Back Aa

Rome Express, The

Close

<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> A first stage in the inquiry had now been reached, with results that seemed promising, and were yet contradictory. No doubt the watch to be set on the Countess might lead to something yet—something to bring first plausible suspicion to a triumphant issue; but the examination of the other occupants of the car should not be allowed to slacken on that account. The Countess might have some confederate among them—this pestilent English General, perhaps, who had made himself so conspicuous in her defence; or some one of them might throw light upon her movements, upon her conduct during the journey. Then, with a spasm of self-reproach, M. Floçon remembered that two distinct suggestions had been made to him by two of the travellers, and that, so far, he had neglected them. One was the significant hint from the Italian that he could materially help the inquiry. The other was the General's sneering assertion that the train had not continued its journey uninterruptedly between Laroche and Paris. Consulting the Judge, and laying these facts before him, it was agreed that the Italian's offer seemed the most important, and he was accordingly called in next. "Who and what are you?" asked the Judge, carelessly, but the answer roused him at once to intense interest, and he could not quite resist a glance of reproach at M. Floçon. "My name I have given you—Natale Ripaldi. I am a detective officer belonging to the Roman police." "What!" cried M. Floçon, colouring deeply. "This is unheard of. Why in the name of all the devils have you withheld this most astonishing statement until now?" "Monsieur surely remembers. I told him half an hour ago I had something important to communicate—" "Yes, yes, of course. But why were you so reticent. Good Heavens!" "Monsieur was not so encouraging that I felt disposed to force on him what I knew he would have to hear in due course." "It is monstrous—quite abominable, and shall not end here. Your superiors shall hear of your conduct," went on the Chief, hotly. "They will also hear, and, I think, listen to my version of the story,—that I offered you fairly, and at the first opportunity, all the information I had, and that you refused to accept it." "You should have persisted. It was your manifest duty. You are an officer of the law, or you say you are." "Pray telegraph at once, if you think fit, to Rome, to the police authorities, and you will find that Natale Ripaldi—your humble servant—travelled by the through express with their knowledge and authority. And here are my credentials, my official card, some official letters—" "And what, in a word, have you to tell us?" "I can tell you who the murdered man was." "We know that already." "Possibly; but only his name, I apprehend. I know his profession, his business, his object in travelling, for I was appointed to watch and follow him. That is why I am here." "Was he a suspicious character, then? A criminal?" "At any rate he was absconding from Rome, with valuables." "A thief, in fact?" The Italian put out the palms of his hands with a gesture of doubt and deprecation. "Thief is a hard, ugly word. That which he was removing was, or had been, his own property." "Tut, tut! do be more explicit and get on," interrupted the little Chief, testily. "I ask nothing better; but if questions are put to me—" The Judge interposed. "Give us your story. We can interrogate you afterwards." "The murdered man is Francis A. Quadling, of the firm of Correse & Quadling, bankers, in the Via Condotti, Rome. It was an old house, once of good, of the highest repute, but of late years it has fallen into difficulties. Its financial soundness was doubted in certain circles, and the Government was warned that a great scandal was imminent. So the matter was handed over to the police, and I was directed to make inquiries, and to keep my eye on this Quadling"—he jerked his thumb towards the platform, where the body might be supposed to be. "This Quadling was the only surviving partner. He was well known and liked in Rome, indeed, many who heard the adverse reports disbelieved them, I myself among the number. But my duty was plain—" "Naturally," echoed the fiery little detective. "I made it my business to place the banker under surveillance, to learn his habits, his ways of life, see who were his friends, the houses he visited. I soon knew much that I wanted to know, although not all. But one fact I discovered, and think it right to inform you of it at once. He was on intimate terms with La Castagneto—at least, he frequently called upon her." "La Castagneto! Do you mean the Countess of that name, who was a passenger in the sleeper?" "Beyond doubt! it is she I mean." The officials looked at each other eagerly, and M. Beaumont le Hardi quickly turned over the sheets on which the Countess's evidence was recorded. She had denied acquaintance with this murdered man, Quadling, and here was positive evidence that they were on intimate terms! "He was at her house on the very day we all left Rome—in the evening, towards dusk. The Countess had an apartment in the Via Margutta, and when he left her he returned to his own place in the Condotti, entered the bank, stayed half an hour, then came out with one hand-bag and rug, called a cab, and was driven straight to the railway station." "And you followed?" "Of course. When I saw him walk straight to the sleeping-car, and ask the conductor for 7 and 8, I knew that his plans had been laid, and that he was on the point of leaving Rome secretly. When, presently, La Castagneto also arrived, I concluded that she was in his confidence, and that possibly they were eloping together." "Why did you not arrest him?" "I had no authority, even if I had had the time. Although I was ordered to watch the Signor Quadling, I had no warrant for his arrest. But I decided on the spur of the moment what course I should take. It seemed to be the only one, and that was to embark in the same train and stick close to my man." "You informed your superiors, I suppose?" "Pardon me, monsieur," said the Italian blandly to the Chief, who asked the question, "but have you any right to inquire into my conduct towards my superiors? In all that affects the murder I am at your orders, but in this other matter it is between me and them." "Ta, ta, ta! They will tell us if you will not. And you had better be