Through the Wall Part 53

"Oh, yes, much happier."

"All right," he nodded, "I'll wait."

"Thank you, Cousin Adolf," she said eagerly. "I'll hurry right back; I'll be here by ten minutes past three."

He eyed her keenly. "You needn't trouble to come back, I'll go to the church with you."

"And wait there?" she asked with a shade of disappointment.

"Yes," he answered briefly.

There was nothing more to say, and a few minutes later Alice, anxious-eyed but altogether lovely in flower-spread hat and a fleecy pink gown, entered Notre-Dame followed by the wood carver.

"Will you wait here, cousin, by my little table?" she asked sweetly.

"You seem anxious to get rid of me," he smiled.

"No, no," she protested, but her cheeks flushed; "I only thought this chair would be more comfortable."

"Any chair will do for me," he said dryly. "Where is your confessional?"

"On the other side," and she led the way down the right aisle, past various recessed chapels, past various confessional boxes, each bearing the name of the priest who officiated there. And presently as they came to a confessional box in the s.p.a.ce near the sacristy Alice pointed to the name, "Father Anselm."

"There," she said.

"Is the priest inside?"

"Yes." And then, with a new idea: "Cousin Adolf," she whispered, "if you go along there back of the choir and down a little stairway, you will come to the treasure room. It might interest you."

He looked at her in frank amus.e.m.e.nt. "I'm interested already. I'll get along very nicely here. Now go ahead and get through with it."

The girl glanced about her with a helpless gesture, and then, sighing resignedly, she entered the confessional. Groener seated himself on one of the little chairs and leaned back with a satisfied chuckle. He was so near the confessional that he could hear a faint murmur of voices--Alice's sweet tones and then the priest's low questions.

Five minutes pa.s.sed, ten minutes! Groener looked at his watch impatiently.

He heard footsteps on the stone of the choir, and, glancing up, saw Matthieu polis.h.i.+ng the carved stalls. Some ladies pa.s.sed with a guide who was showing them the church. Groener rose and paced back and forth nervously. What a time the girl was taking! Then the door of the confessional box opened and a black-robed priest came out and moved solemnly away. _Enfin!_ It was over! And with a feeling of relief Groener watched the priest as he disappeared in the pa.s.sage leading to the sacristy.

Still Alice lingered, saying a last prayer, no doubt. But the hour was advancing. Groener looked at his watch again. Twenty minutes past three!

She had been in that box over half an hour. It was ridiculous, unreasonable. Besides, the priest was gone; her confession was finished.

She must come out.

"Alice!" he called in a low tone, standing near the penitent's curtain.

There was no answer.

Then he knocked sharply on the woodwork: "Alice, what are you doing?"

Still no answer.

Groener's face darkened, and with sudden suspicion he drew aside the curtain.

The confessional box was empty--_Alice was gone!_

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The confessional box was empty--_Alice was gone!_"]

CHAPTER XXII

AT THE HAIRDRESSER'S

What had happened was very simple. The confessional box from which Alice had vanished was one not in use at the moment, owing to repairs in the wall behind it. These repairs had necessitated the removal of several large stones, replaced temporarily by lengths of supporting timbers between which a person might easily pa.s.s. Coquenil, with his habit of careful observation, had remarked this fact during his night in the church, and now he had taken advantage of it to effect Alice's escape. The girl had entered the confessional in the usual way, had remained there long enough to let Groener hear her voice, and had then slipped out through the open wall into the sacristy pa.s.sage beyond. _And the priest was Tignol!_

"I scored on him that time," chuckled Coquenil, rubbing away at the woodwork and thinking of Alice hastening to the safe place he had chosen for her.

"M. Matthieu!" called Groener. "Would you mind coming here a moment?"

"I was just going to ask you to look at these carvings," replied Matthieu, coming forward innocently.

"No, no," answered the other excitedly, "a most unfortunate thing has happened. Look at that!" and he opened the door of the confessional. "She has gone--run away!"

Matthieu stared in blank surprise. "Name of a pipe!" he muttered. "Not your cousin?"

Groener nodded with half-shut eyes in which the detective caught a flash of black rage, but only a flash. In a moment the man's face was placid and good-natured as before.

"Yes," he said quietly, "my cousin has run away. It makes me sad because--Sit down a minute, M. Matthieu, I'll tell you about it."

"We'll be more quiet in here," suggested Matthieu, indicating the sacristy.

The wood carver shook his head. "I'd sooner go outside, if you don't mind.

Will you join me in a gla.s.s at the tavern?"

His companion, marveling inwardly, agreed to this, and a few moments later the two men were seated under the awning of the Three Wise Men.

"Now," began Groener, with perfect simplicity and friendliness, "I'll explain the trouble between Alice and me. I've had a hard time with that girl, M. Matthieu, a very hard time. If it wasn't for her mother, I'd have washed my hands of her long ago; but her mother was a fine woman, a n.o.ble woman. It's true she made one mistake that ruined her life and practically killed her, still----"

"What mistake was that?" inquired Matthieu with sympathy.

"Why, she married an American who was--the less we say about him the better. The point is, Alice is half American, and ever since she has been old enough to take notice, she has been crazy about American men." He leaned closer and, lowering his voice, added: "That's why I had to send her to Paris five years ago."

"You don't say!"

"She was only thirteen then, but well developed and very pretty and--M.

Matthieu, she got gone on an American who was spending the winter in Brussels, a married man. I had to break it up somehow, so I sent her away.

Yes, sir." He shook his head sorrowfully.

"And now it's another American, a man in prison, charged with a horrible crime. Think of that! As soon as Mother Bonneton wrote me about it, I saw I'd have to take the girl away again. I told her this morning she must pack up her things and go back to Brussels with me, and that made the trouble."