Chapter THIRTY-SIX

Bazin was the first to break the silence, his eyes ablaze in his sunburned face.

“Madame--there can be no mistake about this?”

“None whatever. I tell you this is the hat she was wearing when my husband put her into the train last night. It is one she brought from America.”

“She was here, then. She came home and went away again soon afterwards, leaving nothing behind her but her hat and this.” He indicated the lipstick. His tone was one of puzzled reflection. “Why her hat?”

“She could have worn another one,” suggested Elspeth impatiently. “I do not know what other hats she has.”

“Then let us say she changed her hat. But does that help us to a solution?”

On the contrary it deepened the mystery. Blank looks met the question, and it was some seconds before Elspeth spoke, with a trace of eagerness.

“If she took the trouble to put on a different hat, don’t you see what it may mean? That for some reason she changed her mind about spending the night here, carried her bags down again just as they were, and went somewhere else.”

“And the _tube à rouge_, madame?”

“That must have fallen out of her bag, and she did not bother to search for it.”

“It suggests she was anxious to get away.”

“Exactly my opinion,” agreed Elspeth quickly. “Don’t you see, Geoffrey? She must have gone of her own accord, else why should she take off one hat and put on another?”

Her brother continued to stare at the tell-tale head-gear. Its presence did not argue haste, but a certain deliberation, yet he was unconvinced.

“We don’t know that she did do that. Besides, if all this is true, why don’t we hear from her?” he objected stubbornly.

“But think, my dear--if she met those friends of hers this morning she may have spent the day sight-seeing with them, and even now may not know about Mme. Bender. Depend upon it, we’ll soon have news.”

“She knew I was going to drive out to Fontainebleau this afternoon and bring her back.”

He glanced at his watch, the hands of which marked a quarter to five. By now he would have been on his way.

“It looks damned odd,” he remarked stonily. “It must have taken some strong motive to make her quit the place with her luggage at past one in the morning.”

“Ah, _ça_!” the inspector waved an expressive hand round the disarranged room. “I agree there must have been some unforeseen happening to account for so sudden a departure. Does madame know the explanation offered by the maid?” he inquired, sinking his voice.

“The maid? What does she think?” demanded Elspeth, searching the four faces.

Before Geoffrey had conquered his obvious reluctance to divulge what was so distasteful to him, the inspector threw open the door and scanned the passage in both directions. No one was in sight.

“Now then, monsieur,” he said with a slight nod.

“It’s simply this, if you must know: Jeanne suggests that perhaps Catherine found out about the fire and Mme. Bender’s death before anyone else was aware of it, that she got into a panic and took herself off because”--here he hesitated painfully--“because she was terrified lest blame should attach to her.”

His sister gasped in bewilderment.

“Blame! Why, what on earth----”

“You see, she insinuates that it was Catherine who supplied the poor woman with the candles which caused the fire.”

“Oh!” She stifled a horrified cry. “Do you believe that?”

“Not for a moment,” replied Geoffrey between set teeth. “It is not in the least like Catherine to do either one thing or the other.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. He could see Elspeth grappling with this new idea, her eyes narrowed in thought.

“I wonder?” she whispered slowly. “Geoff--you don’t know. She might have done it, in utter innocence. Remember, she did not believe Mme. Bender was insane. And supposing she did discover what was happening, mightn’t she have been so overwhelmed by the shock that she lost her head completely? Her one idea may have been to rush away and hide, pretend she had not been here at all. One can’t say how one would behave if faced with such a crisis.”

He did not reply. Put into words, the thing sounded remarkably plausible. The inspector made a sign to show his agreement.

“Precisely, madame. One still does not altogether grasp the meaning of this”--and he indicated the hat--“but it is fairly clear to me that the young lady is well and safe, only does not wish her presence here last night to become known. It would not astonish me, monsieur, if before many hours you had some news of her. Probably she has gone to an hotel and will communicate with you later on. If she should care to assume total ignorance of this affair”--he paused with a tolerant shrug--“then the less said about our discoveries the better.”

A steely light had come into the young man’s eyes.

“Does it not occur to you,” he said slowly, “that if what you suggest is the case, she may not turn up at all?”

His sister stared at him frowning, then exclaimed in sudden dismay:

“You don’t mean she might… oh, no, Geoffrey! She wouldn’t do anything so mad!”

