Part 5 (1/2)

Mr. Hodgman turned to the door with an impatient frown. ”Nothing here,”

he growled, and was about to leave the room.

”Nothing much,” said Duvall, glancing carelessly at the wooden edge of the bureau. ”This woman, Mary Lanahan, is evidently an up-to-date sort of person.”

Hodgman paused. ”Why do you say that?” he asked.

”Smokes cigarettes, I see.”

”That so. How do you know?”

Duvall smiled. ”Too simple even to mention, Mr. Hodgman. See those burns on the varnish?” He pointed to a number of spots along the edge of the dresser. ”Always find them somewhere about, where there's a cigarette smoker.” He gazed out of the window for a moment. ”Rooms tell a great deal about the personality of the people who have occupied them. For instance, I've never seen this Lanahan girl, but I know that she's not over five feet four, that she has light hair, that she reads in bed, that she writes with a stub pen, and that she's a Roman Catholic.

Furthermore, she is left handed, inclined to be vain, wears her hair in waves, or curls, in front, is fond of the theater, and has a long narrow scar on the palm of her left hand.”

He chuckled quietly, as he saw Mr. Hodgman's look of amazement. ”All very simple--quite elementary, in fact. I won't even bother to tell you how I know--just little things here and there about the room. Here's one of them,” he said, as he picked up a rusty pen point from the desk.

”That shows she uses a stub, of course; but the way the point is worn also proves that she's left handed. And here's another.” He pointed to the electric bulb which hung over the head of the bed. ”n.o.body would use that light, except to read by in bed. The others in the room are more than sufficient for purposes of illumination. Yet the lamp has been used continuously, as its condition shows. See how blackened the gla.s.s is--and notice also how the white enamel of the back of the bed is worn off, just under the lamp. That's from propping a pillow against it, night after night.” He turned toward the door. ”Of course, those things aren't of any value, probably, in this case; but I can't help noticing them. Force of habit, I suppose.”

When Duvall arrived at the Stapleton house on Sat.u.r.day morning, he found the banker somewhat disturbed by a cablegram he had just received. ”Mary claims attempts made to poison her. Will recover. Come at once,” it read.

The detective appeared to be somewhat astonished, on reading the cablegram. ”Looks as though somebody was afraid she might be going to talk,” he remarked. ”The sooner we arrive in Paris, now, the better.”

CHAPTER III

Grace Duvall's first inclination, on finding herself en route for Europe, without her husband, was to send him a wireless, advising him of her movements. Then she decided, for several reasons, not to do so.

Chief among these was the fear that such a startling piece of news would be likely to cause him a great deal of unnecessary anxiety. She knew that she could never hope to explain matters, within the limits of a marconigram. And then, too, it was highly inadvisable, she knew, to mention in a wireless message the real reason which had caused her to leave home.

So she decided to make the best of the matter, realizing that within a few days, she would see Richard in Paris, and explain everything to his satisfaction.

Immediately on reaching Paris, she drove to the office of the Prefect of Police, and sent in her card to Monsieur Lefevre. She thought it possible that he would expect her, as his agent in Was.h.i.+ngton would no doubt have communicated with him. Nor was she mistaken.

He rushed into the anteroom as soon as he received her card, and embraced her with true Gallic fervor, kissing her on both cheeks until she blushed. Then he drew her into his private office.

”Where is your husband?” he asked, eagerly, as soon as Grace was seated.

”I--I do not know. Probably on his way to Paris.”

”But--my dear child! Did he not then come with you?”

”No. He--he had other business.”

”Other business! But I understood that he had temporarily retired.” The Prefect seemed greatly astonished.

”So he had; but an old friend, Mr. Stapleton”--

Lefevre did not allow her to finish. ”Stapleton!” he fairly shouted. ”He is employed by him? Mon Dieu!”

”Why not?” asked Grace in surprise.