Part 17 (1/2)
Pierre Rouillier, however, acted in a manner that was even more strange.
Without emerging into the street, he pa.s.sed quickly along the subway leading to the Chatham and Dover station. Gaining the platform, he glanced up at the great clock. It was twenty-six minutes past eight.
Without hesitation he went to the cloakroom, and, producing a ticket, was handed a large valise, a rug, and a thick long ulster of dark tweed.
Divesting himself of the light coat he wore, he donned the garment, then, beckoning a porter to carry his bag, went to the booking-office and purchased a ticket for Brussels.
”Just in time for the Continental train, am I not?” he asked of the man.
”Yes, sir; she leaves at eight-thirty, sharp. This way, please.”
They hurried together to where the train stood, and the man, after depositing the valise under the seat of an empty first-cla.s.s compartment, received his tip and withdrew.
Pierre then entered, but before he had time to arrange his belongings and comfortably ensconce himself the guard slammed the door, and the train glided away on its journey to the sea.
Another had been added to the long list of London mysteries.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
”A CROOKED BIT OF BUSINESS.”
Mr. Bernard Graham was sitting in his gloomy office in Devereux Court one afternoon a few days later.
His elbows rested upon his littered writing-table, his pince-nez poised upon his thin nose, and he was absorbed in the technicalities of a doc.u.ment when his lad entered with a card.
”I'll see him in one moment,” he exclaimed, glancing at the card, and the youth withdrew.
Leaning back in his chair his face a.s.sumed a heavy, thoughtful expression.
”It's a crooked bit of business at best,” he said, aloud to himself, ”but the money is bequeathed in legal form, duly signed and witnessed; therefore, as far as I can see, n.o.body can prove to the contrary. I was rather apprehensive of the results, but, there--I suppose it was merely an absurd fancy.”
He touched the gong beside him, and almost immediately Victor Berard, his face wreathed in smiles and wearing a gardenia in his coat, was ushered in.
”So the preliminaries have been carried out satisfactorily,” exclaimed the solicitor, as he motioned his client to a seat opposite him.
”Yes--so far,” he answered in excellent English.
”Ah! I read the account in the papers, and saw at once you had had a hand in the matter.”
”Your shrewdness scarcely astonishes me, _mon copain_,” replied Victor, with a laugh, ”especially when you knew that our exchequer was almost at vanis.h.i.+ng point, and that we had decided on repeating the little ruse that has proved so remunerative formerly. We have worked _a coup perdu_, and, of course, all in the interest of the grand scheme.”
”On this occasion there was no hitch, I suppose?”
”None. There is not even a shadow of suspicion,” he replied, dropping into a whisper. ”The body, when discovered upon the rails half an hour after we had left the train, was scarcely recognisable. The post-mortem revealed that the dead man had been drinking heavily, and the intelligent jury have this morning returned a verdict of accidental death. Here's the _Globe_--just out. Read for yourself.”
He spoke between the whiffs of a cigarette, which he held daintily between his fingers.
”Most satisfactory. His death is believed to have been due to a fall from the carriage. But the identification? You have not told me,”
asked Graham anxiously.
”He was identified by the papers upon him; therefore now the verdict has been given, you will wait, say, a week, so as not to appear in too great a hurry, then proceed to act as before.”
The other nodded, and removed his eyegla.s.ses. His face preserved its keen craftiness.