Flynn’s Weekly. Vol. 22, No. 3, March 5, 1927

When a dealer in diamonds is found pierced, as by a rapier, the magnet of mystery draws together a strange assortment.

Chapter XXXVIII Near the Café

Perivale had been but half awake when he opened his door to admit Pelabos, but he was alert enough when the Frenchman’s last word drove in on his consciousness, and his alertness showed itself in his action.

“Murdered!” he exclaimed, reaching for his nearest garments and beginning to divest himself of his night wear. “That’s Spring! But — details?”

“I know little as yet, my friend,” replied Pelabos, with a shrug of his shoulders. “As soon as I had assured myself of this lamentable fact, I hastened to you. But it is a fact! I have seen Delardier’s remains. My friend — he has been assassinated in precisely the way in which Auberge was assassinated! He had been run through the heart from behind — a clean thrust through the back! That, in itself, is sufficient to show that the two murders are the work of one hand.”

“But where did it take place?” demanded Perivale. “And when?”

“The facts, as I have learned them, are, briefly, these,” said Pelabos. “You are, of course, well acquainted with the Champs Elysees? You are aware that at the west side of the Place de le Concorde there are trees, little plantations, shrubberies, gardens laid out, kiosks, between the Avenue Gabriel and the Avenue de Champs Elysees? Well, my friend, at an early hour of this morning, a workman, passing through this public place, saw, lying near a seat in one of the alleys, the body of a man.

“He approached it; he bent over it; the man was dead! You conceive the situation! The workman hastens to find help: he encounters a policeman; they hasten to the spot; yes, indeed, the man is dead, and there is blood — he has been assassinated!

“And in cowardly fashion — stabbed from behind, when without doubt, he was unsuspecting! My friend, it is a repetition of the Folkestone affair! And the murderer — Ecks, or Spring!”

“Spring!” muttered Perivale. “Delardier was going to find Spring! He found him! He told Spring too much. We have made a mistake, Pelabos! We should not have allowed Delardier to go on that expedition. He has put Spring in possession of certain facts, and he himself has paid for it with his life, and we are in the position of knowing that Spring is acquainted with our designs on him! A big mistake!”

“To be repaired by instant action, my friend!” said Pelabos. “Already, early as it is, I have been able to do something. The description of Spring has been sent out in all directions, the railway stations are being watched—”

“Too late!” muttered Perivale, putting the finishing touches to his hasty toilet. “He has had many hours’ start! Besides, he wouldn’t trust to railways. But what else in that way?”

“A domiciliary visit has already been paid to his apartment,” continued Pelabos. “It was, of course, fruitless—”

“It would be!” growled Perivale. “But — was nothing learned there?”

“This — that, according to the concierge, M. Spring, in keeping with his usual custom, left his apartment at five o’clock yesterday afternoon, no doubt for his favorite café. It was his custom to return between half past eleven and midnight. Last night he did not return.”

“Naturally — knowing what he did know!” muttered Perivale. “Well — what did the medical men say? How long had Delardier been dead when found? For that’s a highly important matter!”

“They are of opinion, from a first hasty examination, that he had been dead since between eleven and twelve o’clock last night,” replied Pelabos.

“Well, look at that now!” exclaimed Perivale. “Hours and hours of a start! Of course, Spring’ll be out of Paris long since!”

Pelabos displayed some signs of doubt.

“My friend!” he remarked. “It may not have been Spring! There is the mysterious person whom we know as Ecks!”

“No — it is Spring!” declared Perivale. “I feel it in my very bones that it is Spring!”

“Put it to yourself that it may have been Ecks, supplied with information by Spring,” suggested Pelabos. “Ecks is, presumably, an individual who works secretly and in darkness!”

“There’s a damned sight too much darkness about the whole thing to suit me!” growled Perivale. “Well, let’s see if we can throw a bit of illumination on it. Give me time to swallow my coffee and eat a roll, and then let us do something — anything!”

“I, too, have not yet broken my fast!” remarked Pelabos mournfully. “The occasion was too eventful! I flew to action — I called on all my energies — my friend, I have had two hours of the most strenuous!”

“Then come down with me and break it,” said Perivale. “No good working on an empty stomach! I’ll rouse out the other two,” he continued, as they left the room. “Lawson will be useful — he can identify Spring at sight.”

“There is always the possibility of clever disguise,” remarked Pelabos. “If it is Spring, he will have adopted unusual precautions. Still, courage!”

Perivale hastened to call Cripstone and Lawson. Presently they joined the two detectives over their coffee, and the four men began to discuss ways and means. Pelabos, despite his recent admonition to be courageous, was despondent.

“With the death of Delardier,” he remarked, “we find ourselves in the position of the man deprived of his right hand! Delardier was in possession of truths which now we cannot ascertain. There is, for example, the third man — Budini. We do not know where he lives!”

“It can be found out,” said Perivale. “Budini must be found! It is possible that Budini knows something. Anyway, he can probably assist in the search for Spring. Decidedly. Budini must be unearthed, and quickly!”

Pelabos groaned — at the same time adding extra lumps of sugar to his coffee.

“That we may have light!” he ejaculated fervently. “Light — illumination — that is what we require, my friend! Light!”

“Have to do the lighting ourselves, I reckon!” remarked Cripstone. “And the spade work, too!”

Perivale said nothing. He was certain of this — that something would turn up in the course of the day: something that would help. Before noon the something came in the person of a taxicab driver who, after being shown the body of Delardier at his own request, affirmed positively that it was that of a man who engaged him the previous evening — oh, yes it was that man!

“Where did he engage you?” demanded Perivale.

“At the corner of the Rue Vignon, monsieur, the corner opening on the Rue des Capucines.”

This was within a stone’s throw — figuratively — of the Yellow Dog Café, in which Delardier had eaten with the two detectives. Perivale began to take courage.

“And at what hour was that?” he asked.

“At a quarter to ten, monsieur — to the minute!”

This again was promising. Delardier had parted from Perivale and Pelabos at twenty-five minutes to ten.

Chapter XXXIX Three Depart

“Well,” continued Perivale, “where did you take him after he had engaged you?”

“Monsieur is, naturally, acquainted with the Boulevard de Clichy?” replied the taxicab driver. “Well, monsieur, there — to the corner of the Rue Fontaine. Arrived at that corner, he bade me wait. He then disappeared — that is to say, monsieur, he walked some little way along and entered, it may have been a café. I waited.”

“He returned, of course?”

“As monsieur says, he returned. But not alone. There was with him another. They enter my cab—”

“Hold! Before saying more, describe for us the other! His appearance, then?”

“Monsieur, without doubt, an Italian! Of an olive complexion, dark mustache, fine teeth — I saw him smiling as they came up. Oh, yes, an Italian!”

“Well, and what then?”

“The man whose dead body I have just seen — with regret, monsieur, for he was a generous one, monsieur understands — he bade me drive to the front of the Madeleine. I drove there. The two dismounted, the man now dead paid me, and they walked away rapidly.”

“In what direction?”

“It seemed to me that they made for the Rue Royale, monsieur. But I had turned away before they had traversed many yards.”

“And that, of course, was the last you saw of them?”

“Of the Italian, yes, monsieur. Of the other — until I saw what I have just seen, his dead body.”

“That’s Budini he described!” remarked Perivale. “Budini must be found! But can we find where Budini and Delardier went after they left the taxicab?

“Evidently, after leaving us, Delardier made up his mind to see Budini before he saw Spring. He found Budini and carried him off! I think they repaired to some place at which Spring was likely to be discovered, probably in the vicinity of the Rue Royale. Where is that place?”

“There are so many!” sighed Pelabos. “Still — courage!”

Perivale was a believer in the combing-out process. With a steady persistence which made his companion compliment him on his British qualities of thoroughness and perseverance, he went from one café to another in the quarter under suspicion, questioning, examining, suggesting.

And at the end of the afternoon he had his reward. In a small café in a side street a little north of the Champs Elysees he found a proprietor who was able to give him information about the three men, and all the more eager to give it after being shown a photograph of Delardier.

“I recognize it at once, messieurs!” he said. “Yes, he entered my establishment last night, poor fellow! The time — it would be about a quarter to eleven. Not alone, no! With him another, a tallish, dark-complexioned man, fine hair and teeth, a black mustache — not a Frenchman, messieurs will understand — Italian, perhaps, or Greek.

“They take seats — they refresh themselves — they smoke — always they talk, amicably, sometimes excitedly. The man whose portrait you showed me, it is he who is most excited: he appears to be explaining something; the other man, he seems to be incredulous, or doubtful. Eventually, he goes away.”

“Goes away!” exclaimed Perivale. “The man you took to be an Italian?”

