CHAPTER XIV
RICHARD DUVALL rose, the following day, with a less troubled mind than at any time since his arrival in Paris.
His calculations of the night before had brought him to a definite conclusion.
After breakfasting in the café of the hotel he returned to his room, and rang up Monsieur Lefevre.
"I want the assistance of one of your men, Monsieur," he said.
"Ah!" laughed the Prefect. "You are – what you Americans call – up a tree, is it not?"
"Not at all. You have said that there existed between us a competition, to recover Mr. Stapleton's child. I think I am going to win. But since I am not in a position to make the necessary arrests, myself, I am going to share the glory with you, my dear friend, by allowing one of your men to do so for me."
"So you are confident?"
"Reasonably so. Can you spare Vernet for the day? He is a good man."
"One of my best. You shall have him. And if you succeed, I shall still regard myself the loser, and will buy the champagne, and the dinner at the Café Royale, as I agreed."
"And I shall be most happy to do the same should I fail. Oblige me by requesting Vernet to come to my rooms at the hotel at once. Good by."
Duvall hung up the receiver, and sat down with the drawings he had made before him. He awaited the coming of Vernet with impatience.
The latter appeared in some twenty minutes.
"What can I do for you, Monsieur Duvall?" he asked.
"Good morning, Vernet. Sit down, and have a cigar. I have a little matter I wish to talk over with you."
"Concerning the missing child of Monsieur Stapleton, I understand," remarked Vernet, as he lit a cigar and drew his chair up to the table. He glanced at the drawings before him. "What are these, may I ask?"
Duvall took up his pencil. "This, Vernet, is a map of a small part of Paris. Here, as you see, is the Avenue Kleber, terminating at the Champs Élysées just in front of the Arc de Triomphe."
"I see. It is quite plain."
"Here – this black square – is Mr. Stapleton's house. From there to the arch is a matter of some six hundred yards."
"About that, I should say. What of it?"
"Wait. The black-bearded fellow – the kidnapper – who visited Mr. Stapleton last night, and escaped by the ruse of being arrested by one of his confederates, will arrive at Mr. Stapleton's house at eight o'clock tonight."
"Mon Dieu! If that is so, we have him!"
"Not so fast. We shall not interfere with him – then."
"But, Monsieur, would you let this fellow escape? It is my duty to arrest him, as soon as he puts in an appearance."
"You are mistaken, Vernet. Your duty is to do as I instruct you. Monsieur Lefevre has placed you under my orders for the day."
Vernet laughed. "That is so," he said. "What do you wish me to do?"
"The man will come to Mr. Stapleton's house at eight o'clock, and will be given a large sum of money. He has agreed, if he is not interfered with, to have the address where the boy may be found telephoned to Mr. Stapleton within half an hour."
"Ah! Then we shall follow, and get him after he has telephoned."
Duvall laughed. "We are dealing with a far shrewder man than that, Vernet. This fellow will do no telephoning."
"Then how will he let Monsieur Stapleton know?"
"That is just what I am trying to find out. Put yourself in his place. He is known – he dare not remain in Paris – he gets five hundred thousand francs to give up the child. Is it not natural to suppose that he will leave the city at once?"
"Yes. That is what I should do, in his place."
"Of course. Now I understand that the fellow will walk from Mr. Stapleton's house to the Arc de Triomphe, a distance of six hundred yards. He can do that easily in ten minutes."
"Yes."
"Once at the arch, he will stand awaiting a fast automobile, which will come along the Champs Élysées. This automobile will stop for an instant and pick him up, then proceed at high speed along the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because it will afford him the quickest and safest road out of Paris. From the arch to the Porte Dauphine is less than a mile. He can make it in five minutes. In fifteen minutes altogether then, he is outside the walls. In another fifteen minutes, he is beyond pursuit, in the country."
"But you forget, Monsieur Duvall, that he has not yet advised his confederates that all is well, and that the address of the place where the boy is hidden is to be telephoned to Mr. Stapleton."
"No, Vernet, I haven't forgotten that. In fact, I am coming to it now. Suppose you were in this fellow's place – how would you do it?"
Vernet scratched his head thoughtfully. "He might fire a pistol from the car."
