The Mystery of the Boule Cabinet Part 27

"Then...."

She stopped and glanced at her mistress.

"Continue!" said the latter. "Tell what you have to tell."

"I knew that madame also...."

She stopped again. I walked over to the window and stood staring at the wooden shutter, strangely moved.

"Well, why not?" she demanded fiercely, and I felt that she was addressing my turned back. "Why not? Shall a woman not be loved?

Shall a woman endure what madame endured...."

"That will do, Julie," broke in the veiled lady, her voice cold as ice. "Tell your story."

"I knew of the secret drawer; I had seen madame open it; I knew what it contained. But I was faithful to madame; I loved her; I was glad that she had found some one.... Madame will remember her despair, her horror, when she entered her room to find the cabinet gone, taken away, sold by that.... I, too, was in despair--I desired with my whole soul to help madame. That night I had a rendezvous with him,"

and she nodded toward the photograph which lay upon the floor. "I told him."

Her mistress stood as though turned to stone. I could guess her anguish and humiliation.

"He questioned me--he learned everything--the drawer, how it was opened--all. But I did not suspect what was in his mind--not for an instant did I suspect. But on the boat I saw him, and then I knew.

Well, he has got what he deserved!"

She s.h.i.+vered and pressed her hands against her eyes.

"I think that is all, madame," she added, hoa.r.s.ely.

"It is all of that story," said G.o.dfrey, in a crisp voice; "but there is another."

"Another?" echoed the veiled lady, looking at him.

"Ask her, madame, for what purpose she called at this house, night before last, and saw Philip Vantine in this room."

"I did not!" shrieked the girl, her face ablaze. "It is a lie!"

"She does not need to tell!" went on G.o.dfrey inexorably. "Any fool could guess. She came for the letters! She had resolved herself to blackmail you, madame!"

"It is a lie!" shrieked the girl again. "I came hoping to save her --to...."

A storm of angry sobbing choked her.

I could see how the veiled lady was trembling. I placed a chair for her, and she sank into it with a murmur of thanks.

"Besides, we have a witness to her visit," added G.o.dfrey. "Shall I call the police, madame?"

"No, no!" and the girl sat upright again, her face ghastly. "I will tell. I will tell all. Give me but a moment!"

She sat there, struggling for self-control, her streaked and grotesque countenance contorted with emotion. Then I saw her eyes widen, and, glancing around, I saw that Rogers had dragged himself to a sitting posture, and was staring at her, his face livid.

The sight of him seemed to madden her.

"It was you!" she shrieked, and shook her clenched fist at him. "It was you who told! Coward! Coward!"

But G.o.dfrey, his face very grim, laid a heavy hand upon her arm.

"Be still!" he cried. "He told us nothing! He tried to s.h.i.+eld you --though why he should wish to do so...."

Rogers broke in with a hollow and ghastly laugh.

"It was natural enough, sir," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "She's my wife!"

CHAPTER XVI

PHILIP VANTINE'S CALLER

It was a sordid story that Rogers gasped out to us; and, as it concerns this tale only incidentally, I shall pa.s.s over it as briefly as may be.

Eight or ten years before, the fair Julie--at least, she was fairer then than now!--had come to New York to enter the employ of a family whose mistress had decided that life without a French maid was unendurable. Rogers had met her, had been fascinated by her black eyes and red lips, had, in the end, proposed honourable marriage --quite unnecessarily, no doubt!--had been accepted, and for some months had led an eventful existence as the husband of the siren.

Then, one morning, he awakened to find her gone.

He had, of course, entrusted his savings to her--that had been one condition of the marriage!--and the savings were gone, also. Julie, it seems, had been overcome with longing for the Paris asphalt; no doubt, too, she had found herself ennuied by the lack of romance in married life with Rogers; and she had flown back to France. Rogers had thought of following; but, appalled at the difficulty of finding her in Paris, not knowing what he should do if he did find her, he had finally given it up, and had settled gloomily down to live upon his memories. Some sort of affection for her had kept alive within him, and when he opened the door of Vantine's house and found her standing on the steps, he was as wax in her hands.

Julie had listened to all this indifferently, even disdainfully, without denying anything, nor seeking to excuse herself. Perhaps the idea that she needed excuse did not occur to her. And when the story was finished, she was quite herself again; even a little proud, I think, of holding the centre of the stage in the role of siren. It was almost a rejuvenescence, and there was grat.i.tude in the gaze she turned on Rogers.

"This is all true, I suppose?" asked the veiled lady.

"All quite true, madame," answered Julie, with a shrug. "I was younger then and the love of excitement was too strong for me. I am older now, and have more sense--besides, I am no longer sought after as I was."

"And so," said madame, with irony, "you are now, no doubt, willing to return to your husband."

"I have been considering it, madame," replied Julie, with astounding simplicity, "ever since I saw him here the other evening, and learned that he still cared for me. One must have a harbour in one's old age."

I glanced at Rogers and was astonished to see that he was regarding the woman with affectionate admiration. Evidently the harbour was waiting, should Julie choose to anchor there.

"I have hesitated," she added, "only because of madame. Where would madame get another maid such as I? No one but I can arrange her hair --no one but I can prepare her bath...."

"We will discuss it," said the veiled lady, "when we are alone. And now, perhaps, you will be so good as to tell us of your previous visit here."

"Very well, madame," and Julie settled into a more comfortable posture. "It was one day on the boat as I was looking down at the pa.s.sengers of the third cla.s.s that I perceived Georges--M. Drouet --strolling about. I was _bouleversee_--what you call upset with amazement, and then he looked up and our eyes met, and he came beneath me and commanded that I meet him that evening. It was then that I learned his plan. It was to secure those letters for himself and to dispose of them."

"To whom?" asked G.o.dfrey.

"To the person that would pay the greatest price for them, most certainly," answered Julie, surprised that it should have been thought necessary to ask such a question. "They were to be offered first to madame at ten thousand francs each; should she refuse, they were then to be offered to M. le Duc--he would surely desire to possess them!"

The veiled lady s.h.i.+vered a little, and her hand instinctively sought her bosom to a.s.sure herself that the precious packet was safe.