Part 38 (1/2)

Half an hour later Ruxton was addressing himself to the black-haired, sallow-faced Va.s.silitz, who was urbanity itself in the face of the chief of the Wednesford police.

His story was exactly the same as he had told to the plain-clothes man, and no amount of cross-examination could elicit the smallest shadow of contradiction.

Madame was frequently in the habit of going away suddenly and remaining away indefinite periods. But usually she used her own car, and rarely took her maid. Sometimes she said when she would be back; sometimes not. On this occasion she did not. No, she was unaccompanied except for her maid, Francella, Va.s.silitz's own sister. And she, Francella, had given him no information. Madame was very secret in her movements.

Doubtless madame would return in due course, as she had always done. He hoped no accident had happened. He was devoted to madame, whom he had known all his life.

Even the matter of letters in no way disconcerted him. They were all there on the hall table. But he appealed to the chief of police for authority to show them.

The chief a.s.sumed the responsibility, and they were produced.

They were examined carefully, and all but one telegram were duly handed back to the butler. The telegram was sequestered by the officer, but remained unopened.

There was nothing more to be gained from Va.s.silitz, and the car rolled away. And as they went, Ruxton, in an agony of painful conviction, gazed sombrely back at the beautiful old Elizabethan structure in its perfect setting, which was the home of the woman he loved.

He was aroused from his despairing contemplation by the voice of the officer beside him.

”There's trickery afoot, sir,” he said emphatically, ”and I'll lay a month's salary that black-haired Va.s.silitz is in it.”

Ruxton turned sharply.

”What makes you so convinced?” he enquired thickly.

”Why, the letters. Every one of 'em has been opened. So has this telegram. Didn't you twig it, sir?”

Ruxton confessed his oversight, and the officer beamed pleasant satisfaction.

”That's where experience comes in, sir,” he went on. ”There never was a system of opening letters that couldn't be detected by those who know.

I've made a study of it. Those letters have all been opened--all of 'em. What about this telegram, sir?”

”If it's mine, then the Princess has not left of her own free will. I'm afraid it's mine.”

”Princess, sir?”

”Yes. She's the Princess von Hertzwohl!”

The officer's face had become a study. He was impressed more deeply than ever.

”Er--shall I open it, sir?” he hesitated.

Ruxton nodded.

”You may as well.”

The man tore it open and glanced at the contents. A flush spread over his already florid cheeks.

”It's yours, sir,” he said. Then he added in a low tone: ”I'm--I'm sorry, sir.”