"Too dangerous. The noise of the explosion would attract attention. He must work silently."
"A wave of the hand, perhaps, to someone along the street."
"Also dangerous. This fellow realizes that every possible step will be taken to capture not only himself, but his confederates. He anticipates, no doubt, that the road will be carefully watched. Why take chances, and run the risk of his confederates, at least, being arrested, when there are simpler, easier ways?"
"Such as what?"
"Do you not remember the signal, used on the Versailles road, the blue light?"
"Ah! Exactly. He will signal to some one in a house along the way."
"That would be easier and safer; but you will remember that there are no houses along the way – none, at least, in which a man of this sort could have a confederate hidden. But I should not say none. There is one, perhaps."
"Indeed, Monsieur. And what house is that?"
"Mr. Stapleton's. Look!" He drew toward him the sheet of paper. "Here," he placed the point of his pencil upon the black square which indicated the location of the banker's residence, "is the house. The north window of a room on the top floor commands a view of the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, from a point some 500 feet west of the Arc de Triomphe, to where it intersects the Avenue Malakoff. Beyond there, the view is interrupted. In fact, the trees along the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne are to some extent an obstruction; but at the crossing with the Avenue Malakoff there is a wide and uninterrupted view."
"But a confederate in Monsieur Stapleton's own house?"
"Yes. The chauffeur, François."
"You astonish me, Monsieur. We have suspected the fellow, it is true. The very room of which you speak has been searched. We found nothing. How do you know that what you say is true?"
"Never mind how I know it – now. The point is this – François, I fully believe, will be in that room, tonight, at eight o'clock, watching carefully the automobiles which pass the intersection of the Avenue Malakoff – "
"Not necessarily, Monsieur. We can easily prevent it, by placing him under arrest."
"That is exactly what we must not do. Don't you see, it is absolutely necessary, for the recovery of Mr. Stapleton's child, that the signals go through uninterrupted?"
"Of course, I had forgotten that. And these signals?"
"Naturally I cannot tell – yet. I think, however, that the automobile for which François will be looking will show a brilliant blue light, while crossing the Avenue Malakoff. That is, of course, if our friend the kidnapper gets safely away, without being pursued."
"And otherwise?"
"I think the light would be red. He can make either, very simply, by means of a powerful electric searchlight – one of these pocket affairs, you know, fitted with colored glasses."
"You interest me wonderfully, Monsieur Duvall. What next?"
"It is, of course, most important that the signal given shall be the correct one. There must be no interference whatever with this fellow's escape —up to that point."
"Ah – I begin to see. And what after that?"
"First, let us continue with François. He will, I think, return a blue signal to the man in the automobile, to show that he has seen, and understood. He has the means to do so all ready, in his room."
"And then?"
"He will make, I think, a similar signal from his south window to some one who is on watch, in the direction of Passy. This second person, who no doubt has the child in his care, will then go to a telephone, transmit the address of the house where the child is hidden, to Mr. Stapleton, and quietly depart, to join his confederate in – say – Brussels. He will run not the slightest risk of capture. If, on the other hand, that message fails to go through, the address will not be telephoned, and the child will probably be killed."
Vernet frowned grimly. "It is a remarkable plan, Monsieur. These fellows are no bunglers. I think, however, that we shall be able to stop them."
"How?"
"I will station myself at the Porte Dauphine with a fast automobile, a racer. When these fellows pass, I will follow them, and overtake them."
"An excellent idea, Vernet; but how, may I ask, will you know the car, when it passes you? There are hundreds of cars on the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, at eight o'clock in the evening."
Vernet laughed. "I confess, Monsieur, you have me there."
"Of course you might station a man at the intersection of the Avenue Malakoff and the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne; but I do not think he would be able to see the signal. By placing on the end of the searchlight a paper tube, the light would be invisible except in the direction in which it is pointed – and that, you will remember, is diagonally upward. A man on the sidewalk would not see it at all."
"Then, Monsieur, I fail to see that there is anything we can do."
"There is one thing, Vernet. You forget the answering signal, from the window."