“The same, monsieur! He yawns, he seems as if no longer interested; in short, he goes! A friendly parting, monsieur understands — some mention of to-morrow. But the other man, this — he remains. Remains, monsieur, until it is a quarter to twelve; midnight. Then enters another! One, monsieur, whom the man who had remained was evidently expecting, for he immediately runs to meet him. They seat themselves—”

“Pardon!” interrupted Perivale. “This third man, the last who entered, is he known to you?”

“I know him, monsieur! He is one who has patronized my establishment occasionally, usually at a late hour. Monsieur will understand — for a little supper after the theaters have closed. Oh, yes — he is familiar to me, in that way. But I do not know his name. A tall, well built man, and. I think, an Englishman, of a certain age. Not elderly, but of a respectable middle age.”

“Well?” inquired Perivale, certain that the man described was Spring. “These two sat clown and I suppose talked?”

“Not for long, monsieur! The man who had just entered did not, on this occasion, pursue his usual custom and sup. He seemed about to give his order to the waiter, monsieur, then something that the other man said appeared to change his intention. He had a drink, instead. He spoke some word to his companion, and they left.”

“In company?”

“In company, monsieur.”

“And that would be — what time?”

“Midnight, monsieur!”

“Do you know in which direction they turned?” inquired Perivale.

The proprietor answered with a decisive nod.

“I am able to assure monsieur on that point,” he replied. “I happened to be standing at my door when they left. Toward the Champs Elysees, monsieur! But before they had well passed out, another man joined them.”

Perivale contrived to nudge the elbow of Pelabos who was listening intently.

“Another man, eh?” he said.

“Another, monsieur! When I say joined them, I should say, rather, that he approached the man who had come last — the elderly man. They spoke — there was what I took to be an introduction — they all went away together.”

“Can you describe the man who thus joined them outside?” asked Perivale.

“I noticed him but little, monsieur. Still, I have a good recollection of a face. He wore colored spectacles. A tallish, slightly built man.”

Perivale presently led Pelabos away.

“That’s Ecks!” he said. “Ecks and Spring are in combination! What the devil are we to do to get hold of them? Now then — did Ecks murder Delardier, or was it Spring?”

“My friend, I said this morning that I suspect Ecks!” remarked Pelabos. “We will rake Paris for Ecks!”

“Don’t be too sure that either Ecks or Spring is in Paris!” retorted Perivale, skeptically. “I should say they’re a long way out by this time. And where’s Budini?”

He left Pelabos then, to join Cripstone and Lawson, and eat his much-needed dinner. But that was scarcely over when Pelabos appeared again — full of mystery.

“My friend!” he whispered. “Come with me! Those men of the society — they wish to see both of us!”

Chapter XL Spring Is Summer

In this time Perivale, although still a young man, had experienced many strange adventures in which daring prefaced danger. But he felt a distinct thrill on hearing Pelabos’s invitation. He knew already that the society which had been vaguely mentioned to him was, in real fact, one of those secret organizations which have for their object the undermining and overthrow of settled government.

Its officials, therefore, must necessarily be dark and desperate men, the sort that one associates in one’s mind with bombs, daggers, automatic pistols, poison. He looked up at his French confrere with interest, not unmixed with that spice of possible danger which lends zest to an excursion into the unknown.

“Where are we to see them?” he asked. “And — need one go armed?”

He was thinking of a certain revolver which lay in his suit case upstairs; brought with him in case of need. But Pelabos smiled.

“Come!” he replied. “It is not a case of arming! You will see!”

Greatly to Perivale’s surprise, Pelabos, instead of leading him from the hotel, conducted him to a quiet corner of one of its lounges. There, placidly smoking cigarettes, sat two men, in whose direction the Frenchman nodded sidently.

“Behold them, my friend!” he whispered. “There you see two individuals who, in all probability, are two of the most dangerous men in Europe, perhaps in the world! At any other time, eh? But they have given me their confidence, and I have pledged my word to them — I have also taken the liberty of pledging yours. They will, in consequence, speak to us freely — and we shall profit by it! Advance then — I shall present you!”

Perivale took careful stock of the two visitors as Pelabos led him toward their corner. Had he known nothing of them he would have set them down as two typical, inoffensive, peace-loving bourgeois, who, the business of the day over, had turned into that lounge to sip coffee and smoke tobacco.

Eminently respectable persons — the sort you would see, any time on Sundays, in company with mamma and the babies, throwing buns to the bears in the Jardin des Plantes or drinking something innocent outside a café. And as respectable as their appearance were their manners; quiet, courteous, easy.

They were charmed to have the honor of meeting one so eminent in his profession as M. Perivale, grateful to their good friend, M. Pelabos, for his kindness in affording them that opportunity; it was kind of Monsieur Perivale to take some interest in their affairs, their misfortune.

But perhaps it hinged on the affair with which M. Perivale — and M. Pelabos — were just then deeply interested. True — there were always wheels within wheels, and in this case — M. Perivale would comprehend? And, oh, yes, they spoke English.

Perivale, observing them closely, thought it quite possible that they spoke half a dozen other languages as well — since taking a nearer view of them he had decided that it would be impossible to say, precisely, what nationality these men belonged to. They were cosmopolitan. And seeing what he had to deal with, he spoke freely.

“Your affairs, gentlemen, seem to be very much mixed up with ours!” he observed. “To put matters plainly, you have lost a sum of fifty thousand pounds, the property of your society. It is a great loss! — and you are sure of your facts? You are sure that Auberge had this money on him when he left for England?”

“There is no doubt about that!” replied the elder of the two.

“Let me ask you a few questions, gentlemen,” continued Perivale. “This money was in notes of the Bank of England?”

“Fifty of such notes — in denomination of a thousand pounds each.”

“Did you take the precaution to make a memorandum of the numbers of the notes?”

“No! There were reasons.”

“Perhaps that does not matter. If I knew where you procured the notes—”

The two men exchanged glances. It seemed to Perivale, watching them closely, that they could talk with their eyes, for the elder one almost immediately turned to him.

“They were procured for us, specially, by one of the great banks doing business with London. A special arrangement, you understand.”

“The numbers will be there! It may be that it will be necessary for you, not for us, to get a memorandum of them. Well, gentlemen, you feel sure that Auberge had them on him when he reached England, and that he was murdered for them? That argues that somebody knew he was in possession of them. Don’t you suspect anybody?”

Once more the two men exchanged glances. This time the younger man replied.

“No particular person. It may be that it was one of several persons who had knowledge of the commission entrusted to Auberge.”

“In short, one of your society! A member, perhaps, of your committee? That would simplify matters, for the numbers, I suppose, are limited. And it also argues, gentlemen, that you have had a traitor among you! Can you not put your finger on him?”

“At present, no,” replied the elder man. “Our object in seeing you is to learn if you can give us any information — in return for ours. In addition to the money which Auberge carried on him, he also carried, we are told, a particularly valuable diamond. That, like the money, is missing.

“Your task has been to find the diamond, ours is to recover our money — or, at any rate, to track and find the man who secured it. We think we may help you, we wish you to help us. For, monsieur, it seems to us that the man who stole your diamond from the dead body of Auberge stole our money at the same time! Who is he?”

“I agree with you,” said Perivale, “and I am going to tell you a story — M. Pelabos here is already fully acquainted with it. It is a remarkable story, gentlemen, and you, probably, are the only people known to us who can answer certain questions arising out of it. Gentlemen — are you, both or either, acquainted with the town in England at which Auberge was murdered?”

“I know Folkestone,” replied the elder man promptly.

“I have spent a month’s holiday there,” said the other. “I know it!”

“Very good — then you can follow me,” continued Perivale. “Now, gentlemen, Auberge arrived at Folkestone about nine o’clock on Monday evening, October 23, and at half past seven next morning was found dead, murdered, on a path beneath the Leas.

“I have recently ascertained that on that same Monday evening there came to a small private hotel on the Leas a man who, for reasons which he gave, wished to stay the night there. He did stay the night, and he left next morning at an unusually early hour — seven-thirty. What did he do then?

“He chartered a passing taxicab, and, after making some inquiry of the driver, was taken in it to Newhaven, in time to catch the morning boat to Dieppe.

“Gentlemen — I have no doubt whatever that that man traveled from Paris to Folkestone on the Monday, and from Folkestone, by way of Newhaven and Dieppe, to Paris, on the Tuesday. I also do not doubt that he was, in some way, connected with the murder of Auberge! Now — do you suggest anything?”

The elder man spoke — two words:

“Describe him!”

“As well as I can,” replied Perivale. “A tall, well built, somewhat portly man, middle-aged — inclining to elderly — English — quiet, reserved in some company, taciturn. Evidently a man of means — well dressed and so on. Looks like a well-to-do retired business man, of a type familiar enough in Continental tourist resorts. Not a very noticeable type, perhaps my description does not awaken any recollection in you?”

