The Mystery of the Boule Cabinet: A Detective Story by Burton Egbert Stevenson (my miracle luna book free read TXT) 📗

"It is not the sort of confidence the law recognises," I pointed out.
"To keep a confidence like that is practically to abet a felony."

"And yet you will keep it," said Godfrey cheerfully. "You see, I am going to do everything I can to prevent that felony. And we will see if Crochard is really invincible!"

"I'll keep it," I agreed, "because I think the letter is just a blind. And, by the way," I added, "I have a letter from Armand & Son confirming the fact that their books show that the Boule cabinet was bought by Philip Vantine. Under the circumstances, I shall have to claim it and hand it over to the Metropolitan."

"I hope you won't disturb it until after Wednesday," said Godfrey, quickly. "I won't have any interest in it after that."

"You really think Crochard will try for it Wednesday?"

"I really do."

I shrugged my shoulders. What was the use of arguing with a man like that?

"Till after Wednesday, then," I agreed; and Godfrey, having verified his letter and secured from me the two promises he was after, bade me good-night.

I was just getting ready to leave the office the next afternoon when
Godfrey called me up.

"How are you feeling to-day, Lester?" he asked.

"Not as fit as I might," I said.

"Have you arranged to start on that vacation Thursday?"

"I don't think that's a good joke, Godfrey."

"It isn't a joke at all. I want you to arrange it. But meanwhile, how would you like a whiff of salt air this evening?"

"First rate. How will I get it?"

"The Savoie will get to quarantine about six o'clock. I'm going down on our boat to meet her. I want to have a talk with Inspector Pigot—the French detective. Will you come along?"

"Will I!" I said. "Where shall I meet you?"

"At the foot of Liberty Street, at five o'clock."

"I'll be there," I promised. And I was.

The boat was cast loose as soon as we got aboard, backed out into the busy river, her whistle shrieking shrilly, then swung about and headed down stream. It was a fast boat—the Record, which prided itself on outdistancing its contemporaries in other directions, would of course try to do so in this—and when she got fairly into her stride, with her engines throbbing rhythmically, the shore on either hand slipped past us rapidly.

The New York sky-line, as seen from the river, is one of the wonders of the world, and I stood looking at it until we swung out into the bay. There were two other men on board—the regular ship reporters, I suppose—and Godfrey had gone into the cabin with them to talk over some detail of the evening's work; so I went forward to the bow, where I would get the full benefit of the salt breeze, with the taste of it on my lips. The Statue of Liberty was just ahead, and already the great search-light in her torch was winking across the water. Craft innumerable crossed and re-crossed, their lights reflected in the waves, and far ahead, a little to the left, I could see the white glow against the sky which marked the position of Coney Island.

Godfrey joined me presently, and we stood for some time looking at this scene in silence.

"It's a great sight, isn't it?" he said, at last. "Hello! look at that boat!" he added, as a yacht, coming down the bay, drew abreast of us and then slowly forged ahead. "She can go some, can't she? This boat of ours is no slouch, you know; but just look how that one walks away from us. I wonder who she is? What boat is that, captain?" he called to the man on the bridge.

"Don't know, sir," answered the captain, after a look through his glasses. "Private yacht—can't make out her name—there's a flag or something hanging over the stern. She's flying the French flag. There come the other press boats behind us, sir," he added. "And there's the Savoie just slowing down at quarantine."

Far ahead we could see the great hull of the liner, dark against the horizon, and crowned with row upon row of glowing lights.

"One doesn't appreciate how big those boats are until one sees them from the water," I remarked. "Isn't she immense?"

"And yet she's not an especially big boat, either," said Godfrey. "To swing in under the really big ones—like the Olympic—is an experience to remember."

The Savoie had by this time slowed down until she was just holding her own against the tide, and one of her lower ports swung open. A moment later, a boat puffed up beside her, made fast, and three or four men clambered aboard and disappeared through the port.

"There go the doctors," said Godfrey. "And there is that French boat going alongside."

The tug from quarantine dropped astern and the French yacht took her place. After a short colloquy, one man from her was helped aboard the Savoie. Then it was our turn, and after what seemed to me a tremendous swishing and swirling at imminent risk of collision, we swung up to the open port, a line was flung out and made fast, and a moment later Godfrey and I and the other two men were aboard the liner.

My companions exchanged greetings with the officer in charge of the open port, and then we hurried forward along a narrow corridor, smelling of rubber and heated metal, then up stair after stair, until at last we came to the main companionway. Here the two men left us, to seek certain distinguished passengers, I suppose, whose views upon the questions of the day were (presumably) anxiously awaited by an expectant public. Godfrey stopped in front of the purser's office, and passed his card through the little window to the man inside the cage.

"I should like to see M. Pigot, of the Paris Service du Sûreté" he said. "Perhaps you will be so kind as to have a steward take my card to him?"

"That is unnecessary, sir," replied the purser, courteously. "That is M. Pigot yonder—the gentleman with the white hair, with his back to us. You will have to wait for a moment, however; the gentleman speaking with him is from the French consulate, and has but this moment come aboard."