The Frenchman looked at his companion with undisguised admiration. "Sacré!" he exclaimed. "You have a mind, Monsieur Duvall, in a thousand."
"Thanks," answered Duvall, dryly. "Now, my idea is, to have you select some point near the intersection of the two avenues, from which the window in the rear of Mr. Stapleton's house can be clearly seen. Station yourself there, tonight, with the fastest automobile you can secure. Let one man watch the window, another the vehicles passing in the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne. The moment you see the blue light, start after your man. He should be just across the intersection, on his way down the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne."
Vernet rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. "We shall get him – never fear."
"Of course," said Duvall, slowly, "all this is pure assumption on my part, based upon what I have discovered in the chauffeur's room. It may not turn out as I say, but the chances are fifty to one that it will."
"And you, Monsieur? Where will you be?"
"I shall be in the room, with François. I do not propose that he shall escape. And further – I do not know that I am correct, in my assumption regarding his signals to Passy. He may go out, and send the telephone message himself. In that case, I shall follow. Or he may, through some unforeseen accident, get the wrong signal, in which case I propose to overpower him, and give the right one. Suppose we go, now, and take a look at the intersection of the Avenue Malakoff and the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, and see what arrangements can best be made. Also, if Mr. Stapleton is out in his car, we may be able to take a few observations from his chauffeur's window." He took up his hat, lighted a cigar, and led the way to the door.
They drove to the Arc de Triomphe in a cab, and, after dismissing it, walked slowly down the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne. At the intersection with the Avenue Malakoff they stopped and gazed about carefully, although in such a way as not to attract attention. A brief inspection served to confirm all that Duvall had said. It took them some little time to locate the window in the rear of Mr. Stapleton's house; but after a time they managed to do so, and saw that it commanded an uninterrupted view of the point where they stood.
Vernet was highly satisfied, as they parted. It was deemed unnecessary for him to visit the chauffeur's room, and thereby run the risk of their being seen entering the banker's house together. Vernet departed to make his arrangements for the evening, strictly cautioned by his companion not to let Monsieur Lefevre into his secret. "It is a bet," he told Vernet. "I hope we shall succeed in winning it."
After his companion had departed, Duvall dropped in to see Mr. Stapleton. He learned that the banker was out, driving in the Bois with Mrs. Stapleton, who, overcome by anxiety and grief, had great need of the fresh air to retain her health. She was fast breaking down under the strain.
Duvall went up to have another look at the chauffeur's room. He had been unable to get a thoroughly clear idea of the view from the window, the night before, owing to the darkness.
He found everything as he had left it, – the searchlight on the dresser, the colored glass ornaments hanging from their gay ribbons. The north window overlooked with perfect clearness the intersection of the two avenues, as he and Vernet had seen them from below. The other window presented a more distant view. Nearby roofs and chimneys obstructed it in part; but between them could be seen the villas and buildings in Passy, smiling in the sunlight. The sight impressed Duvall the more strongly with the cleverness of the men he sought to arrest. Somewhere in all that maze of buildings, that wide vista of houses and trees and distant fields, Mr. Stapleton's child lay concealed, and it needed but a flash of light from this window to set him free. Passing his fingers idly along the window sill, Duvall suddenly observed two parallel scratches in the white paint, which had apparently been made with the point of a knife. He knelt down, and sighted between them. His line of vision swept clear of the nearby roofs and chimneys, toward Passy.
The detective turned from the window, a smile of satisfaction on his face, and proceeded to make a careful examination of the chauffeur's closet. It was here that he intended to lie hidden. He felt certain that, in order the better to perceive and send his signals, as well as to escape detection from below, the chauffeur would allow his room to remain unlighted.
This, Duvall reasoned, would render it easy for him to lie concealed until the signal which would insure the safe return of the lost child had been given, after which he would call upon François with precision and despatch. Should anything occur to prevent the chauffeur from giving the favorable signal, he proposed to give it himself.
The closet was close to the north window, and its door opened in such a way that Duvall saw at once that in the darkened room he could readily open it sufficiently to see all that François did, without running any serious risk of detection.