“It is a description of a very ordinary type! As you say, you could see many men of this sort — Englishmen — at any time at many places. Just an elderly Englishman — characteristically English!”

“Well, there is a fact about him which may assist,” said Perivale. “I have said that this man was well dressed. He also wore extremely good jewelry, though it was limited in quantity and unobtrusive. But one who noted him carefully at the small private hotel I told you of noticed a very curious thing about him.

“Dependant from his solid gold watch chain was a medal or charm — something of that sort — of common brass. An oval thing, in shape, having on it the figure of a sword, or dagger. Do you know anything of that, gentlemen?”

He was watching both men intently, hoping to catch some gleam of recognition in their faces. He caught nothing. The two faces remained as impassive as when Perivale first set eyes on them. But the elder man rose.

“I wish to consult with my colleague,” he said quietly. “You will excuse us if we step aside, gentlemen?”

He moved to the middle of the room, the other man following him, and for a couple of minutes they stood whispering together. Then they returned and resumed their seats.

“Gentlemen,” said the elder man, looking from one detective to the other, “you will continue to respect our confidence, I am sure! We are, after all, endeavoring, all four of us, to track down a particularly brutal murderer who is also a thief.

“Well, gentlemen, the man M. Perivale has described — we now know him! The description of the brass badge establishes his identify. He is — a traitor! In short, gentlemen, he is a man whom we had regarded as a particularly valuable and trusted member of our society, and who was one of the handful of men who knew that Auberge carried that money.” He paused for a second, glancing at his colleague. His glance slipped to the two detectives, and he spoke again, more quietly.

“We have been betrayed!” he said. “Well, then, it is but one more instance.”

“The name of this man?” asked Perivale. “In confidence!”

The elder man smiled, cynically.

“Doubtless he has many names,” he replied. “We knew him as Summer — John Summer.

“At the private hotel in Folkestone,” said Perivale, “he called himself Winter! And we may as well be candid — Pelabos and myself know him, here in Paris, as Spring. He was a member of the syndicate which employed Auberge to negotiate the sale of the valuable diamond which has been mentioned.

“So he knew of two matters worth knowing — one, that Auberge carried fifty thousand pounds in bank notes, the other that he carried a diamond worth at least two-thirds of that amount! Fine booty! But now we know — and we must get him!”

The two men exchanged glances; the elder turned quietly to Perivale.

“I do not think that you need fatigue yourselves in that pursuit, gentlemen!” he said in a peculiarly acid tone. “You see — we, too, also know!”

“You mean that you know where we can lay hands on him?” asked Perivale eagerly. “Ah! — If you do—”

Chapter XLI “In Terror of My Life!”

“I mean, monsieur,” interrupted the other, with more acidity, “that we know how to deal with a traitor to our cause. We shall deal with this one in our own way.”

“Once — and for all,” murmured the other. “Effectively!”

There was something so sinister in the utterances of both men that Perivale was at a loss for words. He saw Spring tried, condemned, executed in that last gently whispered phrase. He looked at Pelabos; Pelabos remained mute. The two men rose.

“We are deeply obliged, grateful to you, gentlemen, for the confidence with which you have treated us,” said the other. “We shall respect yours. We will now—”

“Wait a moment, if you please,” interrupted Perivale. “I want to have a word with my excellent colleague here, if you will excuse us. Listen,” he continued, leading Pelabos aside. “Do you think we should tell them that Auberge was also a traitor and a spy — those cipher papers, you know?”

“At this stage, no!” replied Pelabos. “Auberge is beyond their vengeance! No — I would let matters rest where they are, my friend — I flatter myself that we shall find Spring before they can lay hands on him! Yet there is one thing you might ask of them — do they know Ecks?”

“Good!” exclaimed Perivale. “I will — I hadn’t thought of it. Gentlemen,” he continued, going back to the others, “you have doubtless read of a man wanted in connection with the murder of M. Auberge who has been referred to in the papers as Mr. Ecks? Now, you doubtless know and have met many people — do you know him?”

“We read the papers — you refer to the article translated from a London evening journal,” replied the elder man. “We do not know Ecks as thus described — a poor description — nor any man by that name. Can you describe this Ecks more fully?”

“He has an imperfect finger, a brown mole on his left cheek bone, and his left arm is elaborately tattooed,” said Perivale. “A tallish, loosely-built man—”

The elder man, for the first time, suddenly showed signs of perturbation. He had risen in the act to go, now he dropped back in his seat and began to talk hurriedly in some language which neither of the detectives understood, to his companion, who appeared to be equally upset. After a minute or two of hasty talk, the elder man turned to the detectives, whispering.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “Tell me, I beg of you — was all that was set forth in the newspaper article about this man and his stay at the Royal Pavilion Hotel absolutely correct? There is no doubt that he was there — in Folkestone — on the night of the murder of Auberge?”

“None whatever!” asserted Perivale.

“Do you know anything — have you heard anything — anything at all — that connects him while he was there with the other man who called himself Winter?”

“Well, yes,” said Perivale. “I believe him to be the man who was seen in conversation with Winter outside the private hotel on the night of the murder. But — you appear, now, to know something of him! Who is he?”

“Another traitor!” replied the elder man. “A traveling agent of our society! I see it — he and the man who calls himself sometimes Spring, sometimes Summer, sometimes Winter, have been in conspiracy! And you know this man as Mr. Ecks!

“Ah — it is very good, that! X — the unknown quantity. Ah, well, gentlemen — we have learned much this evening. And as for this last man — Ecks — do not trouble. You have done much to find him — you cannot find him? Ah, messieurs — leave him also to us!”

With a look that made Perivale feel his blood turn cold, he bowed politely and turned away.

For a few moments after their visitors had left them the two detectives sat silently staring at the door by which they had gone softly away. What had reduced them to silence was the sinister suggestiveness of the final remark.

Leave him, also, to us! — there had been something in the tone in which that admonition was given that made Perivale shiver a little. He glanced round at Pelabos; Pelabos nodded.

“Yes, my friend!” he said sympathetically. “I know what you are thinking. That we shall hear of Spring with his throat cut, and Ecks with his brains blown out! Well, my friend, it is not impossible! These people are, perhaps, cleverer, as human ferrets, than we are!”

“It certainly looks as if they could do our job for us, if they get the chance!” admitted Perivale. “Or, rather, the hangman’s job! But that won’t suit me!”

“Why not, my friend?” asked Pelabos.

“I want to take the murderer of Auberge back to England!” replied Perivale, with a flash of his eye and a grim setting of his jaw. “That’s where he’s wanted!”

Pelabos shrugged his shoulders.

“I should like to arrest Ecks, and also Spring,” he remarked. “But if these people assassinated both, I should bow my head in assent and say merely that they had rid society of two pests! But clever as those men are who have just relieved us of their presence, they are not cleverer than either of the men we want. There is room — much room — for us, my friend! Courage! To-morrow we will renew the campaign, refreshed, reinvigorated!”

Perivale said no more. Presently, when Pelabos had gone away, he went to bed, and endeavoring to put everything out of his mind, tried to sleep. And he had just drifted into a first, gentle slumber when a knock, hesitating and timid, sounded on the door of his bedroom. The next moment he had it open and was staring at a night porter, apologetic and doubtful, who, with a single gesture, indicated a shadowy figure standing at the farther end of the corridor.

“Monsieur!” he whispered. “There is a gentleman — he is persistent, monsieur — who desires to see you! Monsieur will pardon me, but—”

Perivale nodded his comprehension and took a step toward the man waiting in the distance. The man moved instinctively, and came under the light of an electric lamp. Budini!

“Tell the gentleman to come forward to my room,” said Perivale. He himself drew back, holding the door open, and Budini, interpreting the gesture, advanced swiftly and entered. The next instant he had turned on the detective.

“M. Perivale!” he said in a trembling whisper. “I come to you for shelter — for protection — for counsel! Monsieur! I am in terror of my life.”

Chapter XLII He Is Found

Perivale motioned his visitor to a seat and closed and bolted the door. Then he took a careful look at him. Budini was pale of hue and haggard of appearance: his eyes were those of a hunted thing: beads of perspiration were on his forehead, and beneath his dark mustache his lips were palpably quivering. And before saying a word the detective turned to his suit case and taking out a flask of brandy poured out and handed the frightened man a stiff drink of it.

“What is it?” he asked quietly. “You’re safe here, Mr. Budini, anyway! And you can trust me!”

Budini swallowed the brandy with obvious relief. But the hand with which he set down the glass was still trembling when he turned to Perivale.

“You will pardon me?” he said. “Coming at this time, in this way? But I knew you were here, and that I should be safe if I could see you. Mr. Perivale — there is nowhere else in Paris where I could be safe — to-night! I am — yes, afraid of even a shadow!”

