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Mystery of the Boule Cabinet

<h5 id="id01497">I PART WITH THE BOULE CABINET</h5> The coroner's inquest was held next day, and my surmise proved to be correct. The police had discovered practically no new evidence; none, certainly, which shed any light on the way in which Drouet and Philip Vantine had met death. Each of the witnesses told his story much as I have told it here, and it was evident that the jury was bewildered by the seemingly inextricable tangle of circumstances. To my relief, Drouet's identity was established without any help from me. The bag which he had left on the pier had been opened at the request of the police and a card-case found with his address on it. Why he had sent in to Vantine a card not his own, and what his business with Vantine had been, were details concerning which the police could offer no theory, and which I did not feel called upon to explain, since neither in any way made clearer the mystery of his death. An amusing incident of the inquest was the attempt made by Goldberger to heckle Godfrey, evidently at Grady's suggestion. "On the morning after the tragedy," Goldberger began sweetly, "you printed in the Record a photograph which you claimed to be that of the woman who had called upon Mr. Vantine the night before, and who was, presumably, the last person to see him alive. Where did you get that photograph?" "It was a copy of one which Drouet carried in his watch-case," answered Godfrey. "Since then," pursued Goldberger, "you have made no further reference to that feature of the case. I presume you found out that you were mistaken?" "On the contrary, I proved that I was correct." Goldberger's face reddened, and his look was not pleasant. "'Prove' is rather a strong word, isn't it?" he asked. "It is the right word." "What was the woman's connection with the man Drouet?" "She had been his mistress." "You say that very confidently," said Goldberger, his lips curling. "After all, it is merely a guess, isn't it?" "I have reason to say it confidently," retorted Godfrey quietly, "since the woman confessed as much in my presence." Again Goldberger reddened. "I suppose she also confessed that it was really she who called upon Mr. Vantine?" he sneered. "She not only confessed that," said Godfrey, still more quietly, "but she told in detail what occurred during that visit." "The confession was made to yourself alone, of course?" queried Goldberger, in a tone deliberately insulting. Godfrey flushed a little at the words, but managed to retain his self-control. "Not at all," he said. "It was made in the presence of Mr. Lester and of another distinguished lawyer whose name I am not at liberty to reveal." Goldberger swallowed hard, as though he had received a slap in the face. I dare say, he felt as though he had! "This woman is in New York?" he asked. "I believe so." "What is her name and address?" "I am not at liberty to answer." Goldberger glared at him. "You will answer," he thundered, "or I'll commit you for contempt!" Godfrey was quite himself again. "Very well," he said, smiling. "I have not the slightest objection. But I would think it over, if I were you. Mr. Lester will assure you that the woman was in no way connected with the death either of Drouet or of Mr. Vantine." Goldberger did think it over; he realised the danger of trying to punish a paper so powerful as the Record, and he finally decided to accept Godfrey's statement as a mitigation of his refusal to answer. "That is only one of the details which Commissioner Grady has missed," Godfrey added, pleasantly. "That will do," Goldberger broke in, and Godfrey left the stand. I was recalled to confirm his story. I, also, of course, refused to give the woman's name, explaining to Goldberger that I had learned it professionally, that I was certain she had been guilty of no crime, and that to reveal it would seriously embarrass an entirely innocent woman. With that statement, the coroner was compelled to appear satisfied. Grady did not go on the stand; he was not even at the inquest. In fact, since the first day, he had not appeared publicly in connection with the case at all; and I had surmised that he did not care to be identified with a mystery which there seemed to be no prospect of solving, and from which no glory was to be won. The case had been placed in Simmonds's hands, and it was he who testified on behalf of the police, admitting candidly that they were all at sea. He had made a careful examination of the Vantine house, he said, particularly of the room in which the bodies had been found, and had discovered absolutely nothing in the shape of a clue to the solution of the mystery. There was something diabolical about it; something almost supernatural. He had not abandoned hope, and was still working on the case; but he was inclined to think that, if