and a smile passed across the
faces of his two companions.
“You prefer arrest, then?” he said.
“I prefer to keep my own counsel,” she answered. “These persons,”
she continued, indicating us, “have believed themselves extremely
ingenious, apparently taking upon themselves the duties of the police,
and have arrived at a quite wrong conclusion. You may therefore arrest
me if you wish. I have nothing whatever to fear.”
And she glanced around at us in open defiance. Indeed, so indifferent
was she that I felt convinced that Ernest’s theory of the committal of
the crime had fallen to the ground.
The detective seemed, however, well aware of the character of the
woman, and proceeded to deal with her accordingly.
“You are charged with the murder,” he said. “It is for you to prove
your innocence.”
“Who, pray, is the witness against me?” she cried indignantly.
“Your accomplice,” cried Ernest quickly. “The man Laumont--the man to
whom you gave the stolen notes to transfer to Miss Rosselli.”
“Laumont!” she cried. “He--he has told you that I committed the
crime--he has denounced me as the murderess?”
“He has,” answered Ernest. “On that fatal night when Thorne entered
the Rooms to change the notes I met him, and although we had had a few
high words in the Café de Paris on the previous day, he approached me,
asking my pardon, which I readily gave. He then inquired whether it was
really true that Miss Rosselli had been engaged to me. I replied in the
affirmative, and he then said that he did not intend to meet her again,
but should leave for Paris in the morning. I tried to dissuade him, but
his only reply was ‘She loves you still, my dear fellow. She can never
forget you. Of that I’m certain.’ Then he left, and travelled to Nice
without further word to her. Arrived at the hotel, he went straight to
her sitting-room and sat down to write her a letter of farewell. He
commenced one, but destroyed it. This was afterwards found in the room.
Then, just as he was about to commence a second letter, you--you, Julie
Fournereau--entered, killed him, and stole the notes which you knew he
carried in his pockets!”
“How did I kill him?” she demanded, her eyes flashing with anger.
“You yourself know that best.”
“Ah! And Jean Laumont told of this elaborate piece of fiction, did he?
It is amusing--very amusing!”
At word from the chief detective one of the officers went forth. We
heard Laumont’s name shouted loudly outside the room, and a few moments
later he was ushered in by two officers.
He drew back in quick surprise on seeing us, but in an instant the
woman flew at him in fury.
“You have told them!” she shrieked. “You have led them to believe that
I murdered the American at Nice--you have declared that it was I who
gave you the notes--I who killed him! You miserable cur!”
His countenance fell. Indignation had in an instant given place to fear.
“And did you not give me the notes?” he inquired. “Why, there are at
least two men in yonder room who were present when you handed them to
me.”
“I do not deny that,” she responded. “I deny that I killed him.”
“Then who did?”
“Who did?” she shrieked. “Who did? Why, you, yourself!”
“You lie!” he cried fiercely, his face ashen pale.
“I would have told them nothing,” she went on quickly. “I would have
allowed them to arrest me and afterwards discover their mistake, were
it not that you had endeavored to give me into their hands in order
to save yourself. No, my dear friend, Julie Fournereau is loyal only
to those who are loyal to her, as many have before found out to their
cost. I would have saved you had you not led the police here to raid my
house, to arrest my guests, and to hurry me away to prison for a crime
that I did not commit. But listen! You deny the murder of the young
American. Well, shall I relate all that occurred?”
“Tell them what untruths you like,” he growled. “You cannot harm me.”
“Yes, madame,” cried old Mr. Keppel. “Tell us all that you know. We are
determined now to get to the bottom of this affair.”
“This man,” she explained, “was the man who fleeced the unfortunate
gentleman here in my house. I am not wishing to shield myself for a
single moment--I desire only to tell the truth. M’sieur Thorne, when
they last met here, accused him of cheating at baccarat, high words
ensued, and the young man drew a revolver and fired, striking Laumont
in the shoulder. Whereupon the last-named swore to be avenged. I knew
well that a vow of vengeance taken by such a desperate man as Laumont
was something more than mere idle words, and when he went to the
Riviera, as he did each year in search of inexperienced youths whom he
could fleece, I shortly afterwards followed. He stayed first at the
Hôtel de Paris at Monte Carlo, but meeting young Thorne accidentally
one afternoon he discovered that the latter was living at the Grand
at Nice, and that same night he transferred his quarters there. Now
Thorne had an intimate friend in Nice--Mr. Gerald Keppel--and it seemed
as though Laumont desired to make the latter’s acquaintance with the
ulterior motive of practising his sharper’s tricks upon him. Be that
how it may, I, in order to watch the progress of events, moved to the
same hotel at Nice. I knew that Laumont was bent on vengeance, and felt
certain that some terrible dénouement was imminent.”