“But... why?” asked Perivale. “Here — smoke — it will do you good. And as I said just now, you’re safe here. Till morning, if you like. You perceive there are two beds in this room. Take one of them. But,” he continued, as he offered his visitor a cigarette, “I want to know what the trouble is. Tell me! Of what are you afraid? Of whom are you afraid?”

Budini took the cigarette, and after smoking a minute in silence heaved a deep sigh and shook his head.

“I scarcely know,” he answered. “Murder, I think! And — of the man you know as Spring! All to-day, since hearing of what befell Delardier last night, I have gone about, here, there, anywhere, dreading what might happen to me at any minute. Ah — you do not know!”

“But I want to know!” exclaimed Perivale. “That’s just what I do want! Can’t you tell me, clearly, plainly?”

Budini remained silent a moment longer, evidently collecting his thoughts.

“It began last night,” he said suddenly. “Last night — and since then, at least since an early hour this morning, I have lived in a nightmare, not knowing, you comprehend, if I should be the next. That murder of Delardier, you know — if Delardier, why not me? Because — we were in a secret!”

“What secret?” asked Perivale.

“I will try to explain. But pardon me if I seem — confused, eh? It is difficult to get things clear. Well, it is like this. Last night I was in a café which I visit regularly, near the Boulevard de Clichy, when Delardier came there — he knew where to find me. He was much upset, agitated.

“He told me that he had had a conversation with you and Pelabos, in the course of which it had been told to him that Spring, the other member of our syndicate, had been in Folkestone on the night of the murder of Auberge, and that certain facts, now come to light, indicated that Spring had entered into a conspiracy with the man Ecks to murder Auberge and steal the diamond.

“If that were true, then, of course. Spring was deceiving us, and Delardier and I would lose the money we had invested in the diamond.

“There were other matters — something about money which had been entrusted to Auberge for some special purpose and was now missing. That we did not trouble about — it was not our affair; ours was the diamond. And we desired to see Spring at once!”

Budini paused, shaking his head as if at some recollection. He was smoking his cigarette quickly and threw it away and lighted another before he went on. The mere mention of Spring’s name appeared to unnerve him.

“We knew where Spring might be found at that hour,” he said at last. “We found him! The thought of him affects me — his — ah. I do not know what it is — his atmosphere of — something I cannot define! But — we found him at a certain café near the Rue Royale — I can indicate it to you.

“Delardier talked to him, diplomatically at first, plainly in the end. He told him that he had heard that he was in Folkestone on the night of Auberge’s murder and invited an answer to the question — was he? Was it true?”

“And what did Spring say?” inquired Perivale.

“He insisted on knowing the source of Delardier’s information,” replied Budini.

“Did Delardier give it?”

“On pressure — yes.”

“As being — what?”

“Yourself! Delardier told him — I felt he was telling too much, but Delardier was becoming excited — he told him that you had found out this, that you were here in Paris, primed with this knowledge, and that you had with you a young gentleman who could identify him as the man who had stayed at a small private hotel in Folkestone that particular night under the name of Winter.”

“Then Delardier really put Spring in possession of all the facts against him?” suggested Perivale.

“Yes — as far as I am aware. He seemed to tell Spring all that you and Pelabos had told him. I would have checked Delardier, but it was useless. He was painfully anxious about the diamond.”

“Did he mention — I mean did Delardier mention — the man named Ecks?”

“Yes — he told Spring that he was suspected of being in league with Ecks to obtain possession of the diamond and the money entrusted to Auberge.”

“In short, Delardier gave everything away? A mistake — but you have not told me what Spring said in answer.”

“He said nothing until he had heard everything! Then he became, or assumed an appearance of being, absolutely indifferent. He said that Delardier’s story was quite correct as regards one fact. He was in Folkestone on the night in question.”

“He admitted that?”

“Freely — he made no difficulty. He said that he had an interest — a financial interest — in some property at Folkestone, which had belonged to his family for many generations, and that early in the morning of the day he went there he received a telegram from the agent who deals with that property, asking him to go over at once to see him in respect to some transaction relating to it. And in proof of that he, there and then, produced from his pocketbook and showed to me and Delardier the telegram he spoke of, which he had preserved.”

“You saw it?”

“I saw it, handled it, read it. It said ‘Desirable that you should see me personally at once concerning matter in hand.’ Oh, yes, it was genuine — I noted the postmark and the date.”

“And he claimed to have gone over because of that telegram?”

“Certainly — all the rest, he said, was mere coincidence. He went at once to Folkestone, saw his agent, who, he added, was the man he was seen talking to outside the little hotel on the Leas, spent the night there, and next morning hastened back to Paris by way of Newhaven and Dieppe.”

“And — Ecks? Did he disclaim all knowledge of him?”

“Absolutely — and of anything relating to Auberge, the murder, the theft of the diamond, the theft of the money — of everything!”

“You believed him?”

“I did not know what to think — then! But I remembered something that seemed to be in his favor. When he, Delardier, and I were in Folkestone, at the Royal Pavilion Hotel, after hearing of the murder, Spring one morning excused himself to us, saying that he had some property in that town and wished to see the man who managed his interests there. That, of course, seemed to indicate that he was telling the truth.”

“But Delardier? Did he believe him?”

Budini shook his head in a decided negative.

“He did not! Delardier was excited — furious about the diamond. He let Spring see that he still doubted him. He demanded more proof of Spring’s innocence. Spring became cold — reserved — much too polite.

“I have heard it said — I do not know if it is true — that one should beware of an Englishman if, in a difference of opinion, or in a quarrel, he grows icily polite! Spring was like that! But Delardier grew more insistent. M. Perivale — he has paid for it! Within an hour or two, Delardier was dead!”

“You think Spring murdered him?”

Budini shivered as he spread out his hands. He gave the detective an odd glance.

“M. Perivale, I have ascertained certain facts about the murder of Delardier! He was killed in precisely the same way in which Auberge was killed — by one swift, carefully delivered thrust through the back, a thrust of some exceedingly powerful and sharp weapon that penetrated the heart.

“And now — now I think Spring was at Folkestone in pursuance of certain designs against Auberge, designs made in concert with Ecks, I think that one of those two, Ecks or Spring, and most probably Ecks, murdered Auberge.

“But of this I am sure, whoever it was that murdered Auberge murdered Delardier last night! And — I am not safe, monsieur — I know what Delardier knew!”

“You are safe here, M. Budini,” said Perivale. “And to-morrow — well, we shall see that you are equally safe. But, as you have known him so very intimately, can’t you give us some help in finding Spring? You know his habits, of course?”

“Not to the extent you think probable,” replied Budini. “I have had one or two business dealings with him, but he has been to me, always, a man of more or less mystery. A man of little speech, of great reserve — you Englishmen, M. Perivale, are noted for your quality of reserve, but Spring is more reserved than any other Englishman I have known or met. He is a silent, watchful man — the sort that listens and says few words.”

“And — clever?” suggested the detective.

“Ah!” exclaimed Budini. “It is as if you should ask — is the devil clever? Oh, yes, then, clever — and unscrupulous!”

“You believe, now, that Spring is in possession of that diamond?”

“Of the diamond, and of the money Delardier and I heard of, but which did not concern us. Oh, yes! — he, or he and Ecks, between them. This Ecks, then — whoever he may be — he has not yet been traced?”

“Not yet,” replied Perivale. “But the police here are doing all they can.”

Budini shook his head doubtfully.

“Ah!” he said. “I think it will be found that Ecks has gone, with the diamond and the money, and that by this time Spring has followed him. Yet — I am in terror at this minute that Spring should break in on us here, now! There is something about him that turns my blood to ice, monsieur, and that gives me—”

“Think no more of that to-night!” interrupted Perivale. “Sleep in that bed — confidently. In the morning—”

But before the morning came, and while Budini was still sleeping in his corner of the room, Perivale was roused by a knock at the door — the sort of knock which indicates business that may not be put off. He responded to it instantly, to find the night porter who had brought Budini to the room there again, this time with an official-looking envelope.

“From M. Pelabos, to be delivered to monsieur immediately,” he announced. “It came but a moment ago.”

Perivale tore open the envelope and extracted a single sheet of paper on which a few words had been hastily scribbled in handwriting that he knew to be that of Pelabos:

Chapter XLIII What Bougaud Saw

The indefinite nature of this communication caused Perivale to read it over two or three times. Found — him? But — who was it that Pelabos had found? Spring? Ecks? Somebody, anyway. He turned to the waiting porter.

“Who brought this?” he asked sharply.

“A gendarme, monsieur,” replied the porter. “He waits below.”

“Bring him here quickly,” said Perivale. “And — you understand — quietly!”

The man bowed his comprehension and went off, and Perivale, closing the door, hurried on the necessary clothing. Budini still slept, and showed no sign of waking when a second knock came. But this time Perivale went outside the room. There, in the corridor, stood the porter and the gendarme — the gendarme stolid and official in contrast to the porter’s evident, curiosity.