the mystery was ever solved, it would be only by some lucky accident or through the confession of the guilty man. Goldberger was annoyed; that was evident enough from the nervous way in which he gnawed his moustache; but he had no theory any more than the police; there was not a scintilla of evidence to fasten the crime upon any one; and the end of the hearing was that the jury brought in a verdict that Philip Vantine and Georges Drouet had died from the effects of a poison administered by a person or persons unknown. Godfrey joined me at the door as I was leaving, and we went down the steps together. "I was glad to hear Simmonds confess that the police are up a tree," he said. "Of course, Grady is trying to sneak out of it, and blame some one else for the failure—but I'll see that he doesn't succeed. I'll see, anyway, that Simmonds gets a square deal—he's an old friend of mine, you know." "Yes," I said, "I know; but we're all up a tree, aren't we?" "For the present," laughed Godfrey, "we do occupy that undignified position. But you don't expect to stay there forever, do you, Lester?" "Since my theory about the Boule cabinet exploded," I said, "I have given up hope. By the way, I'm going to turn the cabinet over to its owner to-morrow." "To its owner?" he repeated, his eyes narrowing. "Yes, I thought he'd be around for it, though I hardly thought he'd come so soon. Who does it happen to be, Lester?" "Why," I said, a little impatiently, "you know as well as I do that it belongs to Armand & Son." "You've seen their representative, then?" he queried, a little flush of excitement which I could not understand spreading over his face. "He came to see me yesterday. I'd like you to meet him, Godfrey. He is Félix Armand, the 'son' of the firm, and one of the most finished gentlemen I ever met." "I'd like to meet him," said Godfrey, smiling queerly. "Perhaps I shall, some day; I hope so, anyway. But how did he explain the blunder, Lester?" "In some way, they shipped the wrong cabinet to Vantine. The right one will get here on La Provence to-morrow," and I told him in detail the story which Felix Armand had told me. "He was quite upset over it," I added, "His apologies were almost abject." Godfrey listened intently to all this, and he nodded with satisfaction when I had finished. "It is all most interesting," he commented. "Did M. Armand happen to mention where he is staying?" "No, but he won't be hard to find, if you want to see him. He's at one of the big hotels, of course—probably the Plaza or the St. Regis. He's too great a swell for any minor hostelry." "What time do you expect him to-morrow?" "Sometime in the afternoon. He's to call for me as soon as he gets Vantine's cabinet off the boat. Godfrey," I added, "I felt yesterday when I was talking with him that perhaps he knew more about this affair than he would admit. I could see that he guessed in an instant who the owner of the letters was, and what they contained. Do you think I ought to hold on to the cabinet a while longer? I could invent some pretext for delay, easily enough." "Why, no; let him have his cabinet," said Godfrey, with an alacrity that surprised me. "If your theory about it has been exploded, what's the use of hanging on to it?" "I don't see any use in doing so," I admitted, "but I thought perhaps you might want more time to examine it." "I've examined it all I'm going to," Godfrey answered, and I told myself that this was the first time I had ever known him to admit himself defeated. "I have a sort of feeling," I explained, "that when we let go of the cabinet, we give up the only clue we have to this whole affair. It is like a confession of defeat." "Oh, no, it isn't," Godfrey objected. "If there is nothing more to be learned from the cabinet, there is no reason to retain it. I should certainly let M. Armand have it. Perhaps I'll see you to-morrow," he added, and we parted at the corner. But I did not see him on the morrow. I was rather expecting a call from him during the morning, and when none came, I was certain I should find him awaiting me when I arrived at the Vantine house, in company with M. Armand. But he was not there, and when I asked for him, Parks told me that he had not seen him since the day before. I confess that Godfrey's indifference to the fate of the cabinet surprised me greatly; besides, I was hoping that he would wish to meet the fascinating Frenchman. More fascinating, if possible, than he had been on Monday, and I soon found myself completely under his spell. There had been less delay than he had anticipated in getting the cabinet off the boat and through the customs, and it was not yet three o'clock when we reached the Vantine house. "I haven't seen Mr. Godfrey," Parks repeated, "but there's others here as it fair breaks my heart to see." He motioned toward the door of the music-room, and, stepping