Part 33 (1/2)

Crewe again examined the articles in silence before taking them to his secretaire and locking them up in one of the pigeon-holes. Then he turned to Gabrielle, whose large luminous eyes met his unhesitatingly. She even smiled slightly--a frank engaging smile, as she remarked:

”And now, monsieur, any more questions?”

Crewe smiled back at her.

”You have told a remarkable story, mademoiselle, and corroborated it with two important pieces of evidence, which are in themselves almost sufficient to carry conviction,” he said. ”But the Scotland Yard police are a suspicious lot, and it is necessary for me to have further information in order to convince them--if I am to help you as you wish.”

Gabrielle flashed a look of grat.i.tude at Crewe. She understood from his words that he believed her story and was disposed to help her, although the police of Scotland Yard might prove harder to convince than him.

”Bah! those police agents--they are the same everywhere,” she exclaimed.

”They deal so much with crime that their minds get the taint, and between the false and true they cannot tell the difference. _Que voulez-vous?_ They are but small in brains. With you, the case is different. You have it here--and there.” She touched her temples lightly with a finger of each hand. ”Proceed, monsieur: ask me what questions you will. I shall endeavour to answer them.”

”You said that as you were hiding behind the curtains on the stairway landing, Pierre, your husband, rushed down past you. You are quite sure it was he?”

”Of that, monsieur, unfortunately there is no doubt. I saw his face quite distinctly when he pa.s.sed me, and when he turned round.”

”The light would be s.h.i.+ning from behind, and would not reveal his face very closely,” suggested Crewe.

”Nevertheless, monsieur, it was quite sufficient for me to see Pierre clearly. His head was half-turned as he ran, as though he was looking back expecting to see the judge rise up and punish him for his dreadful deed, and I saw him _en silhouette_, oh, most distinctly--impossible him to mistake. I called softly--'Pierre!' just like that, and he turned his face right round, and then with a cry he disappeared along the path.”

”About what time was this?”

”The time--it was half-past ten, for that was the time I was to be there according to the letter the judge sent me.”

”But are you sure it was half-past ten? Weren't you early? Wasn't it just about ten o'clock?”

”No, monsieur,” she replied sadly. ”If it had been ten o'clock I would have been in time to save the life of my lover--to prevent this great tragedy which brings grief to so many.”

Crewe looked at her sharply, and then nodded his head in acquiescence of the fact that much misery would have been averted if she had been in time to save the life of Sir Horace Fewbanks.

”When you went into the room, Sir Horace Fewbanks, you say, was lying on the floor, dying. Whereabouts in the room was he?”

”If he had been in this room he would have been lying just behind you, with his head to the wall and his feet pointing towards that window. He struggled and groaned after I went in, and altered his position a little, but not much. He died so.”

Crewe rapidly reviewed his recollection of the room in which the judge had been killed. Once again Gabrielle's statement tallied with his own reconstruction of the crime and the manner of its perpetration. If the murder had been committed in his office the second bullet would have gone through the window instead of imbedding itself in the wall, and the judge would have fallen in the spot where she indicated.

”And where was the writing-desk from where you got your letters?” was Crewe's next question.

”It was over there--almost by that--your little bookcase there.”

She pointed to a small oaken bookstand which stood slightly in advance of the more imposing shelves in which reposed the portentous volumes of newspaper clippings and photographs which const.i.tuted Crewe's ”Rogues' Library.”

”Now we come to the letters. You took them from the secret drawer in the desk. Why did you remove them?”

”Because I would not have the police agents find them, for then they would want to know so much.”

”And what did you do with them?”

”Monsieur Crewe, I destroyed them. When I got home I burnt them all--I was so frightened.”