“You can go,” said Perivale to the porter. “I rely on your discretion, you understand?”

He turned to the gendarme.

“M. Pelabos sent this?” he suggested, producing the note. “Where is he?”

“At the Prefecture de Police, monsieur.”

“He speaks here of having found somebody. Who is it?”

“That I do not know, monsieur! The letter was handed to me with instructions to hasten immediately with it to monsieur’s hotel. But I learned that there had been an affray near the prefecture — an attack on some man, and that the man had been brought in there. An attempted assassination, I understood, monsieur.”

“You did not see the man?”

“I saw nothing, monsieur.”

“Go downstairs,” said Perivale. “Get a cab — wait for me.”

As the gendarme went off along the silent corridor, Perivale turned back into his room, and gently waking Budini bade him secure himself until his return. Then he hurried off to the rooms of Cripstone and Lawson, and bidding them dress and follow him to the prefecture as quickly as possible, ran down to the entrance hall and joined the gendarme, who by that time had secured a vehicle. He glanced at his watch as they drove off. Half past five o’clock.

“At what hour did this affair happen?” he asked his companion.

“I was informed — but monsieur understands that I know scarcely anything — at four o’clock this morning,” replied the gendarme. “An affray in the street — in the neighborhood of the prefecture. The man — that is to say, a badly wounded man, was carried in there. Something — I do not know what — induced the police to send for M. Pelabos. M. Pelabos, on arriving and after seeing the man, sent for monsieur.”

It must be Spring, thought Perivale — it must, at any rate, be either Spring or Ecks. He was impatient to know; he wished the cab would move more quickly. Then a sudden anxiety came over him.

“You say the man was wounded?” he asked. “Did you ascertain — how seriously?”

“I heard nothing as to that, monsieur. Wounded — that wassail I heard. Except — ah, yes, monsieur, I recollect this. Slabbed — a case of the knife, monsieur comprehends.”

Stabbed! Auberge had been stabbed — Delardier had been stabbed! Was this — but it was idle to speculate. He sat, excited and impatient until the cab set him and his companion down at the prefecture, where he followed the gendarme through corridors and passages to a small, ill-lighted room in which he found Pelabos, eagerly conversing with two or three more or less sleepy-looking officials.

Pelabos detached himself. The eagerness faded from his face, however, as he turned to Perivale, and the shake of his head was mournful and expressive of intense disappointment.

“My friend,” he said solemnly, “I had believed we had come to the great opportunity and it has escaped us! He is dead!”

“Who is dead?” demanded Perivale. “Of whom are you talking?”

Pelabos stared incredulously.

“Of whom? Of Ecks!” he exclaimed. “My hurried message to you — did I not say the name? Ah, I was so excited! But Ecks — yes! And — gone! And, my friend, without a word! He never regained consciousness.”

Perivale heaved a sigh of disappointment. He had been reckoning on the possibilities of the wounded man being Ecks. An admission, a confession, a statement.

“I want to know,” he said. “The messenger you sent to the hotel could tell me nothing but that there had been an affray. What happened — how came Ecks in this neighborhood? Why should he be near the prefecture?”

“That is just what I should like to know myself!” exclaimed Pelabos. “And it is, perhaps, what we shall never know, though I have already indulged in theories. What would appear to be a reasonable theory, for example—”

“Pardon!” interrupted Perivale. “I’m not in the theorizing mood! I want to know facts. What did happen?”

“My friend, there is but one person in the world — other than the criminal himself — who can give us first hand testimony as to what happened,” replied Pelabos. “And as he has just departed, after having had his testimony taken down, I can only repeat it to you — or, better, read his statement to you. You will then know as much as I do — and I am desolated that we know no more.”

He turned to an official who was busy at a desk and after a moment’s parley with him, came back to Perivale with a document, which, after bidding him to attend closely, he proceeded to read:

Chapter XLIV The Fatal Two

“That is all that Louis Jean Bougaud can tell,” concluded Pelabos. “I resume from the point at which he finishes. The wounded man was brought in here and the doctor summoned. My friend — the man had been run through the back! Precisely as Auberge was, and as Delardier was. But — with a difference. In those two cases the work had been done more cleanly — they, presumably, had both died almost instantaneously.

“But in this — perhaps a sudden movement on the part of the victim, perhaps a slight miscalculation on the part of the assassin — at any rate, while Delardier and Auberge died, we believe, at once, this man, Ecks, lingered for an hour!”

“Look here!” said Perivale. “Are you sure this man is Ecks?”

“I shall be greatly astonished if he is not,” exclaimed Pelabos. “You will remember, my friend, that our police here — and, indeed, all over France — have been furnished with the description of Ecks supplied by yourself and your excellent colleague, the amiable Cripstone?

“Well, then, our officials here, when this man was carried in, recognized him from those descriptions! But, to make sure, they sent for me, Pelabos! And I... I have no doubt. You shall see for yourself — come with me!”

“Wait,” said Perivale. “Cripstone will be here in a few minutes. I want to know if Ecks — if it is the man who presented himself at Folkestone as Ecks — is the man Cripstone knew. But now — the man whom Bougaud saw running away? That, of course, is Spring!”

“Naturally, my friend, it is Spring! Ah, if Bougaud had but resembled him in the faculty of swiftness! But Bougaud, you must be informed, is a heavily-built, fleshy fellow, inclined to corpulence — Bougaud could not run after a snail! And so — Spring is at large. Still — courage! We shall have him!”

“I wish to Heaven we’d got him!” growled Perivale. “But — why were these men in the neighborhood of the prefecture at that hour of the morning?”

Pelabos smiled knowingly, and wagged a forefinger.

“Ah... ah!” he said. “Why? But I — Pelabos — I have a theory. Spring feared that Ecks was about to betray him! He knew that Ecks would approach the authorities under cover of the night — he watched him, tracked him! Yes, my friend, you smile at theory, but theory—”

Cripstone, explaining that Lawson would follow, came hurrying in just then, and at Pelabos’s suggestion accompanied him and Perivale to see the dead man’s body. It lay where it had been temporarily placed while awaiting removal, and Perivale gazed on it with curiosity mingled with wonder. But Cripstone, after taking one look, went straight to the point.

“This is the man I knew!” he said, almost instantly. “There are the tattoo marks! Oh, yes — there’s no doubt about it. And there,” he added, turning to Perivale, “there are the marks we heard of from the young lady and the porter at the Folkestone hotel — the mutilated finger and the brown mole on the left cheek.

“That’s the man! Well—” he paused, glancing inquiringly at his companions. “Tell anything before the end came?” he asked.

Perivale shook his head dismally.

“Never recovered consciousness, so Pelabos tells me!” he answered. “Dying when they brought him in here! No — not a word!”

“How was it?” asked Cripstone. “Murder?”

“Precisely same thing that happened to Auberge and to Delardier,” replied Perivale. “Run through the heart from behind! In this case, he lingered awhile — longer than they did, anyway.” He paused, looking thoughtfully at the dead man. “There’s a feature of these cases that I’d like to know more about,” he said presently. “Of minor importance, perhaps — but I’d just like to know, to have it solved, you understand.”

“What’s that?” asked Cripstone.

“Perhaps a mere bit of inquisitiveness on my part,” replied Perivale. “But just this — what weapon did this man use? According to the doctors who examined Auberge and those who saw Delardier it’s a weapon of extraordinary fineness — an unusual weapon.

“The wound in each of those cases was precisely similar, from what the medical men in Folkestone and here in Paris told me — caused, they said, by a rapier or stiletto having thin edges, each of which was ground to the keenness of a first-class razor. A terrible weapon in the hand of a man determined on killing! But — how did he carry it?”

Neither Pelabos nor Cripstone could offer any solution to that question. They were all three retiring from the room when Lawson came in. At his first glance at the dead man he started, letting out a hushed exclamation.

“By Jove!” he said in an awed whisper. “I saw that man last night!”

The others turned sharply on him.

“Where?” demanded Perivale.

“In a small, obscure café — one of the poorer sort — in the Montmartre district,” replied Lawson. “I can’t remember its name, but I can take you to it. I was dodging about that part, don’t you know, in and out of lots of places, looking for Winter. I distinctily remember this man, his clothes, hat, everything!

“He sat near me, in conversation with an old man who had a gray beard, an unusually long gray beard, and a hunched back — or perhaps he was very much bent with age. There’s no doubt about it — I remember this man, but I never suspected he was Ecks, of course.”

“But, look here!” exclaimed Perivale. “You’d heard the description of Ecks! How was it you didn’t recognize that brown mole on his left cheek?”

