"Extraordinary!" ejaculated the detective, whose habitual coolness seemed utterly upset by the unexpected discovery. "This adds an entirely new feature to the case."
"What, I wonder, could have been the motive in giving the notes to mademoiselle?" queried his companion.
"How can we tell?" said the other. "It at least proves one thing, namely, that the man in the owl's dress is the individual we suspected."
"Do you then believe him to be the actual assassin?" I asked.
But the detectives, with the aid of the Director of the Casino, were busy counting the stolen notes. There were sixty, each for one thousand francs.
They examined the leather jewelry case, but found no mark upon it nor upon the paper wrappings. The box was such as might have once contained a bracelet, but the raised velvet-covered spring in the interior had been removed in order to admit of the introduction of the bank-notes, which, even when folded, formed a rather large packet.
"They are undoubtedly those stolen from M'sieur Thorne," the detective said. "In these circumstances it is our duty to take possession of them as evidence against the criminal. I shall lodge them with the Prefect of Police until we have completed the inquiry."
"Certainly," I answered. "I have no desire to keep them in my possession. The history connected with them is far too gruesome. But whatever motive could there be in handing them to me?"
"Ah, that we hope to discover later," the detective responded, carefully folding them, replacing them in the case, and taking charge of the wrappings, which it was believed might form some clue. "At present it would seem very much as though the assassin handed you the proceeds of his crime in order to convince you that robbery was not the motive."
"Then you do believe that the man in the owl's dress was the real culprit?" I cried eagerly. "If so, I have actually danced to-night with poor Reggie's murderer!" I gasped.
"It is more than likely that we shall be able to establish that fact," the subordinate observed in a rather uncertain tone.
"How unfortunate," ejaculated his superior, "that we allowed him to thus slip through our fingers—and with the money actually upon him too!"
"Yes," observed the Director of the Casino. "You have certainly to-night lost an excellent opportunity, messieurs. It is curious that neither of you noticed mademoiselle in the box talking with this mysterious individual."
"That was, I think, impossible," I remarked. "We sat quite back in the small alcove."
"What number was your box?" the Director asked.
"Fifteen."
"Ah! of course," he said quickly. "There is, I remember, a kind of alcove at the back. You sat in there."
"Well," observed the chief detective, "no good can be done by remaining here longer, I suppose, so we had better endeavor to trace this interesting person by other means. The fact that he has given up the proceeds of the crime is sufficient to show that he means to leave Nice. Therefore we must lose no time," and he glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes to two," he said. Then turning to his assistant, he ordered him to drive to the station and see whether the man who had worn the disguise of the night-bird was among the travellers leaving for Marseilles at two-thirty.
"Remain on duty at the station until I send and relieve you," he said. "There are several special trains to Cannes and Monte Carlo about three o'clock on account of the ball. Be careful to catch them all. It is my opinion that he may be going to cross the frontier at Ventimiglia. I'll telephone there as soon as I get down to the bureau."
"Bien, m'sieur," answered the other, and as they went out, wishing me good-night, I followed them, asking of the senior of the pair,—
"Tell me, m'sieur, what should be my best course of action. Do you think the threats are serious?"
"Not at all," he answered reassuringly. "My dear mademoiselle, don't distress yourself in the very least regarding what he has said. He has only endeavored to frighten you into rendering him assistance. Act just as you think proper. Your experience to-night has certainly been a strange one; but if I were in your place I would return to the hotel, sleep soundly, and forget it all until—well, until we make an arrest."
"You expect to do so, then?"
"We, of course, hope so. In my profession, you know, everything is uncertain. So much depends upon chance," and he smiled pleasantly.
"Then I presume you will communicate with me later as to the further result of your investigations?" I suggested.
"Most certainly. Mademoiselle shall be kept well informed of our operations, never fear."
We were at the door of the Casino, where a great crowd had assembled to watch the maskers emerging.
"Shall I call you a fiacre?" he asked quite gallantly.
"No, thank you," I responded. "I'll walk. It's only a few steps to the Grand."
"Ah, of course," he laughed. "I had forgotten. Bon soir, mademoiselle."
I wished him good-night, and next second he was lost in the crowd, while with my mind full of my extraordinary adventure I walked along the Quai St. Jean Baptiste to the hotel.
The incidents had been so strange that they seemed beyond belief.
I found the faithful Felicita dozing, but Ulrica had not returned. When she entered, however, a quarter of an hour later, she was in the highest of spirits, declaring that she had experienced a most delightful time.
"My opinion of the Carnival ball, my dear, is that it is by far the jolliest function on the Riviera," she declared. Then in the same breath she proceeded to give me an outline of her movements from the time we were lost to one another in the crowd. She had, it appeared, had supper with Gerald and several friends, and the fun had been fast and furious. Her dress was badly torn in places, and certainly her dishevelled appearance showed that she had entered thoroughly into the boisterous merriment of the Carnival.
"And you?" she inquired presently. "What in the world became of you? We searched everywhere before supper, but couldn't find you."
"I met a rather entertaining partner," I responded briefly.
"A stranger?"
"Yes," and I gave her a look by which she understood that I intended to say nothing before Felicita.
Therefore the subject was dropped, and as I resolved to tell her of my adventure later, she left me for the night.
I am seldom troubled by insomnia, but that night little sleep came to my eyes.
I lay there thinking it all over. I had now not the slightest doubt but that the man in the owl's dress was the assassin of poor Reggie. And I had chatted amicably with him. I had actually danced with him! The very thought held me horrified.
