Hugger-Mugger in the Louvre (34 page)

“The thief,” said Evans, “left the painting, well wrapped, behind the bar of the Bal des Vêtements Brulés,
rue
Cardinal Lemoine. There The Singe—I may as well call him that, since the Chief has already let slip his name—there The Singe was to garner the masterpiece and dangle it over the Marquis' head, in a figurative way. That was never accomplished. The Singe, true to his oral contract, seized Professor de la Poussière . . .”

Madame de la Poussière only smiled, and accepted another nip from Hjalmar's bottle. “Go easy, my dear. The case is not yet over,” the professor counseled,
sotto voce.

“However, The Singe was too bright to shed human blood without the security in his hand, so he delayed the execution of his prisoner, and meanwhile two things happened that were embarrassing for him, one of which the Chief prefers I should not make public. The second was the discovery of the body of the Marquis de la Rose d'Antan in Tout-or-Nada's mummy case, wrapped in Alsatian linen and rather clumsily embalmed . . .”

“No sesquicarbonate of sodium, or very little,” said Lazare. “Won't last five hundred years.”

“Now,” said Evans. “I shall explain why, instead of a stray corpse acquired by purchase, the body of the Marquis was found in the Louvre. Also why the plans of Xerxes, The Singe, and all others involved went wrong. Xerxes, in search of a body to fill the void in Tout-or-Nada's mummy case, drove his roadster to Luneville . . .”

“The heel,” said Mathilde. “I'll bet he took along a chippy.”

“On the way he stopped near Mantes to buy a couple of sacks of asphalt from a barge called the ‘Poor but Honest'.”

The Chief, Schlumberger and Bonnet were all on their feet and each had pulled out a gleaming pair of handcuffs. But before they could advance on the sweating Armenian, Evans begged them to desist.

“Arriving at the delightful sanitorium, that is, delightful from certain points of view, Xerxes found that Dr. Truc was in Paris but upon questioning Gus, our uncommunicative member who is proving himself no Houdini, he was told that a body was handy and that Gus would turn it over at a reduced price if Xerxes would not tell the doctor about the transaction.”

That was too much for Dr. Truc. Rising and glaring at Gus, he pointed his finger scornfully and said: “You crook. You ungrateful lout.”

“You see. I didn't kill him,” wailed Xerxes.

“I have never said you did,” Homer admitted. “When you got the body as far as your warehouse and laid it out on a slab, preparatory to embalming, you got the shock of your life. You were too frightened to do your best reasoning, so you embalmed your partner in crime, rolled him in Alsatian bandages purchased from a doodlesack collector, hid him in the Louvre, to which you carried keys, and tried to look busy in your high-class store.”

The trio of officers, with the handcuffs ready, started in Gus's direction, and the tied-up bruiser began to roar his innocence in French and Finnish. Again the Chief and his sergeants got the stop signal from the chairman
pro tem.
That only served to deflect them toward Dr. Balthazar Truc who tried to run and was prevented by Dr. Toudoux.

“I have broken no laws,” Dr. Truc insisted. “I have kept the letter of each and every statute. I invoke my rights under common law, the constitution . . . Maitre Ronron. Explain what I mean . . .”

“I must insist that order be preserved, even by the police,” Evans said. “We are now approaching the most painful moment on this session. I must tell you how the Marquis met his death.”

The men and women seated with their backs to the walls gave a gasp of horror as the Marchioness rose deliberately to her feet. She looked haughtily around the room, inclined her head to the chairman as if in forgiveness, and turning toward the officers, extended her hands, palms downward, in a gesture of resignation.

“I am ready,” she said, without faltering, and only winced when Hélène de la Poussière crashed from her chair, this time out for the count.

The assembly was electrified by a flash of color as Hydrangea, dark eyes smouldering, threw herself in the path of the advancing Frémont.

“Bertram,” said Hydrangea, her atavistic sense of the dramatic bringing her for the moment to the level of a Duse, “Bertram, if you lay one han' on this poor highborn lady, I takes the first bateau, and that means all is off between you and me and from henceforth until hell freezes over we'll be absent one from another.”

The agony of Frémont's face was piteous to behold. “But, my dear. She's confessed,” he said.

