The Mystery of the Boule Cabinet Part 37

"And he accomplished all this by means of a confederate in the employ of the Armands?"

"No doubt of it. The clerk who made the supposed sale to Vantine and got a commission on it, resigned suddenly two days ago--just as soon as he had intercepted your cable and answered it. The Paris police are looking for him, but I doubt if they'll find him."

I paused to think this over; and then a sudden impatience seized me.

"That's all clear enough," I said. "The cabinets might have been exchanged just as you say they were--no doubt you are right--but all that doesn't lead us anywhere. Why were they exchanged? What is there about that Boule cabinet which makes this unknown willing to do murder for it? Does he think those letters are still in it?"

"He knows they are not in it now--you told him. Before that, he knew nothing about the letters. If he had known of them, he would have had them out before the cabinet was s.h.i.+pped."

"What is it, then?" I demanded. "And, above all, G.o.dfrey, why should this fellow hide himself in Vantine's house and kill two men? Did they surprise him while he was working over the cabinet?"

"I see no reason to believe that he was ever inside the Vantine house," said G.o.dfrey quietly; "that is, until you took him there yourself this afternoon."

"But, look here, G.o.dfrey," I protested, "that's nonsense. He must have been in the house, or he couldn't have killed Vantine and Drouet."

"Who said he killed them?"

"If he didn't kill them, who did?"

G.o.dfrey took two or three contemplative puffs, while I sat there staring at him.

"Well," G.o.dfrey answered, at last, "now I'm going to romance a little. We will return to your fascinating friend, Armand, as we may as well call him for the present. He is an extraordinary man."

"No doubt of it," I agreed.

"I can only repeat what I have said before--in my opinion, he is the greatest criminal of modern times."

"If he is a criminal at all, he is undoubtedly a great one," I conceded. "But it is hard for me to believe that he is a criminal.

He's the most cultured man I ever met."

"Of course he is. That's why he's so dangerous. An ignorant criminal is never dangerous--it's the ignorant criminals who fill the prisons.

But look out for the educated, accomplished ones. It takes brains to be a great criminal, Lester, and brains of a high order."

"But why should a man with brains be a criminal?" I queried. "If he can earn an honest living, why should he be dishonest?"

"In the first place, most criminals are criminals from choice, not from necessity; and with a cultured man the incentive is usually the excitement of it. Have you ever thought what an exciting game it is, Lester, to defy society, to break the law, to know that the odds against you are a thousand to one, and yet to come out triumphant?

And then, I suppose, every great criminal is a little insane."

"No doubt of it," I agreed.

"Just as every absolutely honest man is a little insane," went on G.o.dfrey quickly. "Just as every great reformer and enthusiast is a little insane. The sane men are the average ones, who are fairly honest and yet tell white lies on occasion, who succ.u.mb to temptation now and then; who temporise and compromise, and try to lead a comfortable and quiet life. I repeat, Lester, that this fellow is a great criminal, and that he finds life infinitely more engrossing than either you or I. I hope I shall meet him some time--not in a little skirmish like this, but in an out-and-out battle. Of course I'd be routed, horse, foot and dragoons--but it certainly would be interesting!" and he looked at me, his eyes glowing.

"It certainly would!" I agreed. "Go ahead with your romance."

"Here it is. This M. Armand is a great criminal, and has, of course, various followers, upon whom he must rely for the performance of certain details, since he can be in but one place at a time. Abject and absolute obedience is necessary to his success, and he compels obedience in the only way in which it can be compelled among criminals--by fear. For disobedience, there is but one punishment --death. And the manner of the death is so certain and so mysterious as to be almost supernatural. For deserters and traitors are found to have died, inevitably and invariably, from the effects of an insignificant wound on the right hand, just above the knuckles."

I was listening intently now, as you may well believe, for I began to see whither the romance was tending.

