第 24 页

“As a matter of fact, it has already been searched by the police of Montauban at my request,” he replied. “The raid was made last night after Charles Rabel had left. I received a telegram from the Commissary of Police only an hour ago to the effect that six heavy cases of 'travellers' samples' had been opened, and in them was found a great quantity of stolen jewellery, negotiable securities, and other objects of value, including two valuable paintings which were missing from the Prado Museum three years ago.”

“Then my information has been of some little use to you--eh?”

“Of enormous use, Señor Garfield! You will no doubt receive an official letter of thanks from the Ministry of the Interior,” he replied. “But we must act very warily. Despujol will not risk remaining here for long. Besides, some friend may telegraph to him that the police have been to the Rue de Lalande!”

Once more it was upon the tip of my tongue to explain the manner in which I had become implicated in the evil deeds of Oswald De Gex and his sycophants, when of a sudden he added:

“You must really forgive me, Señor Garfield, but you are an entire mystery to me. You have never been frank with me--never once!”

“I have been as frank as I dared,” I replied. “I tell you that I am here to watch and to strive to elucidate a great plot--one which concerns myself and the woman I love. We have both been victims of a vile and desperate conspiracy.”

“And whom do you suspect?”

“Oswald De Gex.”

“With what motive?” he asked, for he held the enormously wealthy financial friend of Spain in awe and admiration.

“That, alas! is an enigma to me. I only know that he has made an attempt upon my life, and that at least one woman has been sent to the grave by foul means.”

“Do you really infer that Señor De Gex is an assassin?” he asked incredulously.

“I only tell you what I know, Señor Rivero,” I replied quietly. “I said that I would lead you to the secret abode of Despujol, and I think I have now fulfilled my promise, and shown you that he is on friendly terms with the great financier whom you in Spain all hold in such high esteem.”

“There is certainly no man more welcome in Madrid than Señor De Gex,” replied the police official. “At the Ritz, whether in his own name or incognito, he constantly receives our greatest politicians and most prominent personages. Even the King has more than once commanded him to the palace, in order to confer with him upon acute financial problems in the interests of our country. And yet you infer that Señor De Gex is an assassin!”

“I not only infer it,” I said, “but I openly allege it!” I added hotly, as I thought of Gabrielle.

Rivero glancing at me quickly raised his shoulders with a gesture of disbelief.

“Very well,” I said. “At least I have proved to you that he is a secret friend of the notorious Despujol. Why is he here in Nîmes to consult with De Gex and his friend the Italian, Moroni, if not for purposes of evil? Despujol has made desperate war upon society, and it is De Gex who secretly finances him! Hence he is the servant of the man with money.”

The dark-faced Spaniard reflected.

“Well,” he exclaimed at last. “What you have revealed is certainly most interesting.”

“And if you wish to capture Despujol you must lose no time,” I assured him. “Remember, he and his gang have agents everywhere with eyes and ears open. He will soon know of the raid upon his retreat in Montauban.”

“No doubt he will,” agreed my companion. “They will return presently, and then we will arrest him. In the meantime I will call upon the Commissary of Police. Come with me.”

We at once took a cab to the Prefecture where we were ushered into the presence of Monsieur Coulagne, a rather tall, grey-haired elegant man, with the rosette of the Legion of Honour in his coat.

When Rivero introduced himself the Commissary bowed to us both and bade us be seated.

In a few quick sentences the Spanish detective explained the object of his mission, and producing his authority from the Spanish Ministry, requested the arrest of the infamous bandit Despujol.

“But is Despujol actually in Nîmes?” cried the Commissary astounded.

“He certainly is. I identified him on his arrival here at midday.”

“We have been searching for him for over two years. He is wanted, among other things, for the murder of Madame Lescot, a wealthy widow of Aix-en-Provence.”

“Ah! Then it is not a matter for extradition, eh?” remarked Rivero. “We want him for a dozen crimes of violence in Spain. He attempted the death of my English companion here, Monsieur Garfield--who will give evidence against him.”

The Commissary pressed an electric button, whereupon his secretary appeared.

In a few rapid sentences the tall, elegant French official gave orders, and the secretary retired at once to execute them.

“Despujol is a desperate character. He is always armed, and possesses abnormal strength. He could strangle his strongest opponent,” Rivero remarked.