“You hoi' your horses till Mistah Evans done gets through,” the aroused ex-Blackbird said. “An' remember my final ultimatum.”

Every one had arisen and their faces showed such approval of Hydrangea's stand that Evans found it difficult to restore quiet again. Through it all the Marchioness had not changed her position. Her wrists were still extended, without a tremor. Her eyes were steady and calm.

“I am ready,” she repeated. “Why trouble yourself with further details?”

“Madame, please be seated,” Evans said, stepping down to escort her back to her chair. “I hope you understand how painful this has been to me.”

“I understand,” said the Marchioness, softly.

“I'm sorry,” said Evans, when he regained the platform. “In order to make you all understand what has happened, I must touch upon matters that I should much prefer to conceal.” Miriam, just below him, was limp with grief and disappointment. In fact, there was scarcely a dry eye in the room. “Madame de la Rose d'Antan was railroaded here by her husband and held prisoner five years in defiance of all justice by Dr. Balthazar Truc. And if Dr. Truc wishes to leave this room alive . . .” Evans' voice was like cold steel and Miriam sat straight up in her chair again. “If this jackal of science does not wish to feel the force of the indignation now suppressed by the men here present, I should advise him to sit quietly where he is and not to quote statutes or precedents.

“This woman, this martyr,” Evans continued, “was denied proper food, subjected to unnecessary nervous strain, kept in contact with dangerous lunatics, and even prevented from obtaining proper clothes. The Marquis purposely and cleverly did everything to break down her mind and spirit, and in this he was abetted by the proprietor of this nefarious establishment. In the course of the five years, the Marquis visited his imprisoned wife only once, and that, ladies and gentlemen, was last Saturday. He had a double purpose in making the call, first to establish an alibi and second, to borrow his wife's jewelry, the only possession he had left to her. When she saw him standing before her, the Marchioness calmly reached for a hat pin and pierced his heart. She was intending to inform the authorities and confess when Gus blundered along and she saw an unexpected opening. She knew Gus would do anything for money, so she stripped off her valuable rings and offered them to him if he would dispose of the body quietly. That is all. You know the rest.”

“You haven't told us how Lazare happened to have a jar full of the Marquis' tripes in his shop,” said Schlumberger, crest-fallen but tenacious.

“Oh, those. If you'd have looked closer you would have found two more sets of pickled human interiors.”

“The devil!” the Alsatian exclaimed.

“Indeed!” said Lazare, surprised.

“Xerxes, always nervous about the relics in his warehouse, got an inspiration one day when he was in Monsieur Lazare's shop to buy a stuffed cat for Mme. Dubonnet.”

“Mimi!” said Mathilde. “She's mine. That fresh ghoul will get nothing back ...”

“Please,” said Evans. “Questions of property will be discussed later. I was saying that Xerxes noticed several shelves on which were rows of jars and various innards of animals in alcohol . . . interesting bits Lazare had found in the course of his work . . . things of scientific value. When Xerxes found himself in possession of the parts of the Marquis, he did some heavy thinking. Then he went to Lazare's shop and bought a chimpanzee . . .”

“But why a chimpanzee?” asked Frémont.

“The chimp, as Xerxes knew, was in a corner of the back room where Lazare could not get at him in less than ten minutes of effort. While Lazare extricated the mounted ape, Xerxes reverted to the pursuits of his younger days and took a wax impression of the padlock, so that he could have keys made. The
place
St. André des Arts is not frequented at night, so Xerxes was able to enter and leave
An Sens de Mesur
at will, and on each visit he left a jar of incriminating evidence behind him. Lazare, who has not had occasion to move the jars for many years, quite naturally did not notice that new objects were finding their way into them.”

“I must clean the place thoroughly some day, but I dread it,” the taxidermist said, and sighed.

Evans turned kindly toward the Marchioness de la Rose d'Antan.

“It must be a comfort to you,” he said, “that in ending the life of one despicable man you saved that of another who is worthy, indeed. For had not the Marquis ceased to be, The Singe would have felt bound to do away with Professor de la Poussière. As it was, the professor's life was spared and our Chief of Detectives, Frémont, found a most unusual and ingenious way to reach his side. Of course, after that he was safe and sound.”