“Why not? If she believed herself responsible for her cousin’s death?”

Bazin’s quick intelligence took in the implication.

“Ah, hardly, monsieur! It takes a great deal to bring one to suicide. No need to exaggerate matters at this stage of the game.”

However, the horrible idea had taken hold of Geoffrey so that he could not throw it off. No one but himself knew to what extent Catherine had brooded over her relative’s situation, and had striven to put it right. If, after all her planning and contriving, she had suddenly been faced with last night’s horrible revelation, who could say what the result might be? All these apparently contradictory evidences of hasty departure might point to one dreadful conclusion. Yet, even as his distraught mind grappled with its new obsession, the vision of Jeanne’s enigmatic eyes came before him, and he asked himself if, against his will, he were not being made the dupe of some cleverly conceived infamy.…

He watched the inspector place the lipstick in an envelope, seal it up and consign it to an inside pocket. Then, rousing himself, he inquired what arrangements had been made for guarding the apartment after nightfall.

“Ah, yes, monsieur! I shall have two of my men posted in the buildings at the back and side, and I myself intend to pass the night in the apartment directly opposite, across the avenue.”

“May I share watches with you?”

“Willingly, monsieur. Shall we meet at the Commissariat at eight o’clock? That is to say, if nothing is heard from mademoiselle in the meantime.”

“But you may hear, Geoffrey,” put in Elspeth quickly. “I can’t help thinking there is some foolish mistake about all this which may be cleared up at any moment. Those friends of hers she was to meet--she may be with them now, sight-seeing somewhere. Had you thought of that?”

There was nothing he had not considered, but in spite of all a leaden pall lay upon his heart, crushing out hope. A voice whispered that he would never hear from Catherine again.

They quitted the room, which was again locked behind them, and retraced their steps through the silent passage to the front entrance, where Elspeth and Geoffrey took leave of the police officers.

“Leave everything to me, monsieur,” murmured Bazin reassuringly. “By this evening I hope to have something cheerful to report.”

At the glass doors of the loge they came upon a familiar figure, no less a person than the office factotum, Henri, at that moment shuffling forward to meet them. His wrinkled face held a trace of unusual excitement.

“Ah, Monsieur Geoffrey, you have not gone! Here is a telegram just come for you at the rue Auber. Your father has sent it on.”

Geoffrey snatched the blue paper, the seal of which had already been broken, glanced at the contents, then uttered a sharp cry.

“My God!” he exclaimed. “Elspeth, you were right! It’s from Catherine!” and he thrust the flimsy slip into her hand.

She devoured it with eager eyes. Upon the form was scrawled the following words:

“_Overcome by frightful news unable go out but will telephone you to-morrow and explain my absence do not trouble yourself all goes well with me Catherine._”

The wave of relief that swept over Geoffrey engulfed all reason. Voiceless, he could only stare stupidly at the jumbled sentences, reading in them a reprieve from utter despair. Catherine was safe, he would soon see her again. The knowledge overwhelmed him.

Elspeth’s hand on his arm brought him to his senses.

“Geoffrey! It’s too marvellous! I can hardly believe it!” There was an hysterical tremor in her voice. “Oh! to think nothing is wrong, after all!”

“Are you so astonished?” he demanded suspiciously. “A moment ago you were positive we should hear from her.”

“I know I said that,” she replied a little guiltily. “But--well, I wasn’t so sure as I sounded. Uncertainty is so awful--one thinks of such appalling things.”

He nodded. What use now to admit that since noon to-day he had been haunted by the fear that Catherine had met a violent death? As his strained nerves relaxed he felt a foolish desire to laugh, to shout aloud, and at the same time realized that he was extraordinarily tired. He had had nothing to eat all day since his morning coffee, but the fact had altogether escaped his notice.

“Where is she now? Does she give an address?”

Together they examined the form, but beyond the message it bore nothing beyond the hour when it was handed in--three o’clock--and the words. “Hôtel des Postes.”

“That’s queer,” Geoffrey muttered. “Why doesn’t she tell us where she is?”

“Too upset to think of it, I suppose. It’s not really strange. I should say she went to some small hotel last night, one where there are no room-telephones, that she is simply prostrated by the shock, and only able to collect her thoughts sufficiently to realize we may be worried about her. She’s got the concierge to send this wire.”