“I never saw his left cheek!” replied Lawson. “He sat at a table not far from mine, on the same side of the café, with his right side to me. He never turned his full face in my direction. And I wasn’t there so long — I’d merely poked my nose in to see — well, what I could see!

“But that is the man — I particularly noted those clothes and the cloth deerstalker hat, both as being somewhat old-fashioned and anything but Parisian. I took him and his companion for a couple of artists — as a matter of fact they were examining some pictures — water colors, I think — which this man had in a small portfolio.”

Perivale looked at his two detective companions.

“Let us get out of this!” he said, moving toward the door. “Mr. Lawson will give us a fuller description of the old man who was with Ecks at this café! Because I think that that old man is Spring, alias Winter!”

Chapter XLV Leave Him Also to Us

This declaration on the part of Perivale caused Cripstone to turn on him with an incredulous smile and shake of the head.

“Surely not!” he exclaimed. “Come, now — from what you told me, Mr. Lawson here is thoroughly acquainted with Spring, or, as he called himself at Folkestone, Winter. Therefore, Spring would recognize him last night. And he’d have been a clever actor indeed if he didn’t show some sign of it which Mr. Lawson could hardly fail to perceive, unless he’s singularly unobservant — which,” he added, with a sly smile at Lawson, “he isn’t — in my opinion.”

“I feel confident the old man was not Spring,” said Lawson. “I can’t believe that any man could possibly disguise himself so effectually. He was a thoroughly patriarchal-looking old chap — a long, gray beard which covered most of his face, right up to his cheek bones, much wrinkled about his eyes, and with longish hair grayer than his beard.

“Genuine enough, in my opinion! It never crossed my mind for a second that he might be Spring. Besides, if he wasn’t a hunchback, he was so bowed with age that he looked like one.”

“You said he was a tall man,” remarked Perivale. “Who ever saw a tall hunchback?”

“Then it was age,” asserted Lawson. “He was a very, very old man!”

Perivale gave Lawson an indulgent smile.

“Did you look at his hands?” he asked.

“No — can’t say that I did,” replied Lawson. “Why?”

“Next time you’re looking at a man — under similar circumstances — look at his hands,” said Perivale. “You’ll soon tell if he’s really old, or elderly, or middle-aged, or young! I’m still of opinion that this old man was Srping, alias Winter, alias Summer! Anyhow, he was with Ecks. Therefore he will know something about Ecks. Accordingly, we must find him. Probably he is a regular customer at that café. You can find the café again?”

“I can find it again, certainly,” replied Lawson. “It had a name — usual sort of thing in that quarter — but I can’t remember it. Still, I can go to it.”

“To-night then,” said Perivale. “We must arrange a careful visit. What time was it when you were in there last night?”

“All about nine o’clock — from that to half past, anyway.”

“The same time to-night then,” repeated Perivale. “It is, at any rate, a chance.” He turned to Pelabos. “We can arrange matters?”

Pelabos showed no signs of belief in the proposed arrangement. He inclined his head toward the room they had just left.

“The news of that will be spread before the morning is much older!” he remarked. “It cannot be kept back. And Spring will hear it, and if — which I, too, greatly doubt — the old man described by M. Lawson really is Spring, then Spring will not be seen at that café, my friend!”

“You’re forgetting that Spring may feel absolutely safe in his make-up as a timeworn patriarch!” said Perivale. “I shall try the café, anyhow.”

He went back to the hotel after that, and to Budini. The Italian stared questioningly at him as Perivale closed the door and went to the side of his bed.

“Budini!” said Perivale. “There has been another murder! This time — Ecks! It is getting wholesale. We shall have to get that man, somehow. Now listen!”

Budini listened as if fascinated. He grew pale under his olive skin.

“It is as I told you!” he muttered. “He will stop at nothing! Whoever knows his secret is not safe! But — yes, there may be some safety now! I do not know, though, if there is safety for me — I know!”

“He must know that there are others than you who know his secret,” said Perivale. “But come — let us be practical. Do you know anything of this café that Lawson speaks of — I mean as being a resort of Spring’s?”

“Nothing! But then I don’t know how it is called. Still I never knew Spring to frequent any of the places in the Montmartre district.”

“Precisely why he should frequent them now!” remarked Perivale. “But I am amazed that he remains here in Paris at all! Why doesn’t he clear out with his spoils?”

“Because, in all probability, he never got hold of the spoils, at any rate, of the diamond, until during this last night,” replied Budini. “And the diamond is, of course, the most easily realizable property! As far as I am aware, it is not easy to get rid — I mean, to convert into more convenient form — your Bank of England notes of a thousand pounds each. But a diamond — ah, that is another matter!”

“And you think that Ecks got and held the diamond until last night?” suggested Perivale.

“I should say so — if your suspicion that the old man of the café is Spring is correct,” replied Budini. “Still, it is a mystery — and there is a conclusion, monsieur, to which, with due respect to your superior knowledge, I think you have jumped rather hastily!”

“Yes? What?” demanded Perivale.

“I do not feel at all certain that the man who knifed Ecks and who was seen by the night watchman, Bougaud, to run away with such extraordinary swiftness really was Spring,” replied Budini. “To my thinking that does not at all follow! The old man with the gray beard may have been Spring, made up, disguised, but I do not see that the man seen by Bougaud was Spring!”

“Can you think of any other person that it might have been then?” asked the detective.

Budini made a significant gesture.

“According to what Delardier, poor fellow, told me when he sought me that night,” he said, “the officials of some secret society were as anxious to find Ecks as they were resolved on finding Spring!

“Ecks, like Spring, was a traitor — a double dealing person. And those secret societies — ah, I know them and how they work and what they can do. This affair of Ecks may have been what the society in question would call an execution of justice! Do you not see?”

“I think it was the same hand that struck down Auberge at Folkestone and Delardier here in Paris,” replied Perivale. “The wounds in all three cases appear to have been caused by the same weapon — an unusual weapon, I should say.”

“I think you will find that this secret society is at work,” said Budini. “Such people, if betrayed or deceived, are implacable!”

Perivale said no more. Remarking that they would have their coffee brought up there, he rang the bell, and after giving his order, turned to his toilet preparations. But he was thinking. He had not forgotten the last words of the secret society official on quitting Pelabos and himself, the words that applied to Ecks:

“Leave him, also, to us, monsieur — leave him, also, to us!”

Chapter XLVI Better a Tiger’s Lair

Had these people wreaked their vengeance on Ecks? Was the big man that Bougaud saw running away so swiftly, not Spring, but some emissary of the society? And was some equally determined and vengeful agent tracking and dogging Spring?

If so, and Spring knew of it, or guessed it, would not that knowledge of suspicion cause Spring to live the life of a mole, until he could emerge from beneath the surface and get a chance to escape?

But that was all conjecture; the practical thing was to do something. During the whole of that day the police, under direction of Pelabos, were unusually busy and pertinacious, but when night fell Spring had not materialized, nor had any further information come to hand regarding him or Ecks.

Nobody came forward with particulars as to the murdered man; it was a puzzle as to where Ecks had lived, where he had hid himself during the time that had elapsed between his arrival in Paris from Boulogne and his murder outside the prefecture.

And when nine o’clock came that evening Perivale, in company with his two English companions, Pelabos, and a couple of French detectives, repaired to the café Lawson had spoken of, feeling that if something did not eventuate there the search for Spring was destined to be more difficult than ever.

Something had already eventuated before they reached the place to which Lawson conducted them. The street was a short and narrow one; halfway down its length an excited crowd was gathered, talking, vociferating, gesticulating. It was a crowd of civilians, old and young, but here and there was a uniform; over everything, from the people staring out of upper windows to those on the pavement, was an air of mystery. And in the doorway of a small café stood its proprietor, his hands busy, his shoulders eloquent, haranguing two or three policemen, one of whom wrote in a notebook.

“That’s the place!” exclaimed Lawson. “The Café de la Loup Gris! That’s its boss at the door. I remember him. But what’s the row?”

Pelabos murmured an admonition to follow him closely, and pushing his way through the crowd, advanced to the group at the door with an air of unmistakable authority. The policemen recognized him and fell back, resigning their job into his superior hands, and Pelabos motioned the excited proprietor to retire within his establishment.

“Let us go inside, my friend!” he said gently. “You shall narrate to us what has happened. Speak freely then — you perceive that I am in authority. What, then, makes itself here — an outrage?”

The proprietor drew his shoulders up to his ears and spread both hands wide.

“An outrage of the most abominable, monsieur!” he exclaimed. “Incredible — shameful. And in my establishment, too, the prevalent tone and atmosphere of which, as all who know it will testify, is of the highest respectability — a temple of the muses, monsieur, by which I would convey to monsieur that it is the resort of those who practice the arts!

