Rivals of Sherlock Holmes, The (44 page)

  'I will take the risk, thank you,' said Eve, in an icy tone, and she haughtily departed; she would not cower before Cecil's millions. As for Cecil, he joined in the discussion of the theory of doubles.

On the next afternoon but one, policemen were still fishing, without success, for the bracelet, and raising from the ancient duct longburied odours which threatened to destroy the inhabitants of the quay. (When Kitty Sartorius had hinted that perhaps the authorities might see their way to drawing off the water from the canal, the authorities had intimated that the death-rate of Bruges was already as high as convenient.) Nevertheless, though nothing had happened, the situation had somehow developed, and in such a manner that the bracelet itself was in danger of being partially forgotten; and of all places in Bruges, the situation had developed on the top of the renowned Belfry which dominates the Grande Place in particular and the city in general.

  The summit of the Belfry is three hundred and fifty feet high, and it is reached by four hundred and two winding stone steps, each a separate menace to life and limb. Eve Fincastle had climbed those steps alone, perhaps in quest of the view at the top, perhaps in quest of spiritual calm. She had not been leaning over the parapet more than a minute before Cecil Thorold had appeared, his field-glasses slung over his shoulder. They had begun to talk a little, but nervously and only in snatches. The wind blew free up there among the fortyeight bells, but the social atmosphere was oppressive.

  'The Count is a most charming man,' Eve was saying, as if in defence of the Count.

  'He is,' said Cecil; 'I agree with you.'

  'Oh, no, you don't, Mr Thorold! Oh, no, you don't!'

  Then there was a pause, and the twain looked down upon Bruges, with its venerable streets, its grass-grown squares, its waterways, and its innumerable monuments, spread out maplike beneath them in the mellow October sunshine. Citizens passed along the thoroughfare in the semblance of tiny dwarfs.

  'If you didn't hate him,' said Eve, 'you wouldn't behave as you do.'

  'How do I behave, then?'

  Eve schooled her voice to an imitation of jocularity:

  'All Tuesday evening, and all day yesterday, you couldn't leave them alone. You know you couldn't.'

  Five minutes later the conversation had shifted.

  'You actually saw the bracelet fall into the canal?' said Cecil.

  'I actually saw the bracelet fall into the canal. And no one could have got it out while Kitty and I were away, because we weren't away half a minute.'

  But they could not dismiss the subject of the Count, and presently he was again the topic.

  'Naturally it would be a good match for the Count – for any man,' said Eve; 'but then it would also be a good match for Kitty. Of course, he is not so rich as some people, but he is rich.'

  Cecil examined the horizon with his glasses, and then the streets near the Grand Place.

  'Rich, is he? I'm glad of it. By the by, he's gone to Ghent for the day, hasn't he?'

  'Yes, he went by the 9.27, and returns by the 4.38.'

  Another pause.

  'Well,' said Cecil at length, handing the glasses to Eve Fincastle, 'kindly glance down there. Follow the line of the Rue St. Nicolas. You see the cream-coloured house with the enclosed courtyard? Now, do you see two figures standing together near a door – a man and a woman, the woman on the steps? Who are they?'

  'I can't see very well,' said Eve.

  'Oh, yes, my dear lady, you can,' said Cecil. 'These glasses are the very best. Try again.'

  'They look like the Comte d'Avrec and Madame Lawrence,' Eve murmured.

  'But the Count is on his way from Ghent! I see the steam of the 4.38 over there. The curious thing is that the Count entered the house of Madame Lawrence, to whom he was introduced for the first time the day before yesterday, at ten o'clock this morning. Yes, it would be a very good match for the Count. When one comes to think of it, it usually is that sort of man that contrives to marry a brilliant and successful actress. There! He's just leaving, isn't he? Now let us descend and listen to the recital of his day's doings in Ghent – shall we?'

  'You mean to insinuate,' Eve burst out in sudden wrath, 'that the Count is an – an adventurer, and that Madame Lawrence – Oh! Mr Thorold!' She laughed condescendingly. 'This jealousy is too absurd. Do you suppose I haven't noticed how impressed you were with Kitty at the Devonshire Mansion that night, and again at Ostend, and again here? You're simply carried away by jealousy; and you think because you are a millionaire you must have all you want. I haven't the slightest doubt that the Count – '

  'Anyhow,' said Cecil, 'let us go down and hear about Ghent.'

  His eyes made a number of remarks (indulgent, angry, amused, protective, admiring, perspicacious, puzzled), too subtle for the medium of words.

