Mardi Gras Mystery

CHAPTER XII. HARRY OBSERVES

IT was ten o’clock that night. Andrew Blouchet’s apartment had become a miniature ballroom, wherein an orchestra provided music for a score of carefree dancers. Andrew had called in a crew of decorators during the afternoon. He had made the big room into a fanciful grotto, filled with mellow light that shone upon clusters of potted palm trees.

The decorations lined the walls, allowing space for the dance floor. The safe in the corner was entirely obscured from view. The other corners, like spaces between the palm trees, were fitted with quaint rustic benches where couples sat between the dances.

There were more men than ladies present; and Andrew, acting as host, had not found time to dance.

Standing by the deserted corner near the camouflaged safe, Andrew caught the eye of Harry Vincent, who was dancing with a partner. Harry nodded; when another man cut in. He relinquished his partner and came over to join Andrew.

They were away from everyone; for the corner formed an alcove at the front. Even the orchestra was distant, for Andrew had placed it in the rear of the room, by the windows that opened into the courtyard.

When they began their conference, Andrew and Harry ran no danger of being overheard.

“Jerry Bodwin just called up,” stated Andrew, nudging his thumb toward the front bedroom, where the telephone was located. “He and Fanchon Callier will be here soon.”

“You talked with Jerry this afternoon?” queried Harry.

“Just for a short while,” replied Andrew. “Then I had to move along and arrange for the decorations. I made sure that nothing had happened to Fanchon. Jerry had a call from her while we were talking, saying that she would be late getting to the theater.”

“Did Jerry tell you much about her?”

“Only that she had a letter of recommendation from a theater owner in Baton Rouge. That was why Jerry gave her the job at the Luzanne. But he had met her before, here in New Orleans, when she was visiting friends.”

“Who were the friends?”

“Jerry didn’t know. He doesn’t even remember who introduced him to her. He met her at some social events; he recalled who she was when she came in with the letter from Baton Rouge.” Harry nodded in speculative fashion. He was wondering just how Jerry Bodwin might figure in the picture.

“Of course,” added Andrew. “I didn’t press Jerry too closely for information. I would rather talk directly to Fanchon, after she arrives.”

“You will have the opportunity?”

“Yes. Look at the palm tree, here to our right. Do you notice how it cuts off the corner toward the fireplace?”

Harry looked and nodded.

“After I have danced with Fanchon,” explained Andrew, “we shall seat ourselves on the bench by that palm, which no one has noticed. If you stand directly behind the palm, Harry, you will be able to hear our conversation. More than that, you will be able to watch Fanchon and notice her reaction. I am going to talk about the money.”

Harry was about to speak, when he saw Lieutenant Wayson enter. He nudged Andrew, who nodded.

“I’ll see you later, Harry,” said Andrew. “Be ready, when the time comes.”

ANDREW walked over and shook hands with Wayson. The lieutenant chatted a few minutes; then departed. He had merely stopped in to say hello.

Hardly had Wayson gone before two other persons arrived. Harry knew that they must be Jerry Bodwin and Fanchon Callier. Andrew began to introduce them, as the dance ended. Harry joined those who were shaking hands with the newcomers and learned that his surmise was correct.

The dance was resumed. Harry, as a non-participant, watched Fanchon. This was the first time that he had seen the girl, and Harry was impressed by her attractiveness. He began to share Andrew’s opinion that Fanchon must be an innocent party in the chain of circumstances that had terminated with violent crime.

Fanchon had danced first with Jerry Bodwin. Her second dance was with Andrew. He waited until most of the benches had been occupied; then found the one in the small corner beside the fireplace.

When Andrew sat down beside Fanchon, both were partly obscured from the view of others in the room. Harry, sidling behind the palm, found a perfect hiding place.

A decorative light shade was awry. Andrew tried to adjust it. He managed so that the glow showed Fanchon’s face more plainly; the girl, in turn, could study Andrew’s countenance. Harry obtained a good view of both.

“So you like New Orleans?” queried Andrew.

“Very much,” replied Fanchon. “The French Quarter particularly, now that I have really begun to visit it.”

“You should have been here during Mardi Gras,” remarked Andrew. “New Orleans is at its best when Carnival reigns.”

“I was!” exclaimed Fanchon, with enthusiasm. “Mardi Gras was wonderful!”

“Did you join the masqueraders?”

“Not exactly. I did have a costume; but I wore it only a short time.”

“I could picture it,” speculated Andrew, with a slight smile. “Yes, I could imagine the very costume that would suit you.”

“What type of costume, for instance?”

Andrew looked toward the ceiling, as though considering Fanchon’s question. He spoke slowly.

“You would be most charming,” he said, “in a ballet costume. One of the old-fashioned sort that is seen in the pages of old books.”

Another dance was beginning; but Fanchon did not seem to hear the music. Harry could see the girl’s eyes open as they gazed toward Andrew. He was still looking toward the ceiling, with a look that one would wear when recalling the past.