“Oh, yes, indeed, an outrage such as I would not have conceived it possible I could ever witness beneath this so peaceful roof — ah, monsieur, I rage, I tremble at present, but I could weep—”

“Doubtless!” interrupted Pelabos. “But one weeps at leisure; at present the thing is to be stern! This outrage then?”

“Monsieur shall be told the story!” answered the proprietor, making a determined effort to nerve himself. “Monsieur shall judge for himself! Figure to yourself then, monsieur, the peaceful atmosphere of my establishment at the hour of nine — or a little earlier — this evening.

“Not many patrons present, monsieur, a few, well known to me. Among them an old one — a venerable, whose gray hairs should have been his protection! He has dined, monsieur — a delicate taste is his, in food and wine — and now he sits, calm, benign, peaceful, enjoying his coffee, his petit verre, his cigarette.

“It makes good the heart to behold him in the winter of his days, taking his ease after the exquisite refection his own taste and the skill of my accomplished chef — a veritable cordon bleu, did monsieur but know it — has caused to be served to him. But then, monsieur, truly a thunderbolt!

“The door of my establishment is suddenly and indecently thrust open, flung wide! To my horror and that of my patrons there rushes in a posse of men, all of whom, monsieur, wear masks of black cloth across the upper part of their faces, which are, doubtless, of the most villainous.

“Without a word, monsieur, they leap upon and seize my venerable patron; they pinion him by the arm, the leg; they offer him unbelievable indignities; they force, bear, carry, thrust him out of the door. They fling him into a car, a capacious car, which is without. Some fling themselves after him, some leap upon the car — they are off, monsieur, as swiftly as they arrive, their unfortunate victim at their mercy.

“And we others, we are stupefied, we gasp, we tremble, we gaze at one another, horror-stricken — we ask ourselves if we dream, if it is real, if we live in an age of civilization, if—”

“It is indeed an outrage worthy the times of the Huns,” agreed Pelabos. “But we will steel ourselves once more! This elderly gentleman — he is a regular patron of yours?”

“Since some little time ago, monsieur.”

“And his name?”

“Ah, monsieur, I cannot tell you! Yet it runs in my poor head that I have heard him called M. Blanc.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“No, monsieur, I do not know that. It is, perhaps, a period of two, or three months, since he began to patronize my establishment. I gathered — one keeps one’s eyes open, monsieur, and, to a certain extent, one’s ears — that he was a patron of the arts.

“I have here, monsieur, a small clientele of young artists — those, monsieur comprehends, who have not yet arrived, who are, as it were, climbing the hill. This good old gentleman bought many sketches, pictures, from these promising young men; he was, evidently, one of those who carry money in the purse — ah, yes, a well provided one, without doubt! Generous, too, I am assured — which makes this outrage all the more abominable as monsieur will admit.”

“I admit it freely,” agreed Pelabos. “An outrage of the most reprehensible! But this gang of miscreants — in which direction did their car proceed?”

But the proprietor did not know. Nor could any of the people in the street tell more than that the car, driven away at a high speed, turned the first corner and disappeared immediately.

“An affair of a moment, monsieur comprehends?” said a man outside who had witnessed the occurrence. “From the inception to the development, monsieur, an affair of seconds — literally!”

Pelabos and his companions went away. Pelabos drew Perivale aside when they were once outside the narrow street.

“We may draw our own conclusions about this, my friend,” he whispered. “Spring is in the hands of the society we know of! Well, then, we shall never know what has happened to him! But he had better have entered the lair of a tiger!”

“I agree,” said Perivale.

He went back to his hotel, and eventually to his room, feeling that Spring was now out of his reach. But he had removed no more than his coat when a porter appeared at the door and handed him a crumpled, much-folded scrap of paper.

Chapter XLVII Justice

The porter turned away as he placed the note in Perivale’s hand, signifying thereby that no answer was expected. But the detective had noticed a look on his face which suggested mystery, and he hastened to call him back.

“Who gave you this?” he asked. “And when?”

“But a moment ago, monsieur — as one would say. He was — yes, one of those two persons with whom monsieur was in conversation the other evening. Monsieur will recollect?”

“Where is he? Waiting?”

“No, monsieur. He did but enter, with a request that this should be brought to monsieur at once, and then retired.”

Perivale nodded, and as the man went away, turned back into his room and before untwisting the folded note, the outer flap of which was secured by a wafer, glanced at his watch. Half an hour after midnight — a strange time to receive any communication! But this — what was it? Standing beneath the electric light, he unfolded the scrap of paper and read a line, evidently written hastily, in pencil:

Perivale wasted no time in hesitation. Tearing the crumpled paper into fragments and slipping his revolver into his hip-pocket, he left the room forthwith and hurrying downstairs passed out into the street and turned to the left.

There, at the corner indicated he saw a man waiting, and advancing quickly toward him, recognized him at once as the elder of the two secret society men who had conversed with him and Pelabos; he saw, too, that his visitor was alone.

“You sent for me, monsieur!” he said quietly as he walked up. “I am here!”

The man made a polite bow.

“A thousand apologies for intruding on you at this hour, monsieur!” he answered. “But I feel assured that you will pardon me when I tell you that it is my desire, and the desire of those whom I represent, to place you in possession of certain information.

“I lay stress on that word you, M. Perivale! What I propose to tell you is for your private information, for your ears only. It is not for Pelabos — it is for you, representing the English police. You are an honorable man — you will respect my confidence?

“Very well, then, monsieur, you are, I know — for we are people who know everything about anything that concerns our affairs — you are acquainted with a certain event which took place at the Café de la Loup Gris some five hours ago? Precisely! And you would like to know what followed upon it, as far as the captured man was concerned?”

“I should certainly like to know that!” replied Perivale. “You will tell me?”

“I am here to tell you everything, M. Perivale — in strict confidence and privacy! Walk with me a little in this direction — there is a café I know of close by, where we can converse, a safe place, too. Indeed, all is safe — I shall discharge my task of telling you what I have to tell, and then... well, monsieur, you can then return to England satisfied!”

There was a strange tone of finality in that last word that made Perivale experience once more the curious sensation of ice-cold shivering that had come over him once before in this man’s company. But he made no remark, and followed his companion along the street to a café wherein there were still many customers.

His guide sought out a quiet corner and bade a somewhat sleepy waiter bring coffee. Not until they had been left to themselves did he speak again.

“M. Perivale, from what I have seen of you,” he said, “you are not a slow one — you can put together two and two as well as another!”

“I hope so,” replied Perivale. “And that means — eh?”

“That you guessed that the venerable man who was seized at the Loup Gris this evening was the person you knew as Spring, alias Winter.”

“To be plain, I did guess that.”

“You guessed rightly, monsieur. And you doubtless guessed further that the persons who arrested Spring and carried him away successfully, were officials of the society which I represent?”

“I guessed that, too. But I don’t think there was much guessing about it. I felt sure of it. Just as sure as I feel sure of something now!”

“And what is that, M. Perivale?”

“Why, that you’ve got Spring in safe keeping. Just that.”

The man smiled enigmatically.

“There you are wrong!” he answered. “Spring is now certainly in safe keeping, monsieur, but not in our keeping!” He leaned nearer to Perivale’s side and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Monsieur, I came to tell you the truth! You need not search for Spring any longer! He is dead!”

Perivale started, in spite of a determination to keep cool. He twisted sharply round on his companion with a questioning stare. But the man, who was calmly rolling a cigarette, only nodded nonchalantly, and repeated his last word:

“Dead!” he said. “In fine — executed!”

Perivale’s mouth suddenly felt curiously dry. He gulped once or twice.

“Good God!” he exclaimed. “You don’t mean that—”

“I mean that the man was a traitor, and that after due trial he was put to a traitor’s death, M. Perivale. He was shot through the heart at a quarter to twelve o’clock — and by this time he is safely buried.”

Chapter XLVIII For M. Pelabos

Perivale relapsed into silence. He had the feelings of a man who suddenly realizes that he is confronted with a secret power working in darkness. His companion evidently gauged his feelings and nodded sympathetically.

“You do not understand, monsieur,” he said. “You, with your official training, your cut-and-dried methods, you would call what I have just spoken of by an ugly name — murder! No — it is not even judicial murder. It is — justice! The man was a human tiger — he died red with blood!”

“You had something to tell me?” said Perivale.

“And I shall proceed to tell it,” replied the other. “Well, then, convinced, after the conversation which took place between Pelabos and yourself and my colleague and myself, that the man Spring was a traitor and a spy, and probably guilty of the murder of Auberge and the theft of our money and of the diamond at Folkestone, and of the subsequent murder of Delardier here, we used all our energies as a society to track him. We also expended our energy in tracing the man Ecks, whom we suspected as being Spring’s accomplice. In this—”

“Pardon,” interrupted Perivale. “A question. You know, of course, that Ecks was murdered near the prefecture some twenty-four hours ago?”

