Part 39 (1/2)
”None whatever.”
”In that case we'll arrest him at once. He won't elude us this time.”
The clerk had brought the formidable leather-bound volume and placed it upon a table, with the usual injunction that no extracts were allowed to be cut from it. Hugh was bending over it excitedly, and turning the pages to find the issue of 10th May, when he heard a voice behind him inquire--
”M'sieur Trethowen, I believe?”
Lifting his head in surprise, he faced his interrogator. ”Yes,” he replied in French, ”that's my name, although I have not the pleasure of knowing yours, m'sieur.”
”It scarcely will be a pleasure,” the man replied, grinning sardonically. ”I'm Paul Chemerault of the Detective Department, and I hold a warrant for your arrest,” he added, producing a folded paper from his overcoat pocket.
”My arrest!” cried Trethowen incredulously. ”What for, pray?”
He glanced in dismay at the two other men, who had now stepped up, and stood on either side of him.
”If m'sieur will come with us to the Bureau the charge will be explained. It is scarcely necessary to read it here and create a scene, is it?”
”I am an Englishman. By what right do you arrest me when I have committed no offence?” Hugh asked indignantly.
”That you are English we are aware, and also that you live at Coombe Hall, in the county of Cornwall. But as to your innocence--”
The man shrugged his shoulders significantly, and left his sentence unfinished.
”Of what offence am I guilty? Why, I've only been in Paris a few days.”
”We know that. You arrived with madame, and have since stayed at the Hotel Continental.”
”Tell me what suspicions you have against me, and I shall be pleased to accompany you and make all necessary explanations.”
Turning to the clerk the detective said, with a sarcastic smile--
”M'sieur will not require to use the volume now.”
”Will you tell me of what I am accused?” asked Trethowen warmly.
”No; you will hear it read at the Bureau. Come, let us be going. We are attracting attention.”
”I do not see why I should,” argued Hugh angrily. ”Take care, young fellow,” said the detective, without getting at all excited; ”you are spoiling your affair.” This reply fell like cold water on Trethowen's anger. ”We have a cab outside,” continued the officer, ”and we will drive to the Commissary's. You will calm yourself there. He'll soon settle the business, for he's a good-natured man. Come along.”
Hugh made no reply to these exhortations. He saw that a cab was waiting outside, and that escape was impossible, therefore he accompanied the men and entered the vehicle. As they drove through the streets he remained in sullen silence, watching the festive aspect of the thoroughfares as they drove along. It was one of those dry winter mornings when the rich leave their chimney corners and walk towards the Champs Elysees to see if spring is coming, and to gain an appet.i.te, while fas.h.i.+onable women, trip here and there, with their high heels beating an even tattoo on the dry sidewalks, and loiter before the milliners' windows--when the populace rejoice at breathing a balmy atmosphere and at not having to splash through mud. On such days as these there is joy in the air, and the panorama of the French capital, as seen from the quays, is truly a marvellous one.
Hugh Trethowen was amazed, puzzled to ascertain the meaning of this extraordinary arrest. Scarcely a word had been spoken since they started, but the detective, Chemerault, who sat opposite, very attentively examined the prisoner's features, as if trying to read the depths of his soul. Hugh noticed this inquisitorial look, and turned his head towards the window in the vehicle in a movement expressive of resentment.
They had covered the long line of quays at a slow, jogging pace, crossed the Pont Neuf, followed the Quai de l'Horloge, and turning off to the right, and pa.s.sing a large gateway, stopped before a narrow pa.s.sage.
”Here we are, m'sieur,” said the chief detective, opening the door and springing out.
”You said that you would take me to the Commissary,” exclaimed Trethowen, aroused from his reflections.
”It is all the same,” replied the detective; ”we are here, at the Prefecture of Police.”