careful, lest you obstruct justice. Speak out, sir, and beware. What did you intend to do?" "To act according to circumstances. If my suspicions were confirmed—" "What suspicions?" "Why—that this banker was carrying off any large sum in cash, notes, securities, as in effect he was." "Ah! You know that? How?" "By my own eyes. I looked into his compartment once and saw him in the act of counting them over, a great quantity, in fact—" Again the officials looked at each other significantly. They had got at last to a motive for the crime. "And that, of course, would have justified his arrest?" "Exactly. I proposed, directly we arrived in Paris, to claim the assistance of your police and take him into custody. But his fate interposed." There was a pause, a long pause, for another important point had been reached in the inquiry: the motive for the murder had been made clear, and with it the presumption against the Countess gained terrible strength. But there was more, perhaps, to be got out of this dark-visaged Italian detective, who had already proved so useful an ally. "One or two words more," said the Judge to Ripaldi. "During the journey, now, did you have any conversation with this Quadling?" "None. He kept very much to himself." "You saw him, I suppose, at the restaurants?" "Yes, at Modane and Laroche." "But did not speak to him?" "Not a word." "Had he any suspicion, do you think, as to who you were?" "Why should he? He did not know me. I had taken pains he should never see me." "Did he speak to any other passenger?" "Very little. To the Countess. Yes, once or twice, I think, to her maid." "Ah! that maid. Did you notice her at all? She has not been seen. It is strange. She seems to have disappeared." "To have run away, in fact?" suggested Ripaldi, with a queer smile. "Well, at least she is not here with her mistress. Can you offer any explanation of that?" "She was perhaps afraid. The Countess and she were very good friends, I think. On better, more familiar terms, than is usual between mistress and maid." "The maid knew something?" "Ah, monsieur, it is only an idea. But I give it you for what it is worth." "Well, well, this maid—what was she like?" "Tall, dark, good-looking, not too reserved. She made other friends—the porter and the English Colonel. I saw the last speaking to her. I spoke to her myself." "What can have become of her?" said the Judge. "Would M. le Juge like me to go in search of her? That is, if you have no more questions to ask, no wish to detain me further?" "We will consider that, and let you know in a moment, if you will wait outside." And then, when alone, the officials deliberated. It was a good offer, the man knew her appearance, he was in possession of all the facts, he could be trusted— "Ah, but can he, though?" queried the detective. "How do we know he has told us truth? What guarantee have we of his loyalty, his good faith? What if he is also concerned in the crime—has some guilty knowledge? What if he killed Quadling himself, or was an accomplice before or after the fact?" "All these are possibilities, of course, but—pardon me, dear colleague—a little far-fetched, eh?" said the Judge. "Why not utilize this man? If he betrays us—serves us ill—if we had reason to lay hands on him again, he could hardly escape us." "Let him go, and send some one with him," said the Commissary, the first practical suggestion he had yet made. "Excellent!" cried the Judge. "You have another man here, Chief; let him go with this Italian." They called in Ripaldi and told him, "We will accept your services, monsieur, and you can begin your search at once. In what direction do you propose to begin?" "Where has her mistress gone?" "How do you know she has gone?" "At least, she is no longer with us out there. Have you arrested her—or what?" "No, she is still at large, but we have our eye upon her. She has gone to her hotel—the Madagascar, off the Grands Boulevards." "Then it is there that I shall look for the maid. No doubt she preceded her mistress to the hotel, or she will join her there very shortly." "You would not make yourself known, of course? They might give you the slip. You have no authority to detain them, not in France." "I should take my precautions, and I can always appeal to the police." "Exactly. That would be your proper course. But you might lose valuable time, a great opportunity, and we wish to guard against that, so we shall associate one of our own people with you in your proceedings." "Oh! very well, if you wish. It will, no doubt, be best." The Italian readily assented, but a shrewd listener might have guessed from the tone of his voice that the proposal was not exactly pleasing to him. "I will call in Block," said the Chief, and the second detective inspector appeared to take his instructions. He was a stout, stumpy little man, with a barrel-like figure, greatly emphasized by the short frock coat he wore; he had smallish pig's eyes buried deep in a fat face, and his round, chubby cheeks hung low over his turned-down collar. "This gentleman," went on the Chief, indicating Ripaldi, "is a member of the Roman police, and has been so obliging as to offer us his services. You will accompany him, in the first instance, to the Hôtel Madagascar. Put yourself in communication with Galipaud, who is there on duty." "Would it not be sufficient if I made myself known to M. Galipaud?" suggested the Italian. "I have seen him here, I should recognize him—" "That is not so certain; he may have changed his appearance. Besides, he does not know the latest developments, and might not be very cordial." "You might write me a few lines to take to him." "I think not. We prefer to send Block," replied the Chief, briefly and decidedly. He did not like this pertinacity, and looked at his colleagues as though he sought their concurrence in altering the arrangements for the Italian's mission. It might be wiser to detain him still. "It was only to save trouble that I made the suggestion," hastily put in Ripaldi. "Naturally I am in your hands. And if I do not meet with the maid at the hotel, I may have to look further, in which case Monsieur—Block? thank you—would no doubt render valuable assistance." This speech restored confidence, and a few minutes later the two detectives, already excellent friends from the freemasonry of a common craft, left the station in a closed cab. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2