“We know, of course! There is nothing, M. Perivale, that we do not know in connection with this affair.”

“Well — who murdered Ecks?” asked Perivale bluntly.

“Spring! Because he had discovered that Ecks was about to — what is your English term? — to give him away! Ecks had grown alarmed, and was about to save his skin by confession to the authorities. Oh, yes, Spring!”

“Continue,” said Perivale.

“Yes — but from a certain point, to avoid being tedious,” said the other. “I need not worry you with the story of our doings — it is sufficient to say that by eight o’clock last night we knew where Spring was to be found — at the Loup Gris, cleverly disguised as a venerable old man: he was a past master, Spring, at that sort of thing!

“Well, we made our arrangements. At nine o’clock, a party of our society descended upon the Loup Gris, seized Spring, and carried him safely away to a place of retreat which not all the police in Paris could discover, M. Perivale — no, nor any of your Scotland Yard men, either. There he was immediately brought before our tribunal.

“His disguise was stripped off — very ingenious it was, even to his hunched back — and he was left, not naked, certainly, but in his true form as Spring, or Winter, or Summer, or whatever his real name was — a matter which will never be known.

“Then, being formally accused, he was warned that nothing but a full and complete disclosure would avail him — he must tell all! Monsieur — he began with a lie, a vile lie!”

“What?” asked Perivale eagerly.

“That all he had done had been done in the interests of the society. Now, there he made a great mistake, for before we laid hands on him, we knew he was guilty — we had already secured proofs, never mind how, that if we had not captured him, he would, before noon to-day, have been safely out of Paris.

“So all we were concerned with was to make ourselves acquainted with his doings, and he narrated them freely and with great plausibility, being under the impression — he was, like all criminals, a man of great vanity and conceit — that he could succeed in justifying himself to us. I shall now tell you his story.”

“That’s what I want,” said Perivale still more eagerly. “If it clears certain things up—”

“You will see,” continued the official. “According to Spring, he made the discovery that Auberge was a traitor, and not merely that, but an agent of your English police, and that instead of handing over our fifty thousand pounds to the English bank to which he had been entrusted to carry it, he was about to place it, with a full disclosure of our plans, in the keeping of some high-placed English politician or official.

“Spring accordingly entered into an arrangement with Ecks, and into another with Auberge. The arrangement with Ecks was that he should follow Auberge to Folkestone, and should there act under his, Spring’s, directions.

“Spring himself, in accordance with his arrangement with Auberge, was also to go to Folkestone. He had told Auberge that he had some private business in that town on the Monday evening, and, just to know that Auberge had arrived there with the diamond in safety, had appointed a brief meeting with Auberge near the hotel on the Leas at which Spring meant to stay.

“Now, all that is Spring’s story — whether he and Auberge were in collusion about the diamond and the fifty thousand pounds no one will ever know! All that we can know is what Spring told in the hope that we, his judges, would accept it as a proof of his loyalty to our society. And that amounts to this:

“Spring arrived in Folkestone early in the evening of Monday, October 23. He engaged a room at a small private hotel on the Leas. He dined there. He had arranged to meet Auberge — they both knew that town very well — at half past nine. Spring left his hotel to keep that appointment. Auberge was a little late, but they met.

“They walked about awhile; Spring, in his character of anxious part-proprietor, asked Auberge where the diamond was. Auberge told him that, for safety, he had secreted it in his bedroom at the Royal Pavilion Hotel, and where in the bedroom — in the left-hand side brass knob of the rail at the foot of the bed.

“Armed with this knowledge, and knowing, as he protested to us, that Auberge was about to betray the society on arriving in London, he lured Auberge to a path leading down the cliff, there — as he phrased it — removed him, and having extracted from Auberge’s pocket the wallet containing the bank notes, returned to the Leas.”

Perivale was listening eagerly and beginning to understand matters. The connection between Spring and Ecks was now becoming plain.

“Yes... yes!” he said. “And — afterward?”

“On the Leas, near the little hotel, Spring, according to arrangement, met Ecks. He told Ecks — who had secreted himself somewhere since the arrival of the boat from Boulogne — to go down to the Royal Pavilion and to engage a room for the night.

“He also told him where he, Ecks, would find the diamond in Auberge’s room, and he furnished him with a skeleton key which would open the door — neither he nor Ecks knew, then, that Auberge had left his key in the door. Ecks went off at once to do his part; Spring turned into his hotel.

“Next morning, at a very early hour, Spring left for Paris by way of Newhaven and Dieppe, Ecks left by way of Dover. They met in Paris that night, and Ecks, who, of course, had secured it without difficulty during his night’s stay at the Royal Pavilion Hotel, handed over the diamond to Spring, who, as you know, already had our fifty thousand pounds’ worth of English bank notes in his possession.

“So far, good — from their standpoint. But now came the hue and cry after Ecks. Followed on that Delardier’s revelation to Spring and threat of exposure. Delardier had to be removed; Spring removed him.

“Then Spring suspected Ecks, and twenty-four hours ago, dogged Ecks from a lodging to the neighborhood of the prefecture, where, certain that Ecks was about to denounce him, he removed him, also. He was frank, very frank, about these removals, but, M. Perivale, it was — eh — all in the service and interests of our society! Oh, entirely! A most specious, plausible man, this Spring!”

“Your tribunal did not believe him?”

“Would you believe a cat whose whiskers are white with cream? We listened-incredulous! Not that we showed that. But — we knew! Knew all — before we listened to him. Nor did it profit him when he handed over to us what he had on him — carefully concealed — the money and the diamond!”

“Ah!” exclaimed Perivale. “You secured them — both?”

“Both! It was his — what would you call it — his last straw!”

“And it availed him nothing?”

“Nothing!”

Perivale glanced inquisitively at his companion.

“I am curious!” he said. “What happened?”

“It was the ordinary procedure in such cases,” said the other colly. “Everything was strictly en regle. He was informed that he had been proved inimical to the interests of the society and must die. He saw there was no mercy for him, and accepted his fate — calmly. He was given permission to smoke a cigarette while lots were drawn.”

“Lots!” exclaimed Perivale. “As to—”

“As to who should perform the office of executioner,” replied the other. “A necessity!”

“And — then?” asked Perivale.

“Then — why, then, he was shot!”

“You saw it?”

His companion looked up from his task of making another cigarette.

“It was I who shot him!” he replied. “He died — instantaneously! Bah — let us talk of something else! M. Perivale, you will return to your country in the morning, is it not so? By the midday train from the Gare du Nord? Well, before you leave your hotel, you will receive a parcel from me. And here is another, a small tiling, that I have for you — take my advice and hand it to Pelabos. Well — that is all! Turn from me a moment — open your little packet!”

Perivale did as he was bidden, and turning in his seat, unrolled various wrappings of paper until he came to a wad of cotton wool. In that nestled a diamond — a thing of fire.

He twisted sharply toward his companion. But the man of the secret society was vanishing through the door, and Perivale made no effort to stop him.

Chapter XLIX The Umbrella

Perivale found it difficult to sleep that night; he had, indeed, known little of sleep when morning came. But he had made up his mind what to do about the diamond.

Budini was still in the hotel, and to Budini, in the presence of Pelabos, he handed the diamond over, telling them that it had been placed in his hands for the purpose, and that he washed those same hands of all further connection with the affair. In his opinion, he said, Spring would never be heard of again.

“There is no need to inquire further, my friend!” said Pelabos. “I comprehend more than you think! That society that we know of, eh — it has dealt with Spring — and it delivers up what is not its property to you! Well — did I not say that those others would do our work? And — you know nothing? Well again, then — one has liberty to guess!”

Perivale had no inclination for more guesswork; he wanted to get away — the taste of his midnight interview was still nasty in his mouth. But as he made his preparations for departure and hurried Cripstone and Lawson in theirs, the parcel which the secret society official had spoken of was brought to him — an affair in brown paper, a yard long, a few inches round.

“What on earth can this be?” he asked of Lawson, who was in his room, as he stripped off the wrappings. “Good Lord! An umbrella!”

“Jolly good one, too!” said Lawson. “But there’s a note fallen out.”

Perivale picked up the note and read:

He turned, staring, at Lawson.

“Weapon!” he exclaimed wonderingly. “What weapon! It’s an umbrella — an ordinary silk umbrella! Yet — read that note!”

Lawson read — exclaimed — picked up the umbrella — stared at it from top to bottom.

“By gad, though, I see it!” he shouted suddenly. “Look here, Perivale — do you notice that? The ferrule end of the umbrella is unusually long — eight inches long at least! And it’s unusually thick — see, it screws off! And — now look there!”

And as Perivale watched, Lawson screwed off the false covering of the ferrule and revealed inside a three-cornered stiletto, every edge of which was sharp as a Sheffield blade.