The Galaxy, June 1877 Part 20

"Just a month ago. Hand me that file of papers at your elbow."

He selected one, glanced at it a moment. "Ah, yes, here it is."

"What?" I cried eagerly, the blood flying to my face.

"What was the name of the advocate?" he persisted with all the gravity of a judge.

"Auguste Danneris."

"And his office, 170 Rue des Allumettes?"

"Yes, yes!"

"The _pension_ in the Porte de Schaerbeck?"

"Yes."

"The youth--black eyes, black hair, high forehead, projecting chin, height five feet three?"

"Yes."

"Spoke English well?"

"Remarkably well for a foreigner--and so young."

"Had a slight impediment in p.r.o.nouncing the letter _p_."

"Yes, I tried to correct the dear boy of the habit."

"Did, eh?"

"I did, and with some success too."

"And went by the name of Jules von Dressdorf?"

"Yes."

"Then, by the lord Harry! Master Mortimer, you've immortalized yourself.

You've abducted the most accomplished little _dame d'industrie_ Paris ever produced--you've s.n.a.t.c.hed from under the very noses of a cordon of French and Flemish police the princess of adventuresses, Adele de la Voix, spy, thief, forger--ay, and if suspicion points truly, murderess--for she is believed to have poisoned an accomplice at Ghent after consummating the robbery of the Comtesse de Nemour's jewels. A pretty piece of business truly."

I was dazed. He handed me the journal, and I read for myself the whole of the infamous plot.

"By George, that boarding-school dodge was an excellent one, worthy of her greatness--threw the police off the scent for ten days," said Harvey with a grin.

"Then, when the police got on the right track again," he continued, "it was too late; she had eloped with you. O Lord, it's too good," and he lay back in his chair and roared.

"By heavens, if you are not quiet, I'll pitch you out of the window."

"No, you won't. If you move a finger, I'll write and tell Gwennie Grey all about your elopement. Why, man, if you were a child of grace, you'd go down on your knees and implore me not to give you two columns in the 'Growler.' There, I was only joking. Don't look so blue. But I confess it's a strong temptation. Such sensations don't crop up every day; besides, messieurs the police are dying to know how _la belle_ Adele crossed the frontier."

"Do you think," I said wearily, "that the proprietor of the _pension_ was an accomplice?"

"Most a.s.suredly not. He is an old resident, and gave his testimony with tears in his eyes, a.s.suring the court that Jules von Dressdorf was one of the most docile, intelligent pupils he ever had under his roof."

"And M. Danneris?"

"Her father, I believe. His role was the man of reference, the respectable 'fence' who directs the game while others do the work."

"Had my trouble with the police here anything to do with the matter?"

"Not a bit of it. They are infernal rascals, reaping where they do not sow, and looking on careless travellers as legitimate game. Under the present _regime_ they make half their living out of pa.s.sport irregularities."

"I suppose," I added, "I had better notify the police at Brussels."

"And be the laughing stock of Europe for your pains. No, Mortimer, lie quiet here for a week or two, then take steamer through the Mediterranean home. By the by, did Danneris advance you money for the journey?"

"He gave me five hundred francs."

"Then you are not so badly off after all. Make your mind easy about Mlle. Adele. She is hundreds of miles away by this."

"I wonder why she did not run away from the hotel the night I went to the theatre."

"_Quien sabe?_ Let the dead past bury its dead."

Seventeen years have pa.s.sed since the occurrence of the events I have recorded, and never till yesterday have I seen or heard one word of Adele de la Voix.

"Gwennie," said I to my dear little wife, on reaching my home in southern Michigan after a visit on business to Detroit, "you remember the heroine of my trip to Dressdorf castle, just before we were married?"

"Surely," said the wife.

"Well, I saw Adele de la Voix yesterday."

"You didn't! When? Where?"

"At a store in Gratiot avenue. I was making a purchase, when a woman entered--old-looking, homely, shabby; but there was no mistaking those black eyes, nor the sniff of the left nostril. When she was gone, I made some inquiries about her, and here is her business card:

"MME. JULIENNE, from Paris, reveals the past, the present, and the future. Can be consulted on all affairs of love, business, or law, and overcomes trouble of any kind. She brings together the separated, causes speedy marriages, and sells infallible love powders. Go and see for yourself. No humbug here.

"Rooms, etc."

"And what are you going to do?"

"Do? I don't know."

"I do."

"You wise woman, what is it?"