“I have taken precautions,” replied Monsieur Coulagne, smiling. “I have ordered ten men in plain clothes to go at once unobtrusively to the Hôtel du Luxembourg, and arrest him when he returns.”

“That will frighten De Gex and Moroni,” I said quickly. “And if they are frightened they will escape!”

Rivero laughed. I knew that he entirely disbelieved my statement. In his eyes the wealthy friend of Spain could do no wrong. Did not his King invite him to conference, in ignorance, of course, of his true character?

I was not surprised at Rivero's attitude, yet I had hoped that Despujol's arrest would be effected without the knowledge of De Gex and his sinister medical friend.

I pointed this out, whereupon Rivero remarked with sarcasm:

“If what you allege against Señor De Gex and his friend be true, they ought also to be arrested.”

“Yes. They ought, and they will be when I am able to bring forward sufficient evidence to convict them,” I replied warmly. “Why, I ask you, should Oswald De Gex be in secret association with that dangerous bandit?”

The Spaniard merely shrugged his shoulders, while at the Commissary's request a dossier was brought in, and then they both went through a long catalogue of crimes alleged to have been instigated or actually committed by the man whom I had found in my bedroom, and who had so cleverly deceived me.

The list was a formidable one, and showed how elusive was the man whom the police of Europe had been hunting for so long.

Among the big batch of papers was a report in English from the Metropolitan Police at Scotland Yard stating that the individual in question had arrived in London on a certain date, and stayed with a respectable family at Ham, near Richmond, representing himself to be a lawyer from Barcelona. Thence he had gone to Glasgow, where he stayed at a certain hotel, and then moved to Oban. Afterwards he had come south again to Luton, in Bedfordshire, where all trace of him had been lost.

“Well,” laughed Rivero triumphantly, “we shall take good care not to lose him now!”

“No,” said the Commissary of Police. “My men will be armed, and will take him, alive or dead!”

“And De Gex and Moroni will then instantly flee!” I said, full of regret that I had taken that step which might so easily result in destroying all my chances of solving that puzzling enigma of Gabrielle Tennison.

Nevertheless, it was a source of satisfaction that at last Despujol had, by my watchfulness, been run to earth.

Suddenly the telephone at Monsieur Coulagne's elbow rang, and after listening, he exclaimed:

“The men are already posted round the hotel. So all we have to do is to await his return.”

Hence I went forth with Rivero and the Commissary. Led by the latter, we approached the Place de l'Esplanade through a labyrinth of narrow back streets until, on gaining the hotel, we saw idling in the vicinity a number of men who were apparently quite disinterested.

We entered the hotel boldly, and drawing back to the end of the lounge, after a whispered word with the concierge, we waited.

For a full hour we remained there in eager impatience, until suddenly a figure whom I recognized as Doctor Moroni showed in the doorway.

He was alone!

He ascended to his room, where he remained for about ten minutes. Then, descending, he went to the bureau and inquired for the bill of his friend and himself, announcing his intention of departing for Paris by the train which left in half an hour!

Rivero, who had been standing near him unrecognized, crossed quickly to where with the Commissary I sat well back from observation, and gasped:

“They've gone! He is also leaving! Evidently they suspected they were under observation!”

“Ah! Despujol is a very wary bird,” replied Monsieur Coulagne, rising and walking out into the Place, where he whispered some hurried words to a stout, well-dressed man who was sauntering by, and who was his chief inspector.

In a few moments more than half the lurking police agents had disappeared to make inquiries at the railway station and in various quarters, and when he rejoined us--Moroni having returned upstairs--he said:

“Despujol cannot yet have gone very far. I have given orders for all railway stations within two hundred kilomètres to be warned. Let us return to my bureau and await reports.”

“And what about Moroni?” I asked.

“He will be followed. I have already seen to that,” was the reply.

Back at the Prefecture Monsieur Coulagne was soon speaking rapidly over the telephone. Then we waited for news of the fugitive. None came until about two hours afterwards the result of inquiries was told to us by an inspector.

It seemed that on the previous day a large open car, driven by a chauffeur, put into Carli's Garage, a big establishment in the Boulevard des Arènes. The chauffeur asked for a receipt for the car, saying that he had to go by train to Marseilles, and that his master would probably call for the car on the following day, and produce the receipt. He asked that it should be filled up with petrol in readiness for his master. About two hours before the police made inquiry three gentlemen entered the garage, the descriptions of whom tallied with those of De Gex, Despujol and Moroni. De Gex produced the receipt for the car. He paid for the petrol, and he and Despujol drove away bidding farewell to Moroni! Despujol drove the car.

