Through the Wall Part 72

"Not Dubois?"

"Ah, Dubois knew me, of course, but--Dubois is an automaton to carry out orders; he never knows what they mean. Anything else?"

Coquenil thought a moment. "Oh! Did you know that private room Number Seven would not be occupied that night by Wilmott and the dancing girl?"

"No."

"Then how did you dare go in there?"

"Wilmott and the girl were not due until nine and I had--finished by half past eight."

"How did you know Wilmott would not be there until nine?"

"Martinez told me. It was in Anita's _pet.i.t bleu_ that Mrs. Wilmott showed him."

"Had you no direct dealings with Anita?"

The baron shook his head. "I never saw the girl. The thing just happened and--I took my chance."

"You bought the auger for Martinez and told him where to bore the holes?"

"Yes."

"And the key to the alleyway door?"

"I got a duplicate key--through Dubois. Anything else?"

"It's all very clever," reflected M. Paul, "but--isn't it _too_ clever? Too complicated? Why didn't you get rid of this billiard player in some simpler way?"

"A natural question," agreed De Heidelmann-Bruck. "I could have done it easily in twenty ways--twenty stupid safe ways. But don't you see that is what I didn't want? It was necessary to suppress Martinez, but, in suppressing him as I did, there was also good sport. And when a man has everything, Coquenil, good sport is mighty rare."

"I see, I see," murmured the detective. "And you let Alice live all these years for the same reason?"

"Yes."

"The wood-carver game diverted you?"

"Precisely. It put a bit of ginger into existence." He paused, and half closing his eyes, added musingly: "I'll miss it now. And I'll miss the zest of fighting you."

"Ah!" said Coquenil. "By the way, how long have you known that I was working here in your stable?"

The baron smiled. "Since the first day."

"And--you knew about the valet?"

"Naturally."

"And about the safe?"

"It was all arranged."

"Then--then you _wanted_ me to read the diary?"

"Yes," answered the other with a strange expression. "I knew that if you read my diary I should be protected."

"I don't understand."

"Of course not, but--" Suddenly his voice grew harsher and M. Paul thought of the meeting on the Champs Elysees. "Do you realize, sir," the baron went on, and his voice was almost menacing, "that not once but half a dozen times since this affair started, I have been on the point of crus.h.i.+ng you, of sweeping you out of my path?"

"I can believe that."

"Why haven't I done it? Why have I held back the order that was trembling on my lips? Because I admire you, I'm interested in the workings of your mind, I, yes, by G.o.d, in spite of your stubbornness and everything, I like you, Coquenil, and I don't want to harm you.

"You may not believe it," he went on, "but when you sent word to the Brazilian Emba.s.sy the other day that you would accept the Rio Janeiro offer, after all, I was honestly happy _for you_, not for myself. What did it matter to me? I was relieved to know that you were out of danger, that you had come to your senses. Then suddenly you went mad again and, and did this. So I said to myself: 'All right, he wants it, he'll get it,' and, I let you read the diary."

"Why?"

"Why?" cried the baron hoa.r.s.ely. "Don't you _see_ why? You know everything now, _everything_. It isn't guesswork, it isn't deduction, it's absolute certainty. You have _seen_ my confession, you _know_ that I killed Martinez, that I robbed this girl of her fortune, that I am going to let an innocent man suffer in my place. You know that to be true, don't you?"

"Yes, I know it to be true."

"And because it's true, and because we both know it to be true, neither one of us can draw back. We _cannot_ draw back if we would. Suppose I said to you: 'Coquenil, I like you, I'm going to let you go free.' What would you reply? You would say: 'Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck, I'm much obliged, but, as an honest man, I tell you that, as soon as I am free, I shall proceed to have this enormous fortune you have been wickedly enjoying taken from you and given to its rightful owner.' Isn't that about what you would say?"

"I suppose it is," answered M. Paul.

"You know it is, and you would also say: 'Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck, I shall not only take this fortune from you and make you very poor instead of very rich, but I shall denounce you as a murderer and shall do my best to have you marched out from a cell in the Roquette prison some fine morning, about dawn, between a jailer and a priest, with your legs roped together and your s.h.i.+rt cut away at the back of the neck and then to have you bound against an upright plank and tipped forward gently under a forty-pound knife'--you see I know the details--and then, phsst! the knife falls and behold the head of De Heidelmann-Bruck in one basket and his body in another! That would be your general idea, eh?"

"Yes, it would," nodded the other.

"Ah!" smiled the baron. "You see how I have protected myself _against my own weakness_. I must destroy you or be destroyed. _I am forced_, M.

Coquenil, to end my friendly tolerance of your existence."

"I see," murmured M. Paul. "If I hadn't read that diary, your nerve would have been a little dulled for this--business." He motioned meaningly toward the shadows.

"That's it."

"Whereas now the thing _has_ to be done and--you'll do it."

"Exactly! Exactly!" replied the baron with the pleasure one might show at a delicate compliment.

For some moments the two were silent, then M. Paul asked gravely: "How soon will the girl be here?"

"She's undoubtedly here now. She is waiting outside." He pointed to a heavily barred iron door.

"Does she know it was a trick, about the ring?"

"Not yet."

Again there was a silence. Coquenil hesitated before he said with an effort: "Do you think it's necessary to--to include _her_ in this--affair?"