I could not see Inspector Pigot's face, but I could see that he held himself very erect, in a manner bespeaking military training. The messenger from the legation was a youngish man, with waxed moustache and wearing an eyeglass. He was greeting M. Pigot at the moment, and, after a word or two, produced from an inside pocket an official-looking envelope, tied with red tape and secured with an immense red seal.

M. Pigot looked at it an instant, while his companion added a sentence in his ear; then, with a nod of assent, the detective turned down one of the passage-ways, the other man at his heels.

"Official business, no doubt," commented the purser, who had also been watching this little scene. "M. Pigot is one of the best of our officers, and you will find it a pleasure to talk with him. He will no doubt soon be disengaged."

"Yes, but meanwhile my esteemed contemporaries will arrive," said
Godfrey, with a grimace. "They are on my heels—here they are now!"

In fact, for the next twenty minutes, reporters from the other papers kept arriving, till there was quite a crowd before the purser's office. And from nearly every paper a special man had been detailed to interview M. Pigot. Evidently all the papers were alive to the importance of the subject. There was some good-natured chaffing, and then one of the stewards was bribed to carry the cards of the assembled multitude to M. Pigot's stateroom, with the request for an audience.

The steward went away laughing, and came back presently to say that
M. Pigot would be pleased to see us in a few minutes. But when five
minutes more passed and he did not appear, impatience broke out anew.
The lords of the press were not accustomed to being kept waiting.

"I move we storm his castle," suggested the World man.

And just then, M. Pigot himself stepped out into the companionway. In an instant he was surrounded.

"My good friends of the press," he said, speaking slowly, but with only the faintest accent, and he smiled around at the faces bent upon him. "You will pardon me for keeping you in waiting, but I had some matters of the first importance to attend to; and also my bag to pack. Steward," he added, "you will find my bag outside my door. Please bring it here, so that I may be ready to go ashore at once." The steward hurried away, and M. Pigot turned back to us. "Now, gentlemen," he went on, "what is it that I can do for you?"

It was to Godfrey that the position of spokesman naturally fell.

"We wish first to welcome you to America, M. Pigot," he said, "and to hope that you will have a pleasant and interesting stay in our country."

"You are most kind," responded the Frenchman, with a charming smile. "I am sure that I shall find it most interesting—especially your wonderful city, of which I have heard many marvellous things."

"And in the next place," continued Godfrey, "we hope that, with your assistance, our police may be able to solve the mystery surrounding the death of the three men recently killed here, and to arrest the murderer. Of themselves, they seem to be able to do nothing."

M. Pigot spread out his hands with a little deprecating gesture.

"I also hope we may be successful," he said; "but if your police have not been, my poor help will be of little account. I have a profound admiration for your police; the results which they accomplish are wonderful, when one considers the difficulties under which they labour."

He spoke with an accent so sincere that I was almost convinced he meant every word of it; but Godfrey only smiled.

"It is a proverb," he said, "that the French police are the best in the world. You, no doubt, have a theory in regard to the death of these men?"

"I fear it is impossible, sir," said M. Pigot, regretfully, "to answer that question at present, or to discuss this case with you. I have my report first to make to the chief of your detective bureau. To-morrow I shall be most happy to tell you all that I can. But for to-night my lips are closed, sad as it makes me to seem discourteous."

I could hear behind me the little indrawn breath of disappointment at the failure of the direct attack. M. Pigot's position was, of course, absolutely correct; but nevertheless Godfrey prepared to attack it on the flank.

"You are going ashore to-night?" he inquired.

"I was expecting a representative of your bureau to meet me here," M. Pigot explained. "I was hoping to return with him to the city. I have no time to lose. In addition, the more quickly we get to work, the more likely we shall be to succeed. Ah! perhaps that is he," he added, as a voice was heard inquiring loudly for Moosseer Piggott.

I recognised that voice, and so did Godfrey, and I saw the cloud of disappointment which fell upon his face.

An instant later, Grady, with Simmonds in his wake, elbowed his way through the group.

"Moosseer Piggott!" he cried, and enveloped the Frenchman's slender hand in his great paw, and gave it a squeeze which was no doubt painful.

"Glad to see you, sir. Welcome to our city, as we say over here in America. I certainly hope you can speak English, for I don't know a word of your lingo. I'm Commissioner Grady, in charge of the detective bureau; and this is Simmonds, one of my men."

M. Pigot's perfect suavity was not even ruffled.

"I am most pleased to meet you, sir; and you Monsieur Simmòn," he said. "Yes—I speak English—though, as you see, with some difficulty."

"These reporters bothering your life out, I see," and Grady glanced about the group, scowling as his eyes met Godfrey's. "Now you boys might as well fade away. You won't get anything out of either of us to-night—eh, Moosseer Piggott?"

"I have but just told them that my first report must be made to you, sir," assented Pigot.

"Then let's go somewhere and have a drink," suggested Grady.

"I was hoping," said M. Pigot, gently, "that we might go