A cheer rose for Frémont, whose face turned suddenly red, then mauve. He tried to object, but Evans gave him no opportunity. The credit for the rescue was to go to Frémont. That had been agreed.

“Well, I'm waiting,” said the Marchioness, and again held forth her hands for the harsh metal cuffs.

An agonized groan arose from the whole assembly. Hydrangea reassumed her defiant and protective pose. Miriam abandoned her post and, sobbing, hurried to the Marchioness' side, as also did Hélène de la Poussière and Mathilde Dubonnet. The four women, three white and one colored, forming a weeping barricade.

The face of Chief of Detectives Frémont changed from red to pale green. “I have sworn to do my duty, God help me, and I shall,” he said at last.

T
HERE
is no telling what might have happened had not Maitre François Ronron, when events had reached the impasse described at the conclusion of the preceding chapter, stepped deliberately to the platform. The distinguished attorney cleared his throat, which in the tense silence sounded like a snow slide on Mount Blanc, took his glasses from their case and waved them gently to and fro.

“Mr. Chairman, Madame la Marchioness, ladies and gentlemen,” the lawyer said. “Mr. Evans, in commenting on the laws of God and man, made a remark which might have been interpreted as derogatory toward the latter. I will admit that in many instances, man-made law, which has to cover many situations obviously not foreseen by the Deity when He framed the Commandments, leaves loopholes for injustices but it has its uses just the same, and in the case before us, if the chairman will permit me, I should like to point out how our statutes may be put to an excellent use.”

“By all means,” Evans said.

“I shall make my point at once, then elaborate, if any of those present wish to ask questions,” Maitre Ronron said. “The courts of France, however wisely, have, on recommendation of two licensed physicians and a near relative, and after hearing the evidence, declared that Madame de la Rose d'Antan is of unsound mind and therefore is in no way responsible for her actions. Need I say more? Put up your handcuffs, if you please, Monsieur Frémont, and request your subordinates to do the same with theirs. The Marchioness is at perfect liberty to go back to her room whenever she wishes, and may sleep peacefully tonight in the knowledge that she is safe from prosecution.”

Such a lusty cheer arose that the beaming attorney was obliged to pause, Hjalmar and Kvek raised K. Parker Seldon to their shoulders and began to parade around the room. Tom Jackson danced a buck and wing in which he was outdone by Melchisadek. Hydrangea shouted “Praise the Lord Jehovah,” while Hélène de la Poussière fainted for the fourth time and was carried to a divan by the exultant Miriam and Mathilde Dubonnet. When the demonstration subsided, after Homer had earnestly requested silence, the Chief approached the platform for a whispered consultation, shooting dark looks at Dr. Balthazar Truc.

“I regret to say,” continued Maitre Ronron, “that as matters now stand, there seem to be no legal grounds on which the police, without a judicial inquiry, can arrest the proprietor of this establishment. Legally, the unfortunate people between these gruesome walls have been given into his care, for such treatment as in his judgment he sees fit to mete out. If he decided, for instance, that the Marchioness de la Rose d'Antan is better off in old-fashioned clothes, he has the authority to withhold the creations of Maggy R . . .”

“Rouff,” prompted Evans.

“Of Maggy Rouff, so kindly sent her by Madame de la Poussière. That is merely an example of the scope of the powers the law has put into the hands of men of science, who take an oath the very thought of which must make a man shudder who flagrantly abuses his prerogatives.”

“You mean we can't pinch Truc?” asked Frémont, indignantly.

“Not tonight, at any rate,” the lawyer said. “We have just seen how the laws of man, if carelessly framed, may work one moment in a benevolent manner and the next provide a refuge for a scoundrel.”

“It's very simple,” said Dr. Hyacinthe Toudoux, reaching for the foils again. “Let me run him through. I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, that I would perform that salutary act with the keenest pleasure, and accept whatever consequences might follow, legal or otherwise.” He bowed to the Marchioness who acknowledged his salutation with a gracious nod of her head and a glance of warm approval in her eyes.

The lawyer turned to Evans. “Let us keep within bounds,” he said. “There is much to be done. Tomorrow I shall, with the permission of Dr. Toudoux, and any other physician he may select, enter a petition in behalf of the Marchioness. No one here doubts that her sanity and probity can be established before any court in the land, without delay.”