  They groped their way down to earth in silence, and it was in silence that they crossed the Grande Place. The Count was seated on the terrasse in front of the hotel, with a liqueur glass before him, and he was making graceful and expressive signs to Kitty Sartorius, who leaned her marvellous beauty out of a first-storey window. He greeted Cecil Thorold and Eve with an equal grace.

  'And how is Ghent?' Cecil inquired.

  'Did you go to Ghent, after all, Count?' Eve put in. The Comte d'Avrec looked from one to another, and then, instead of replying, he sipped at his glass. 'No,' he said, 'I didn't go. The rather curious fact is that I happened to meet Madame Lawrence, who offered to show me her collection of lace. I have been an amateur of lace for some years, and really Madame Lawrence's collection is amazing. You have seen it? No? You should do so. I'm afraid I have spent most of the day there.'

  When the Count had gone to join Kitty in the drawing-room, Eve Fincastle looked victoriously at Cecil, as if to demand of him: 'Will you apologise?'

  'My dear journalist,' Cecil remarked simply, 'you gave the show away.'

* * * * * *

That evening the continued obstinacy of the bracelet, which still refused to be caught, began at last to disturb the birdlike mind of Kitty Sartorius. Moreover, the secret was out, and the whole town of Bruges was discussing the episode and the chances of success.

  'Let us consult Planchette,' said the Count. The proposal was received with enthusiasm by Kitty. Eve had disappeared.

  Planchette was produced; and when asked if the bracelet would be recovered, it wrote, under the hands of Kitty and the Count, a trembling 'Yes'. When asked: 'By whom?' it wrote a word which faintly resembled 'Avrec'.

  The Count stated that he should personally commence dragging operations at sunrise. 'You will see,' he said, 'I shall succeed.'

  'Let me try this toy, may I?' Cecil asked blandly, and, upon Kitty agreeing, he addressed Planchette in a clear voice: 'Now, Planchette, who will restore the bracelet to its owner?'

  And Planchette wrote 'Thorold', but in characters as firm and regular as those of a copy-book.

  'Mr Thorold is laughing at us,' observed the Count, imperturbably bland.

  'How horrid you are, Mr Thorold!' Kitty exclaimed.

Of the four persons more or less interested in the affair, three were secretly active that night, in and out of the hotel. Only Kitty Sartorius, chief mourner for the bracelet, slept placidly in her bed. It was towards three o'clock in the morning that a sort of preliminary crisis was reached.

  From the multiplicity of doors which ventilate its rooms, one would imagine that the average foreign hotel must have been designed immediately after its architect had been to see a Palais Royal farce, in which every room opens into every other room in every act. The Hôtel de la Grande Place was not peculiar in this respect; it abounded in doors. All the chambers on the second storey, over the public rooms, fronting the Place, communicated one with the next, but naturally most of the communicating doors were locked. Cecil Thorold and the Comte d'Avrec had each a bedroom and a sittingroom on that floor. The Count's sitting-room adjoined Cecil's; and the door between was locked, and the key in the possession of the landlord.

  Nevertheless, at three a.m. this particular door opened noiselessly from Cecil's side, and Cecil entered the domain of the Count. The moon shone, and Cecil could plainly see not only the silhouette of the Belfry across the Place, but also the principal objects within the room. He noticed the table in the middle, the large easy-chair turned towards the hearth, the old-fashioned sofa; but not a single article did he perceive which might have been the personal property of the Count. He cautiously passed across the room through the moonlight to the door of the Count's bedroom, which apparently, to his immense surprise, was not only shut, but locked, and the key in the lock on the sitting-room side. Silently unlocking it, he entered the bedroom and disappeared...

  In less than five minutes he crept back into the Count's sittingroom, closed the door and locked it.

  'Odd!' he murmured reflectively; but he seemed quite happy.

  There was a sudden movement in the region of the hearth, and a form rose from the armchair. Cecil rushed to the switch and turned on the electric light. Eve Fincastle stood before him. They faced each other.

  'What are you doing here at this time, Miss Fincastle?' he asked, sternly. 'You can talk freely; the Count will not waken.'

  'I may ask you the same question,' Eve replied, with cold bitterness.

  'Excuse me. You may not. You are a woman. This is the Count's room – '

  'You are in error,' she interrupted him. 'It is not the Count's room. It is mine. Last night I told the Count I had some important writing to do, and I asked him as a favour to relinquish this room to me for twenty-four hours. He very kindly consented. He removed his belongings, handed me the key of that door, and the transfer was made in the hotel books. And now,' she added, 'may I inquire, Mr Thorold, what you are doing in my room?'

