Part 39 (2/2)

Hugh looked through the window, saw the two policemen on guard, the gloomy pa.s.sage, the high frowning walls which enclosed the place, and threw himself back into the cab. He understood the truth.

Instinctively he looked round for means of escape, but saw none.

One of the detectives graciously offered to a.s.sist him to alight, but, pus.h.i.+ng the man aside impatiently, he got out. Bracing himself up against the emotion that at first overwhelmed him, he pa.s.sed into the pa.s.sage with his head erect and a gleam of a.s.surance in his eyes.

Chemerault and the man who had followed him from the hotel walked beside him. At the end of the corridor, flanked on both sides by the offices of inspectors and other officials, are the steps which lead to the office of the chief of the criminal investigation service.

”Which way shall I go?” asked Trethowen, pausing at the foot of the narrow, crooked flight, the stone of which is worn by the constant tread of detectives and criminals.

”Straight up; the door is before you on the first floor.”

Hugh mounted the steps. He understood why his companions insisted on walking behind--that their politeness was merely prudence.

They entered a large bare room occupied by a couple of clerks, and meagrely furnished with a stool, a table, and a few rush-bottomed chairs. Chemerault offered a seat to his prisoner, who sat down without uttering a word. He was convinced that it was useless to struggle, and thought only of what crime could possibly be brought against him.

The clerks regarded the advent of the party with perfect indifference.

They had seen many other well-dressed young men in a similar predicament, and after a casual glance at the prisoner continued their writing.

The detective asked them if the chief was in, and on their answering affirmatively, he went into an anteroom separating the outer one from the private office of the head of the department, and, after tapping at the door, entered.

Ten minutes later he emerged from the private room, and, after giving some instructions to the clerks, ordered the prisoner to accompany him into the presence of the chief.

During the brief interval which elapsed between the detective's exit and the prisoner's entry, the director of criminal investigations prepared himself for the interrogation. In the first examination, the advantage always lies with the examiner. The accused is unaware what mode of attack his interrogator is adopting, and cannot guess what points his replies are required to prove. The one is cool and calculating, the other confused, embarra.s.sed, and dreading lest he should make any reply that may tell against him. The combat is by no means equal.

The chief, after reflection, looked steadily at the photograph which Chemerault had handed to him, then taking a bundle of blue papers from a pigeonhole at his elbow, untied the tape which bound them, and spread them out before him.

Just as he had done this the door opened and Hugh Trethowen advanced, conducted by the detectives.

”You may be seated, m'sieur,” said the director of criminal investigations politely.

Hugh bowed stiffly, took the chair, and, striving to appear calm, waited to be questioned.

The chief did not commence at once. He always delayed his questions for a few moments in order to ascertain the sort of man with whom he had to deal. He looked at the prisoner and their eyes met. The doubts he had entertained with regard to the photograph were instantly removed. With that special memory for faces which an expert engaged in the investigation of crime acquires by long practice, he recognised the features of the accused, and in a moment decided how he should examine him and the princ.i.p.al points for confirmation.

Late that afternoon Monsieur Chemerault called at the bureau of the Hotel Continental, and inquired for Madame Trethowen, saying that he had a note to deliver to her.

”Trethowen,” repeated the clerk, looking through the book before him.

”Ah, yes; Number 213. Left morning with her maid.”

”Gone!”

”Yes. Madame's husband went out about eleven, she being already out.

Almost as soon as he had gone, however, madame returned, paid the bill, and left, giving me this note for her husband when he came back.”

”Perhaps it contains her address,” remarked the detective, glancing at the superscription. ”I'll see.” Opening it, he found to his dismay that it contained only a blank sheet of paper.

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