LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

staring at him curiously. Since Dunbar had not yet attempted

      even to glance at the strange message, he wondered what had prompted the

      present line of inquiry.

      “My wife,” began Leroux, “shared a studio in Paris, at the time that I

      met her, with an American lady a very talented portrait painter--er--a

      Miss Denise Ryland. You may know her name?--but of course, you don't,

      no! Well, my wife is, herself, quite clever with her brush; in fact she

      has exhibited more than once at the Paris Salon. We agreed at--er--the

      time of our--of our--engagement, that she should be free to visit her

      old artistic friends in Paris at any time. You understand? There was to

      be no let or hindrance.... Is this really necessary, Inspector?”

      “Pray go on, Mr. Leroux.”

      “Well, you understand, it was a give-and-take arrangement; because I

      am afraid that I, myself, demand certain--sacrifices from my

      wife--and--er--I did not feel entitled to--interfere”...

      “You see, Inspector,” interrupted Dr. Cumberly, “they are a Bohemian

      pair, and Bohemians, inevitably, bore one another at times! This little

      arrangement was intended as a safety-valve. Whenever ennui attacked Mrs.

      Leroux, she was at liberty to depart for a week to her own friends in

      Paris, leaving Leroux to the bachelor's existence which is really his

      proper state; to go unshaven and unshorn, to dine upon bread and cheese

      and onions, to work until all hours of the morning, and generally to

      enjoy himself!”

      “Does she usually stay long?” inquired Dunbar.

      “Not more than a week, as a rule,” answered Leroux.

      “You must excuse me,” continued the detective, “if I seem to pry into

      intimate matters; but on these occasions, how does Mrs. Leroux get on

      for money?”

      “I have opened a credit for her,” explained the novelist, wearily, “at

      the Credit Lyonnais, in Paris.”

      Dunbar scribbled busily in his notebook.

      “Does she take her maid with her?” he jerked, suddenly.

      “She has no maid at the moment,” replied Leroux; “she has been without

      one for twelve months or more, now.”

      “When did you last hear from her?”

      “Three days ago.”

      “Did you answer the letter?”

      “Yes; my answer was amongst the mail which Soames took to the post,

      to-night.”

      “You said, though, if I remember rightly, that he was out without

      permission?”

      Leroux ran his fingers through his hair.

      “I meant that he should only have been absent five minutes or so; whilst

      he remained out for more than an hour.”

      Inspector Dunbar nodded, comprehendingly, tapping his teeth with the

      head of the fountain-pen.

      “And the other servants?”

      “There are only two: a cook and a maid. I released them for the

      evening--glad to get rid of them--wanted to work.”

      “They are late?”

      “They take liberties, damnable liberties, because I am easy-going.”

      “I see,” said Dunbar. “So that you were quite alone this evening,

      when”--he nodded in the direction of the writing-table--“your visitor

      came?”

      “Quite alone.”

      “Was her arrival the first interruption?”

      “No--er--not exactly. Miss Cumberly...”

      “My daughter,” explained Dr. Cumberly, “knowing that Mr. Leroux, at

      these times, was very neglectful in regard to meals, prepared him an

      omelette, and brought it down in a chafing-dish.”

      “How long did she remain?” asked the inspector of Leroux.

      “I--er--did not exactly open the door. We chatted, through--er--through

      the letter-box, and she left the omelette outside on the landing.”

      “What time would that be?”

      “It was a quarter to twelve,” declared Cumberly. “I had been supping

      with some friends, and returned to find Helen, my daughter, engaged

      in preparing the omelette. I congratulated her upon the happy thought,

      knowing that Leroux was probably starving himself.”

      “I see. The omelette, though, seems to be upset here on the floor?” said

      the inspector.

      Cumberly briefly explained how it came to be there, Leroux punctuating

      his friend's story with affirmative nods.

      “Then the door of the flat was open all the time?” cried Dunbar.

      “Yes,” replied Cumberly; “but whilst Exel and I searched the other

      rooms--and our search was exhaustive--Mr. Leroux remained here in the

      study, and in full view of the lobby--as you see for yourself.”

      “No living thing,” said Leroux, monotonously, “left this flat from the

      time that the three of us, Exel, Cumberly, and I, entered, up to the

      time that Miss Cumberly came, and, with the doctor, went out again.”

      “H'm!” said the inspector, making notes; “it appears so, certainly. I

      will ask you then, for your own account, Mr. Leroux, of the arrival of

      the woman in the civet furs. Pay special attention”--he pointed with his

      fountain-pen--“to the TIME at which the various incidents occurred.”

      Leroux, growing calmer as he proceeded with the strange story, complied

      with the inspector's request. He had practically completed his account

      when the door-bell rang.

      “It's the servants,” said Dr. Cumberly. “Soames will open the door.”

      But Soames did not appear.

      The ringing being repeated:--

      “I told him to remain in his room,” said Dunbar, “until I rang for him,

      I remember--”

      “I will open the door,” said Cumberly.

      “And

Скачать книгу