  'I – I thought it was the Count's,' Cecil faltered, decidedly at a loss for a moment. 'In offering my humblest apologies, permit me to say that I admire you, Miss Fincastle.'

  'I wish I could return the compliment,' Eve exclaimed, and she repeated with almost plaintive sincerity: 'I do wish I could.'

  Cecil raised his arms and let them fall to his side.

  'You meant to catch me,' he said. 'You suspected something, then? The "important writing" was an invention.' And he added, with a faint smile: 'You really ought not to have fallen asleep. Suppose I had not wakened you?'

  'Please don't laugh, Mr Thorold. Yes, I did suspect. There was something in the demeanour of your servant Lecky that gave me the idea. . . . I did mean to catch you. Why you, a millionaire, should be a burglar, I cannot understand. I never understood that incident at the Devonshire Mansion; it was beyond me. I am by no means sure that you didn't have a great deal to do with the Rainshore affair at Ostend. But that you should have stooped to slander is the worst. I confess you are a mystery. I confess that I can make no guess at the nature of your present scheme. And what I shall do, now that I have caught you, I don't know. I can't decide; I must think. If, however, anything is missing to-morrow morning, I shall be bound in any case to denounce you. You grasp that?'

  'I grasp it perfectly, my dear journalist,' Cecil replied. 'And something will not improbably be missing. But take the advice of a burglar and a mystery, and go to bed, it is half past three.'

  And Eve went. And Cecil bowed her out and then retired to his own rooms. And the Count's apartment was left to the moonlight.

'Planchette is a very safe prophet,' said Cecil to Kitty Sartorius the next morning, 'provided it has firm guidance.'

  They were at breakfast.

  'What do you mean?'

  'I mean that Planchette prophesied last night that I should restore to you your bracelet. I do.'

  He took the lovely gewgaw from his pocket and handed it to Kitty.

  'Ho-ow did you find it, you dear thing?' Kitty stammered, trembling under the shock of joy.

  'I fished it up out – out of the mire by a contrivance of my own.'

  'But when?'

  'Oh! Very early. At three o'clock a.m. You see, I was determined to be first.'

  'In the dark, then?'

  'I had a light. Don't you think I'm rather clever?'

  Kitty's scene of ecstatic gratitude does not come into the story. Suffice it to say that not until the moment of its restoration did she realise how precious the bracelet was to her.

  It was ten o'clock before Eve descended. She had breakfasted in her room, and Kitty had already exhibited to her the prodigal bracelet.

  'I particularly want you to go up the Belfry with me, Miss Fincastle,' Cecil greeted her; and his tone was so serious and so urgent that she consented. They left Kitty playing waltzes on the piano in the drawing-room.

  'And now, O man of mystery?' Eve questioned, when they had toiled to the summit, and saw the city and its dwarfs beneath them.

  'We are in no danger of being disturbed here,' Cecil began; 'but I will make my explanation – the explanation which I certainly owe you – as brief as possible. Your Comte d'Avrec is an adventurer (please don't be angry), and your Madame Lawrence is an adventuress. I knew that I had seen them together. They work in concert; and for the most part make a living on the gaming-tables of Europe. Madame Lawrence was expelled from Monte Carlo last year for being too intimate with a croupier. You may be aware that at a roulette-table one can do a great deal with the aid of the croupier. Madame Lawrence appropriated the bracelet "on her own", as it were. The Count (he may be a real Count, for anything I know) heard first of that enterprise from the lips of Miss Sartorius. He was annoyed, angry – because he was really a little in love with your friend, and he saw golden prospects. It is just this fact – the Count's genuine passion for Miss Sartorius – that renders the case psychologically interesting. To proceed, Madame Lawrence became jealous. The Count spent six hours yesterday in trying to get the bracelet from her, and failed. He tried again last night, and succeeded, but not too easily, for he did not re-enter the hotel till after one o'clock. At first I thought he had succeeded in the daytime, and I had arranged accordingly, for I did not see why he should have the honour and glory of restoring the bracelet to its owner. Lecky and I fixed up a sleeping-draught for him. The minor details were simple. When you caught me this morning, the bracelet was in my pocket, and in its stead I had left a brief note for the perusal of the Count, which has had the singular effect of inducing him to decamp; probably he has not gone alone. But isn't it amusing that, since you so elaborately took his sitting-room, he will be convinced that you are a party to his undoing – you, his staunchest defender?'