“Ah!” exclaimed Rivero. “Despujol would not risk the train. He always arranges a secret means of escape. In this case he prepared it on the day before. Without a doubt he knew that watch was being kept.”

“Or was it that De Gex knew that I was here?” I suggested.

“Well, in any case,” remarked the Commissary of Police, “the pair have got clear away, and though we will do our best, it will no doubt be extremely difficult to rediscover them. They will change the number-plates on the car, and perhaps repaint it! Who knows? Despujol is one of the most desperate characters in all Europe!”

“And Oswald De Gex is equally dangerous!” I declared, for I was still no nearer the truth.

* * *

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND

GABRIELLE AT HOME

I had been back in London a little over a week when I read in the paper one morning a paragraph which possessed for me a peculiar interest. It ran as follows:

"The notorious Spanish bandit Rodriquez Despujol, who has for several years terrorized Murcia and Andalusia and has committed several murders, is dead. The police have been searching for him everywhere, but so elusive was he that he always evaded them. The celebrated Spanish detective Señor Rivero learnt a short time ago that the wanted man had been seen at Nîmes, where he cleverly contrived to escape by car.

"Certain clues came into the hands of the police, and by these Señor Rivero was able to trace the fugitive to Denia, not far from Valencia. He was hiding in a small cottage in an orange-grove just outside the town. The place was surrounded by police, but Despujol, discovering this, opened fire upon them from one of the windows and also threw a hand grenade among them, with result that two carabineers were killed and four others injured, among the latter being Señor Rivero himself. A desperate fight ensued, but in the end the bandit received a bullet in the head which proved fatal.

“A large quantity of stolen property of all sorts has been discovered in rooms which the criminal occupied in Montauban, in France. Despujol's latest exploit was an attempt to administer in secret a very deadly poison to an Englishman who was visiting Madrid. It was that attempted crime which aroused Señor Rivero's activities which have had the effect of ridding Spain of one of its most notorious assassins.”

I read the report twice. So the defiant Despujol was dead, and poor Rivero had sustained injuries! Nothing was said of the powerful financier's friendship with the bandit.

When I showed it to Hambledon, he remarked:

“At least you've been the means not only of putting an end to Despujol's ignoble career, but also of restoring a quantity of very valuable property to its owners.”

“True, but it brings us no nearer a solution of the affair at Stretton Street,” was my reply.

Gabrielle's mother had returned to London, and that evening I called upon her by appointment. I found her a grey-haired refined woman with a pale anxious face and deep-set eyes.

When I mentioned Gabrielle, who was in the adjoining room, she sighed and exclaimed:

“Ah! Mr. Garfield. It is a great trial to me. Poor child! I cannot think what happened to her. Nobody can tell, she least of all. Doctor Moroni has been very good, for he is greatly interested in her case. They have told me that you called some time ago and evinced an interest in her.”

“Yes, Mrs. Tennison,” I said. “I feel a very deep interest in your daughter because--well, to tell you the truth, I, too, after a strange adventure here in London one night completely lost my sense of identity, and when I came to a knowledge of things about me I was in a hospital in France, having been found unconscious at the roadside many days after my adventure in London.”

“How very curious!” Mrs. Tennison remarked, instantly interested. “Gabrielle was found at the roadside. Do you think, then, that there is any connexion between your case and hers?”

“Yes, Mrs. Tennison,” I replied promptly. “It is for that reason I am in active search of the truth--in the interests of your daughter, as well as of those of my own.”

“What do you suspect, Mr. Garfield?” asked Gabrielle's mother, as we sat in that cosily-furnished little room where on the table in the centre stood an old punch-bowl filled with sweet-smelling La France roses.

“I suspect many things. In some, my suspicions have proved correct. In others, I am still entirely in the dark. One important point, however, I have established, namely, the means by which this curious, mysterious effect has been produced upon the minds of both your daughter and myself. When one knows the disease then it is not difficult to search for the cure. I know how the effect was produced, and further, I know the name of the medical man who has effected cures in similar cases.”