He left the house at a little after noon and stopped in at a well known restaurant on the Boulevard des Italiens for lunch. He felt very well satisfied with the course that events were taking. If only he could get through with this thing, and get back to Grace, and the farm, he would be supremely happy. He became so absorbed in his thoughts that he failed to notice a gentleman who slipped quietly into the chair opposite him, until the latter leaned over and touched his arm.
He looked up suddenly. It was Monsieur Lefevre!
CHAPTER XV
THE few seconds that elapsed while Grace Duvall stood in the deserted studio in Passy, waiting for the arrival of the person who was ascending the stairs, seemed like eternities, so crowded were they with terror.
What should she do – what, indeed, could she do? A dozen plans raced madly through her brain, confusing her, baffling her with their futility.
That the missing boy was within the sound of her voice, she knew; for even as she stood trembling at the ominous footsteps on the creaking stairs, she could hear the low troubled childish moaning, coming apparently from the very air in front of her, yet affording not the slightest clue as to the boy's whereabouts.
She glanced about the room in desperation. Nearer and nearer came the creaking footfalls on the stairs. She dared not leave the room now, and thereby meet the approaching man face to face on the landing; yet to remain where she was would result only in her being obliged to make some lame and halting excuse for her presence, and go, as soon as the man entered the room.
Even this she could not count upon. The fellow, no doubt a desperate and unscrupulous ruffian, might attack her, might detain her a prisoner until the child had been safely removed to another place, beyond all hope of discovery. All the work of the past twelve hours would come to nothing. And even should he let her go, in safety, he could not fail to suspect the reasons for her presence and warn his companions.
Clearly the only thing to do was to remain in the room, in hiding. There was but one place in which she could hope to escape instant detection – the closet. Yet even this promised but temporary safety; the man would be almost certain to open it, for some reason or other, and discover her presence.
It was her only chance, however, and she took it. Even as the footsteps of the approaching man sounded upon the landing outside, Grace flew across the room and into the closet, closing the door softly behind her. In her haste, one arm of a velveteen coat which hung upon a hook, became jammed in the door, with the result that it would not entirely close. She realized that it was too late to remedy the trouble now, and crouched back trembling with excitement.
The jamming of the door had caused it to remain slightly open, with a space half an inch broad between it and the casing. Through this, Grace could see a part of the room before her. She watched the door to the hallway intently, as it was thrown open.
The man she had seen in the pastry shop came in, several packages in his hands. These he placed upon a table, and at once began to prepare breakfast. A small alcohol lamp served for coffee, and butter, rolls, and fruit he produced from the paper bags before him. There was also a bottle of milk. Grace wondered if this was intended for the child.
The man went about his preparations silently. Grace occasionally obtained a good view of his face. He was apparently about thirty years of age, dark and swarthy. There was something familiar about his manner, his general appearance; although what it was, she could not tell. She was certain, however, that she had seen him before.
Once or twice he made a move, as though to approach the closet; but each time it was something else that claimed his attention. Once it was to get a package of cigarettes that lay upon one of the modeling stands. Grace wondered what she would have done, had he kept on toward her, and opened the closet door.
She fell to thinking, in momentary snatches, about home, and Richard. How curious it seemed for them both to be here in Paris, separated for all these days, yet so near each other! She wondered if Richard had written to her, and what he would think, not to have heard from her. Then she remembered that after all he had been in Paris but a few days – there was scarcely time for a letter to have reached him. She thought of Uncle Abe, pottering about among the flower beds, of Aunt Lucy grumbling good naturedly over her wash tubs, of Rose, singing her queer camp meeting songs in the spring twilight, of Don, and the other dogs, the chickens, and her beloved flowers, and wondered how all of them were getting along with Richard and herself both away.
Her reveries were interrupted by a sudden sound which made her start forward, tense with excitement. The man in the studio had gone for a moment beyond the line of her vision, into a corner of the room to her left. She could not see what he was doing there, and it was while waiting for him to reappear that she had fallen into her day dream.
The sound which startled her was the voice of a child, not crying, this time, but speaking clearly and distinctly. "I want to go home!" it said, in a high nervous voice. "I want to see my mamma!"
The man answered roughly, impatiently. "You can't go now. Be quiet and come and eat your breakfast."