“ADVENTURE intrigues me,” resumed Andrew. “Therefore, my imagination is often influenced by scenes which I have observed. During Mardi Gras, I chanced to see an attractive ballet costume, worn by a girl who might have been you.”

“In one of the pageants?” queried Fanchon, artfully.

“No,” answered Andrew. “Here in Frenchtown, near my favorite restaurant, Gallion’s. The girl was holding an object; it appeared to be a box of ebony, with silver corners.”

“Most curious!” exclaimed Fanchon. “Was she waiting for someone?”

“Yes,” nodded Andrew. “A man, dressed in the costume of an old New Orleans cavalier. A fellow who carried a short sword at his side. The girl gave him the box.”

“Most amazing!” Fanchon spoke tensely. “Did they talk together? The dancer and the cavalier?”

“For a few moments only. Then they parted. Both were masked. The whole incident was a mystery. I have wondered much about it since. Particularly about the contents of the box. The contents must have been important, for the girl gave the man a key.”

“Perhaps the girl was returning letters that the man had written her.”

“No. They appeared to be strangers. That was the most intriguing part of it. Do you know, Miss Callier, I have been fancying a sequel to that episode. Studying it, of course, from the man’s viewpoint.”

“I should like to hear your conclusion.”

“Suppose” — Andrew paused to lower his gaze and look out toward the dance floor — “suppose that the box had contained money. Much money, in bank notes. Money that the man had not expected to receive.”

“Could that have been possible?” inquired Fanchon, in a low, strained tone. Harry saw her looking straight toward Andrew. “Did the box look light enough for that?”

“Paper money,” returned Andrew, “is no heavier than letters.”

“But the box could have held documents. Important ones like — like deeds to property, or — or—”

“Suppose that it held money,” insisted Andrew. “Remember, the man did not know who the girl was. Yet she insisted that the ebony box was his. Should he feel free to spend it?”

“I suppose so. Since the girl had insisted that the box belonged to him.”

“But if the girl had made a mistake—”

“I see. He would have been worried about her?”

“Logically, yes.”

“But, the girl was a stranger.”

“Why should that make a difference?”

ANDREW looked straight toward Fanchon as he spoke. Harry saw the girl turn her head in time to avoid his glance.

She did not answer the question. Andrew spoke again.

“Suppose,” he said, quietly, “that the man saw the girl again; or saw a girl who resembled her. One who had a voice like the girl who had been in costume. Suppose he was sure that he had found the girl; that she exceeded the fleeting impression that he had gained of her; that he found her lovelier—”

“You were speaking about the money.” Fanchon, her composure regained, met Andrew’s gaze directly.

“I told you that I believed the money would be rightfully his.”

“That would be your full opinion?”

“Absolutely! I feel positive that the girl must have obeyed instructions. In fact, she might not have known what was actually in the box. If she gave it to the wrong man, I doubt that she would have been criticized by the person who had told her to deliver the box.”

“You speak as though your opinion might be based upon some experience of your own.” Andrew’s statement was direct. Fanchon met it with an excellent reply.

“If I speak in that fashion,” said the girl, “it is only because you influenced my statement. You have spoken as though you, yourself, had met with an experience like that of the young man.” Andrew laughed.

“Something happened to me later,” he remarked. “Something that could have occurred to the recipient of the box. That was why I pictured the story further.”

“Something happened?” Fanchon’s tone was uneasy. “Something that concerned you?”

“Certainly. You have read the newspapers, haven’t you?”

“You mean last night?” Fanchon’s tone was breathless, “that terrible experience that you encountered? I read about it this afternoon and called up Mr. Bodwin to ask him if you were all right.”

“I was with him when you called.”

Fanchon hesitated a moment; then looked away. She spoke; her voice was tense.

“I begin to understand your story,” she said. “If you had been that man; if you had received the money; if you had found the girl; and if —”

She stopped. Her face was firm.

“If you had spent some of the money,” she declared, “and men had come here afterward, to take your wealth from you, it would make you believe that the girl was the one to blame.”

Andrew gazed straight ahead, not noting the girl’s expression. He was leaving that to Harry; and The Shadow’s agent could see that Fanchon, despite her feigned composure, was counting much on Andrew’s reply.

“I would not blame the girl,” stated Andrew, with a shake of his head. “I would leave the question open, until I met her.”

“But if you did not find her?”

“Then, I would look for someone who would understand. Some other girl, perhaps, who could answer for her. One who could picture herself as the girl in question, as plainly as I can see myself as the man.”

“And you think that I could speak for the girl?”

“As well as I could speak for the man.”

“Then I shall answer for her. I would say that the girl was innocent. That she had not known the trouble that she would cause.”

“But she must have known what the box contained.”

“No. You, yourself, conceded that point, Mr. Blouchet. Let us suppose that the girl was merely following instructions—”

“From whom?”

“From someone whom she trusted.”

“Then what would she do when she learned about the contents of the box?”