“I daresay you’re right.” He continued to stare at the blue slip as though striving to force some additional information out of it. “Oh, well, the important thing is that she’s found. Here’s the inspector now.”

He turned back to announce the welcome tidings, translating the telegram into French for the other’s benefit. Bazin’s blue eyes widened with relief.

“Well, well, monsieur! I felicitate you. The young lady has given you a bad quarter of an hour, but, _voilà!_ the mystery is cleared up, as I hoped it would be.”

“I am not so sure of that. I can’t help feeling there is something odd behind it.”

From the tactful avoidance of his eye it was plain that his opinion was shared by his two companions. During the uncomfortable pause which followed, the inspector studied the message and made a few notes in his book.

“I will look into this, monsieur, and see what I can find out, since you are no doubt still somewhat anxious, though, as mademoiselle promises to communicate with you to-morrow, you will not have long to remain in suspense. As for the other affair----” He left the sentence unfinished, and with one accord the three moved through the archway and into the street before resuming the conversation.

Geoffrey detected a note of uncertainty in the other’s voice, and thought he could guess the reason. Bazin was thinking that since Catherine’s disappearance had turned out a false alarm, the rest of their suspicions might prove equally groundless. He spoke decidedly:

“Whatever may be the truth about this,” he said, motioning to the slip of paper, “nothing is altered in regard to what happened last night. We had ample reason for starting an investigation, and I should think it extremely likely those servants are going to be indicted for murdering their mistress. Meanwhile, they are still at liberty. You see what I mean?”

“Perfectly, monsieur. You need have no fear; I shall not abandon watch of the house. However, there is now no need for you to sacrifice your night’s rest. You will do as you think best, naturally, but if you decide not to come this evening I shall proceed without you.”

“One thing more: do you think we ought to let the servants know we have heard from mademoiselle?”

“I shall inform them now. Undoubtedly our best purpose is served by setting their minds at rest.”

They separated, Bazin returning to carry out the intention just stated, the brother and sister setting out aimlessly in the direction of the Avenue Kléber, both wrapped in thought.

Now that Geoffrey had grown accustomed to the shock of joy, he found himself grappling with doubts and questions. The problem was only partly solved, his mind still in utter confusion. A mad impulse seized him to begin at once a tour of all the hotels in the district surrounding the Hôtel des Postes, but such a proceeding was manifestly stupid. It would be like hunting for a needle in a haystack. Presently he pulled himself together sufficiently to inquire of Elspeth where she wished to go.

“Home,” she replied. “I would have stayed the night, but now there is no need to, is there?”

“I’ll take you to the station,” he murmured mechanically, and raised his hand to stop an approaching taxi.

A little later, seated beside his sister, he leaned forward with a moody expression, chin in hands.

“I am not satisfied about this,” he declared morosely. “It has a deuced queer look.… It is not like Catherine to funk anything, yet that appears to be what she’s done. I wish to God I could go and see her now.…”

Elspeth eyed him shrewdly and with kindly impatience.

“Geoff, Geoff! Why can’t you wipe the whole thing out? If the poor child made some fearful mistake and doesn’t want us to find out----”

“You keep harping on that!” he cried, as though stung. “How do you know she did? You have only the word of a woman who’s proved herself a thief and a liar, and may be something far worse. There is only one fact we can be sure about, which is that Catherine came home and went away again.”

She sighed tolerantly.

“At any rate, Geoff, Clement didn’t take her disappearance very seriously, nor did father. Both of them thought there was some mistake about it, that she would turn up after a bit, and it seems they were right. Not that I blame you for getting frightened.”

There was nothing to say. Perhaps it was true that his infatuation had played havoc with his commonsense.

“You’re worn out,” she said suddenly. “You look absolutely finished. Promise me you’ll go straight home and get a bath and some dinner. You need both.”

Following her glance, he saw for the first time the streaks of smut upon his hands, and realized that his collar was wilted.

“You will do as I say?” she urged.

“I suppose I may as well.”

“Let me know what happens,” she added as the taxi swerved into the open space before the Gare. “And whatever you do don’t bother Catherine about this affair. Let her alone.”

She waved her hand and was gone. He remained staring after her in a daze from which the driver’s gruff voice presently roused him. Then he drew a deep breath, and with a sense of flatness and lethargy, got back into the taxi and gave his own address.