He appeared suddenly in the line of view commanded by the crack in the door, and Grace saw that he held a small boy by one hand, and was leading him to the table. Here he placed him in a chair and set before him a glass of milk and a roll. "Hurry up now!" the man growled. "Eat your breakfast. I've got to go out."
The man's words set Grace's heart to beating with renewed quickness. If the man was going out, she would be able to escape, and take the boy with her.
She did not doubt that he was Mr. Stapleton's child. The girl's dress which he had worn on the former occasion had been removed, and in place of it he wore a suit of dark blue, somewhat dirty and worn. His face still appeared to be very dark, and his hair, which had formerly been long and curly, was cropped close to his head. He appeared to be well, but very nervous. Grace watched him eagerly as he devoured the roll and milk.
When he had finished, the man took him by the hand and again led him to the corner of the room beyond Grace's sight. She strained her face against the opening in the door, striving in vain to see what he was doing; but it was useless.
She heard the boy begin to object, begging the man in a querulous voice to let him go out and play. His captor, however, silenced him with a sharp word, accompanied by a blow. "Get in there, and keep quiet!" Grace heard him say, and after that all was silent. A moment later the man reappeared, put on his hat, and, going out, locked the door carefully behind him. Grace wondered if the maid had told him of her call, and thereby roused his suspicions.
She waited until she heard the front door close, and then, emerging quickly from the closet, went toward the side of the room to which the man had gone with the child.
At first sight, there appeared to be no place where the latter could have been hidden. The two walls were of gray-tinted plaster, cracked and stained with age. There was a rickety chair and a battered plaster figure of a centaur, against which leaned an easel and a mass of sketches, covered with cobwebs and dust.
With extreme care, she examined the walls and floor. It seemed most likely that some trapdoor existed, affording an entrance to a secret closet in which the boy had been placed. A few moments' effort showed no traces whatever of such a hiding place. The floor was of planks, covered with dust, and the cracks between the boards were filled with dirt and showed nowhere evidences of having been recently moved. The walls she sounded gently with the handle of a modeling tool which she snatched up from the table; but they gave forth a uniformly solid sound.
She stood, surveying the place in perplexity. Then a sudden thought occurred to her. The ceiling! It swept low down, at the corner of the room, and above it she knew there must be an attic. She went over and began to examine the dusty plaster surface with minute care.
A sound of footsteps upon the stairs sent her scurrying back into the closet. She wondered why the man had returned so soon. Greatly to her surprise, she saw, as soon as the door opened, that the newcomer was not the one who had left her a short time before, but an older man, more heavily built. As he turned and glanced toward the side of the room where she was hidden, she saw that he wore a heavy black beard. It was the kidnapper himself – the man whom she had seen at Mr. Stapleton's house the night before!
He appeared to be annoyed, at not finding anyone in the studio, and after a moment sat down and lighting a cigar, began to read a newspaper which he drew from his pocket.
Grace watched him intently, hardly daring to breathe for fear he might hear her. An hour passed, and the air in the closet became close and hot. She felt so nervous that she could have screamed, when the door of the room suddenly opened and Durand appeared.
The two greeted each other with a nod. "Where have you been?" the older man demanded, somewhat angrily.
"I had to get a new battery." He took a short black cylinder from his pocket and laid it on the table.
"Is the boy here?"
"Yes."
"Good! Now listen to your instructions." He lowered his voice, glancing swiftly toward the closed door of the room. "At eight o'clock I shall go to the banker's house and get the money. At eight fifteen, or a little before, François will get his signal and repeat to you. If he flashes the blue light, you will release the boy, leave the room, lock the door, and go at once to the Place du Trocadero. From the little tobacco shop you will telephone the address of this place – No. 42, isn't it? – to Monsieur Stapleton. That will be about half past eight. Do not telephone before that. Then wait for me in front of the shop. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly. And if I get the red signal?"
"In that event, do not release the boy, but lock the door and come to the tobacco shop, as before. I will communicate with you there. Old Martelle is perfectly safe. But I do not think there will be any trouble. You will get the blue light."
"You seem sure."
"I am. This man Stapleton is not going to take any more chances. Once I am in the automobile, I am safe."