She paused and glanced around at us. Then, lowering her eyes, she went
on:
“I am an adventuress, it is true, but I have still a woman’s heart. I
was determined, if possible, to prevent Laumont from wreaking vengeance
upon the poor boy. It was for that reason I followed him to Nice and
took up my abode there. On the afternoon of the tragedy I was in the
Rooms at Monte Carlo and there saw him playing and winning, while just
as he was leaving with Miss Rosselli, another lady, and young Mr.
Keppel, his pockets bulging with his gains, I saw Laumont watching him.
I knew by the evil look he cast in his direction that the spirit of
murder was in his heart. That evening I dined at Ciro’s with M’sieur
Cameron, and afterwards left him in order to watch the movements of
Laumont and the young American. The latter, after a short conversation
with M’sieur Cameron in the atrium of the Casino, descended the lift to
the station and took train to Nice. I travelled by the same train, but
in the crowd at Nice station on alighting lost sight of him. He must
have taken a cab immediately to the hotel, and, furthermore, Laumont
must also have followed him without knowing of my presence. I met some
friends at the station, but on arrival at the hotel twenty minutes
later I went straight up to my room. On the way I had to pass the door
of Miss Rosselli’s sitting-room, and just as I was approaching, my feet
falling softly on the thick carpet of the corridor, the door opened
noiselessly and a man, after looking forth stealthily, emerged and
stole along to the room he occupied. That man was Jean Laumont.”
“You saw him!” cried Ernest. “You actually saw him coming from the
room?”
“Yes. Instantly I suspected something wrong, and wondered for what
purpose he had been in the lady’s sitting-room. Therefore without
hesitation I pushed open the door and looked inside. Judge my
surprise when I found the unfortunate young man writhing in agony on
the ground. I knelt by him, but recognizing me as the woman at whose
house he had been cheated he shrank from me. ‘That man!’ he gasped with
difficulty,--‘that man has killed me!’ and a few moments later his
limbs straightened themselves out in a final paroxysm of agony and he
passed away.”
Mrs. Thorne burst into a flood of tears.
The voluble Frenchwoman was silent for a moment, her eyes fixed
upon the face of the man against whom she had uttered that terrible
denunciation.
“I stood there terrified, unable to move,” she went on. “Laumont had,
as I feared, killed him.”
“Killed him? How can you prove it?” demanded the cunning card-sharper,
who, in order to throw the police off the scent, pursued the harmless
calling of hairdresser in that back street off the Boulevard St.
Michel. “How can you prove it?”
CHAPTER XX
REVEALS THE TRUTH
The woman Fournereau crossed the room quickly to a small rosewood
bureau and took therefrom a little card-board box about a couple of
inches square, such as are used for cheap jewelry.
“I have something here,” she said, addressing the man before her. “It
was lying on the floor. You alone knew its secret--a secret which I too
have lately discovered.”
And opening the box carefully she displayed, lying in a bed of
cotton-wool, what at first appeared to be a woman’s steel thimble.
Taking it from its hiding-place and putting it upon the fore-finger
of her right hand, we saw that, instead of being what it at first
appeared, it rose to a sharply tempered steel point about half an inch
long protruding from the finger-tip.
I glanced at the man accused. His face had blanched to the lips at
sight of it.
“This,” she explained, “I discovered on the floor close to where the
dead man was lying. It is a diabolic invention of Laumont which he
showed me a year ago, although he did not then explain its use. An
examination which has been made by a friend, a chemist, has shown
plainly the truth. You will notice that the point is fine as a needle,
but is hollow, like that of a hypodermic syringe. Within, at the point
touched by the tip of the finger, is a small chamber filled with a most
subtle and deadly poison extracted from a small lizard peculiar to the
banks of the Upper Niger.”
The point would, I saw, act just as the fang of a snake, for the
thimble, when placed on the finger and pressed upon the flesh of the
victim, would inject the poison into the blood, causing almost instant
collapse and death. The puncture made by such a fine point would be
indistinguishable, and the action of the poison, as we afterwards
learnt, was so similar to several natural complications that at the
post-mortem examination the doctors would fail to distinguish the real
cause of death.
She held the diabolical thimble forth to us to examine, saying:
“The mode in which this was used upon the unfortunate M’sieur Thorne
was undoubtedly as follows. He had seated himself at the table with
his back to the door when Laumont, watching his opportunity, crept
in with the thimble upon his finger, and ere his victim was aware of
it he had seized him by the collar from behind and pressed the point
deep into the flesh behind the right ear, at a spot where the poison
would at once enter the circulation. You will remember that the doctors
discovered a slight scratch behind the ear, and attributed it to having
been received in the struggle which they believed had taken place. But
there was no struggle. As has been proved by the medico-legist who
has examined this most deadly but inoffensive-looking weapon, any one
struck by it would become paralyzed almost instantly, therefore the
chair was broken by him as he fell against it in fatal collapse.”
“And the stolen notes? What of them?” asked old Mr. Keppel anxiously.
“Ah!” she answered. “Those accursed notes! On the following morning
Laumont came to me and handed me the money, saying that as I knew the
truth regarding the crime he would trust me further and give the money