"It is by this secret," G.o.dfrey continued, "that Armand preserves his absolute supremacy. But occasionally the temptation is too great, and one of his men deserts. Armand sends this cabinet to America. He knows that in this case the temptation is very great indeed; he fears treachery, and he arranges in the cabinet a mechanism which will inflict death upon the traitor in precisely the same way in which he himself inflicts it--by means of a poisoned stab in the right hand.

Imagine the effect upon his gang. He is nowhere near when the act of treachery is performed, and yet the traitor dies instantly and surely! Why, it was a tremendous idea! And it was carried out with absolute genius."

"But," I questioned, "what act of treachery was it that Armand feared?"

"The opening of the secret drawer."

"Then you still believe in the poisoned mechanism?"

"I certainly do. The tragedy of this afternoon proves the truth of the theory."

"I don't see it," I said, helplessly.

"Why, Lester," protested G.o.dfrey, "it's as plain as day. Who was that bearded giant who was killed? The traitor, of course. We will find that he was a member of Armand's gang. He followed Armand to America, lay in wait for him, caught him in the net and bound him hand and foot. Do you suppose for an instant that Armand was ignorant of his presence in that house? Do you suppose he would have been able to take Armand prisoner if Armand had not been willing that he should?"

"I don't see how Armand could help himself after that fellow got his hands on him."

"You don't? And yet you saw yourself that he was not really bound --that he had cut himself loose!"

"That is true," I said, thoughtfully.

"Let us reconstruct the story," G.o.dfrey went on rapidly. "The traitor discovers the secret of the cabinet; he follows Armand to New York, shadows him to the house on Seventh Avenue, waits for him there, and seizes and binds him. He is half mad with triumph--he chants a crazy sing-song about revenge, revenge, revenge! And, in order that the triumph may be complete, he does not kill his prisoner at once. He rolls him into a corner and proceeds to rip away the burlap. His triumph will be to open the secret drawer before Armand's eyes. And Armand lies there in the corner, his eyes gleaming, because it is really the moment of _his_ triumph which is at hand!"

"The moment of his triumph?" I repeated. "What do you mean by that, G.o.dfrey?"

"I mean that, the instant the traitor opened the drawer, he would be stabbed by the poisoned mechanism! It was for that that Armand waited!"

I lay back in my chair with a gasp of amazement and admiration. I had been blind not to see it! Armand had merely to lie still and permit the traitor to walk into the trap prepared for him. No wonder his eyes had glowed as he lay there watching that frenzied figure at the cabinet!

"It was not until the last moment," G.o.dfrey went on, "when the traitor was bending above the cabinet feeling for the spring, that I realised what was about to happen. There was no time for hesitation --I sprang into the room. Armand vanished in an instant, and the giant also tried to escape; but I caught him at the door. I had no idea of his danger; I had no thought that Armand would dare linger.

And yet he did. Now that it is too late, I understand. He _had_ to kill that man; there were no two ways about it. Whatever the risk, he had to kill him."

"But why?" I asked. "Why?"

"To seal his lips. If we had captured him, do you suppose Armand's secret would have been safe for an instant? So he had to kill him--he had to kill him with the poisoned barb--and he _did_ kill him, and got away into the bargain! Never in my life have I felt so like a fool as when that door was slammed in my face!"

"Perhaps he had that prepared, too," I suggested timidly, ready to believe anything of this extraordinary man. "Perhaps he knew that we were there, all the time."

"Of course he did," a.s.sented G.o.dfrey grimly. "Why else would there be a snap-lock on the outside of the door? And to think I didn't see it!

To think that I was fool enough to suppose that I could follow him about the streets of New York without his knowing it! He knew from the first that he might be followed, and prepared for it!"

"But it's incredible!" I protested feebly. "It's incredible!"

"Nothing is incredible in connection with that man!"

"But the risk--think of the risk he ran!"

"What does he care for risks? He despises them--and rightly. He got away, didn't he?"

"Yes," I said, "he got away; there's no question of that, I guess."