"They could arrest you while you are walking to the Arc de Triomphe, after leaving the house."
"That is true; but what would they gain. They would not get the boy, would they? And they have no evidence to show that I stole him. Further, François reports this morning that he overheard Stapleton and his wife talking. There is to be no interference – at least not until I get away in the machine. They will follow me, of course. I fully expect it. But you know the steps I have taken to take care of that game." He laughed grimly. "No – no – the thing is absolutely safe. We will get away without the least trouble."
"Nevertheless, if anything goes wrong, and I do not get the red signal, what shall we do then?"
"We'll talk that over, when the time comes. You meet me at Martelle's."
"But suppose you can't be there? They might get you, you know."
The man with the beard frowned darkly, and an evil expression came over his face. "If you get the red signal, and I do not meet you at Martelle's at half past eight, come back here, get the boy, and take him to Lavillac. And before you do so, cut off his left hand, and send it to Stapleton with a letter telling him that if I am not set free at once, you will send his head. That will bring them to terms."
Grace shuddered as she heard the man's words.
His companion nodded. "I understand," he said. "But I hope it won't be necessary."
"It won't. They can't get me. I've planned too carefully. That American detective, Duvall, is a joke. He was out on the Boulevard du Bois de Boulogne this morning with one of the Prefect's men. They are figuring to have an automobile at the Avenue Malakoff and follow me." He laughed loudly. "Much good that will do them!"
"How about François?"
"Oh – in a week or two, after we are safely away, François will sprain his wrist, and be forced to give up his position as Monsieur Stapleton's chauffeur. He will join us in New York."
The younger man puffed meditatively at his cigarette. "What's become of that woman Lefevre had snooping around? Seen anything of her, since last night?"
"No. She hasn't been about. Not much danger of her finding out anything."
The other rubbed his chin, in deep thought. "She nearly got you, last night," he presently remarked.
"Oh, no. Not a chance. I knew she was in the house, and I figured she would telephone to headquarters as soon as she learned who I was. All I had to do was to signal you, through the window, and the thing was done. Of course I didn't expect the Prefect's man to get there quite as soon as he did; but you handled him all right." As he spoke, the man rose, went to a small mirror that hung on the wall, and carefully removed the black beard which was so distinguishing a feature of his appearance.
"Pretty hot, this thing," he announced, as he threw it on the table. "Got anything to drink about? I'm thirsty."
Grace saw, as he turned toward her, that he bore a striking resemblance to the masked man who had given her the first message to Mr. Stapleton, in the room of the house on the road to Versailles. She trembled as she heard him ask for the drink. Suppose the bottle should be in the closet? She shrunk back in terror as the younger man rose and started toward her.
Her alarm was needless, however. The fellow drew open one of the drawers of a small dresser that stood on the opposite side of the room, and took out a light green bottle. "Absinthe?" he inquired.
"All right. One won't do any harm. Don't take any more, though." He began to pour out the drink into a glass which stood upon the table. "When you get the signal from François," he went on, "you are to answer it, as usual, so he'll know you've seen him. He doesn't want to stay in his room very long – for fear he might be missed."
"They suspect him, of course."
"Yes. He's being watched right along; when he's out of the house, that is. They've searched his room, and all that; but they haven't found anything." He chuckled, and began to sip his drink. "Nothing to find."
The other man sat down at the table, and the two began talking over their plans of escape. Grace could not hear all they said; but, as nearly as she could gather, they intended, as soon as the younger man had joined the other, to run for Brussels in the automobile. Near the frontier they would leave the machine, change their disguises, and cross the frontier on foot. Once in Belgium, they seemed to think they would be quite safe.
It was along toward noon when the older man readjusted his disguise and left the house. "I'm going to get something to eat," he announced. "I won't be back. You'd better not leave the place again. I'll send you in something, if you like." He glanced at the rolls and milk on the table.
"It won't be necessary. I've got all I need. Guess I'll take a nap this afternoon. Well, good luck," he concluded, as the other started toward the door. "See you later."
"All right." The black-bearded man passed noiselessly into the hall. "Don't sleep too long. Eight o'clock, remember." In a moment he was gone.