What marvellous self-confidence the fellow had displayed; what cool audacity, what unwarrantable interference in my private affairs, and what a terrible counter-stroke he had effected in presenting me with the actual notes filched from the dead man's pockets! The incident was rendered none the less bewildering on account of the entire absence of motive. I lay awake reflecting upon it the whole night long.
When we took our morning coffee together I related to Ulrica all that had passed. She sat, a pretty, dainty figure, in her lace-trimmed and beribboned robe-de-chambre, leaning her bare elbows upon the table, and listening open-mouthed.
"And the police actually allowed him to escape scot-free?" she cried indignantly.
"Yes."
"The thing is monstrous. I begin to think that their failure to trace the murderer is because they are in league with him. Here, abr one never knows. My dear Carmela, depend upon it that in this world of Monte Carlo the police are bribed just as the press, the railway men, and porters are bribed by those rulers of the Riviera, the Administration of the Société des Bains de Mer de Monaco."
"That may be so," I observed wonderingly. "But the fact still remains that last night I danced with Reggie's assassin."
"Did he dance well?"
"Oh Ulrica! Don't treat the thing humorously!" I protested.
"I'm not humorous. The worst of Carnival balls is that they're such mixed affairs. One meets millionaires and murderers, and rubs shoulders with the most notorious women in Europe. Your adventure, however, is absolutely unique. If it got into the papers what a nice little story it would make, wouldn't it?"
"For Heaven's sake, no!" I cried.
"Well, if you don't want it to reach the Petit Niois or the Eclaireur you'd better be pretty close about it. Poor Reggie's murder is a mystery, and the public fondly delight to read anything about a mystery."
We discussed it for a long time, until the entrance of Felicita caused us to drop the subject. Yes, it was, as Ulrica had declared, an absolute enigma.
About four o'clock in the afternoon, when we had both dressed ready to go out,—for we had accepted an invitation to go on an excursion in automobile up to Tourette,—the waiter entered with a card, which Ulrica took and read.
"Oh," she sighed, "here's another detective! Don't let him keep us, dear. You know the Allens won't wait for us. They said four o'clock sharp, opposite Vogarde's."
"But we can't refuse to see him," I said.
"Of course not," she replied, and turning to the waiter ordered him to show the caller up.
"There are two gentlemen," he explained.
"Then show them both up," answered Ulrica. "Be sharp, please, as we are in a hurry."
"Yes, madame," responded the waiter, a young Swiss, and went below.
"I suppose they are the pair I saw last night," I said. "The police on the Continent seem always to hunt in couples. One never sees a single gendarme, either in France or Italy."
"One goes to keep the other cheerful, I believe," Ulrica remarked, and a few moments later the two callers were shown in.
They were not the same as I had seen in the Director's room at the Casino.
"I regret this intrusion," said the elder, a dark-bearded, rather unwholesome-looking individual with lank black hair. "I have, I believe, the honor of addressing Mademoiselle Rosselli?"
"That's me," I responded briefly, for I did not intend them to cause me to lose a most enjoyable trip in that most chic of latter-day conveyances, an automobile.
"We are police agents, as you have possibly seen from my card, and have called merely to ask whether you can identify either of these photographs," and he pulled forth two cabinet pictures from his pocket and handed them over to me.
One was a prison photograph of an elderly, sad-eyed convict, with baldish head and scraggy beard, while the other was a well-taken likeness of a foppishly dressed young man of about twenty-eight, the upward trend of his mustache giving him a foreign appearance.
Both were strangers to me. I had never seen either of them in the flesh, at least to my knowledge, and Ulrica was also agreed that she had never seen any one bearing the slightest resemblance to either.
"Mademoiselle is absolutely certain?" the detective asked of me.
"Absolutely," I responded.
"Will mademoiselle have the kindness to allow her memory to go back for one moment to the day of the unfortunate gentleman's death?" asked the detective with an amiable air. "At the time M'sieur Thorne was at the table at Monte Carlo and playing with success there were, I believe, many persons around him."
"Yes, a crowd."
"And near him, almost at his elbow, you did not see this man?" he inquired, indicating the bearded convict.
I shook my head.
"I really do not recollect any face of that excited crowd," I responded. "He may have been there, but I certainly did not see him."
"Nor did I," chimed in Ulrica.
"Then I much regret troubling you," he said, bowing politely. "In this affair we are, as you of course know, making very searching inquiries on account of representations made by the Ambassador of the United States in Paris. We intend, if possible, to solve the mystery."
"And the man who accosted me at the ball last night," I said. "Do you suspect him to be the original of that photograph?"
"At the ball last night? I do not follow mademoiselle."
"But I made a statement of the whole facts to two agents of your department at an early hour this morning, before I left the Casino."
He looked puzzled, and his dark face brned into a smile.
"Pardon. But I think mademoiselle must be under some misapprehension. What occurred at the ball? Anything to arouse your suspicion?"
"To arouse my suspicion?" I echoed. "Why, a man attired in the garb of an owl accosted me, gave me a strange warning, and actually placed in my hands the sixty thousand francs in notes stolen from the dead man!"
"Impossible!" gasped the detective, amazed. "Where are the notes? You should have given us information instantly."
"I handed the notes to two police agents who were waiting in the Director's room, and to whom I made a statement of the whole affair."
"What!" he cried loudly. "You have parted with the money?"
"Certainly."
"Then mademoiselle has been most cleverly tricked, for the men to whom you handed the proceeds of the robbery were certainly not agents of the police!—they were impostors!"
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