“She would talk to the person who had given her the box, in hope that he could explain matters to the man who had finally received it.”

ANDREW looked at Fanchon. The girl’s tone was sincere; her expression had steadied.

“First,” declared Fanchon, firmly, “the girl would have to talk to the person who had originally owned the box. She would have to tell him all that she had learned. That would be in fairness to a person whom she trusted.”

A new dance was beginning. Before Andrew could make another statement, Fanchon had risen. She stepped toward the dance floor. Andrew followed. Jerry Bodwin happened along ahead of him and asked Fanchon for the dance. Andrew strolled away beyond the palm tree. Harry stepped out to join him.

“She is the girl,” stated Andrew solemnly. “I believe her, Harry. She will tell me the true facts, later.”

“I think she will,” agreed Harry. “I watched her closely, Andrew. Her whole attitude was genuine.”

“I wanted your opinion, Harry. Not that I mistrusted Fanchon; but because I am not sure of myself. I have fallen in love with Fanchon. She may have realized it. It seemed a bad beginning to question her. And yet—”

“It was the only way, Andy. I believe that Fanchon cares for you. The best plan is for you to wait—”

Andrew interrupted suddenly. A sleek, dark-haired man had entered the apartment and was looking about, studying the dancers in anxious fashion.

“Carl Randon!” exclaimed Andrew. “Back from New York! Wait, Harry! I’ll bring him over here.”

Two minutes later, Andrew had introduced Carl to Harry, with explanations as to the part that Harry had played in last night’s fray. Carl spoke warmly.

“You did a lot, Vincent,” he said Harry. “I wish I had been here to help Andy, as you did. I read about the fight this morning. I hopped a plane and came on to see Andy.”

“From New York?” queried Andrew.

“No.” Andrew shook his head. “I had left New York for a trip west. I was in St. Louis when I read the news. Listen, Andy, I want to ask you something. Privately—”

Andrew nudged Carl into the next room and drew Harry along. Closing the door, Andrew told Carl:

“Harry knows the whole story. I had to tell him. He can listen while we talk.”

“What about the money?” queried Carl, anxiously. “Do you still have it?”

“I have other money,” replied Andrew. “Somehow, it was mysteriously changed. The whole case is baffling, Carl. But I have found out something that may bring a complete solution.”

“What is that?”

“I have discovered the girl who gave me the money.”

“You have?” Carl’s tone was sharp and eager. “Who is she? Where is she?”

“Her name is Fanchon Callier. She is here tonight, with Jerry Bodwin.”

“You have talked to her?”

“Yes. Only enough to learn that someone gave her the ebony box. I wish you had been here, Carl. Harry was watching when I talked to her.”

Carl shook his head.

“I would like to talk to her myself,” he declared. “You are too imaginative, Andy. You do not have the practical angle. If I could only talk to her — alone—”

“A good idea, Carl,” interposed Andrew. “What is more, I can arrange it. Jerry Bodwin has no car; but you have. How soon can you get it?”

“It would take me half an hour. I left it out in a private garage, to save expense while I was away.”

“All right. I’ll introduce you to Fanchon. Talk to her and Jerry for a while; then, leave and get the car. When they are ready to go, offer to take them. Jerry is going back to the office; but Fanchon is going home. You can take her there.”

“A fine idea, Andy. Introduce me; I’ll leave in about fifteen minutes. Remember: I’m your closest friend. Emphasize that point. Then the girl may start to sound me out, when we are driving to her home.”

ANDREW and Carl went out into the living room. There was an interval in the dance. Harry saw them approach Jerry and Fanchon, who were seated across the room. From where he stood, Harry witnessed the introduction. He was wondering, if by some chance, Carl and Fanchon had met before. Apparently, they had not; yet Harry was not positive.

All had gone well tonight, up to the point of Carl Randon’s unexpected entry. From that moment, Harry had seen complications. He had reason to wonder whether or not Carl was a real friend of Andrew’s.

The fellow puzzled Harry. It was possible that Carl was playing a game of his own. Though chances were that if Carl might be acting in behalf of Andrew, there was a possibility that the opposite might be the case.

Just as with Fanchon Callier. She, too, seemed favorable toward Andrew, yet it was a certainty that she had played a part in an episode that had brought on trouble. Harry knew that it would be a mistake for Carl and Fanchon to gain opportunity for discussion between themselves.

Deep in doubt, Harry saw but one way out. Closing the door of the bedroom, he paced back and forth, his eye upon the telephone. A call to The Shadow. That was the answer. Harry knew where to reach his chief.

Alone, Harry was allowing himself five minutes for review, that he might present the facts concisely. He would make his call before Carl Randon went to get the car. The Shadow would have the facts in time for any action that he chose.

The details were straightening in Harry’s mind; but they still formed a maze of circumstances. More bits had been added to the puzzle; and it was Harry’s duty to supply them. Only The Shadow could fit them where they belonged.