to it, I saw that the inventory was already in progress. The man in charge of it nodded to me, but I did not go in, for the sight was anything but a pleasant one. "The cabinet is in the room across the hall," I said to M. Armand, and led the way through the ante-room into the room beyond. Parks switched on the lights for us, and my companion glanced with surprise at the heavy shutters covering the windows. "We put those up for a protection," I explained. "We had an idea that some one would try to enter. In fact, one evening we did find a wire connecting with the burglar-alarm cut, and, later on, saw some one peering in through the hole in that shutter yonder." "You did?" M. Armand queried quickly. "Would you recognise the man, if you were to meet him again?" "Oh, no; you see the hole is quite small. There was nothing visible except a pair of eyes. Yet I might know them again, for I never before saw such eyes—so bright, so burning. It was the night that Godfrey and I were trying to find the secret drawer, and those eyes gleamed like fire as they watched us." M. Armand was gazing at the cabinet, apparently only half listening. "Ah, yes, the secret drawer," he said. "Will you show me how it is operated, Mr. Lester? I am most curious about it." I placed my hand upon the table and pressed the three points which the veiled lady had shown us. The first time, I got the order wrong, but at the second trial, the little handle fell forward with a click, and I pulled the drawer open. "There it is," I said. "You see how cleverly it is constructed. And how well it is concealed. No one would suspect its existence." He examined it with much interest; pushed it back into place, and then opened it himself. "Very clever indeed," he agreed. "I have never seen another so well concealed. And the idea of opening it only by a certain combination is most happy and original. Most secret drawers are secret only in name; a slight search reveals them; but this one…." He pushed it shut again, and examined the inlay around it. "My friend and I went over the cabinet very carefully and could not find it," I said. "Your friend—I think you mentioned his name?" "Yes—his name is Godfrey." "A man of the law, like yourself?" "Oh, no, a newspaper man. But he had been a member of the detective force before that. He is extraordinarily keen, and if anybody could have found that drawer, he could. But that combination was too much for him." M. Armand snapped the drawer back into place with a little crash. "I am glad, at any rate, that it was discovered," he said. "I will not conceal from you, Mr. Lester, that it adds not a little to the value of the cabinet." "What is its value?" I asked. "Mr. Vantine wanted me to buy it for him, and named a most extravagant figure as the limit he was willing to pay." "Really," M. Armand answered, after an instant's hesitation, "I would not care to name a figure, Mr. Lester, without further consultation with my father. The cabinet is quite unique—the most beautiful, perhaps, that M. Boule ever produced. Did you discover Madame de Montespan's monogram?" "No. Mr. Vantine said he was sure it existed; but Godfrey and I did not look for it." M. Armand opened the doors which concealed the central drawers. "Voilà!" he said, and traced with his finger the arabesque just under the pediment. "See how cunningly it has been blended with the other figures. And here is the emblem of the giver." He pointed to a tiny golden sun with radiating rays on the base of the pediment, just above the monogram. "Le roi soleil!" " Le roi soleil!" I repeated. "Of course. We were stupid not to have discerned it. That tells the whole story, doesn't it? What is it, Parks?" I added, as that worthy appeared at the door. "There's a van outside, sir," he said, "and a couple of men are unloading a piece of furniture. Is it all right, sir?" "Yes," I answered. "Have them bring it in here. And ask the man in charge of the inventory to step over here a minute. Mr. Vantine left his collection of art objects to the Metropolitan Museum," I explained to M. Armand, "and I should like the representative of the museum to be present when the exchange is made." "Certainly," he assented. "That is very just." Parks was back in a moment, piloting two men who carried between them an object swathed in burlap, and the Metropolitan man followed them in. "I am Mr. Lester," I said to him, "Mr. Vantine's executor; and this is M. Félix Armand, of Armand & Son, of Paris. We are correcting an error which was made just before Mr. Vantine died. That cabinet yonder was shipped him by mistake in place of one which he had bought. M. Armand has caused the right one to be sent over, and will take away the one which belongs to him. I have already spoken to the museum's attorney about the matter, but I wished you to be present when the exchange was made." "I have no doubt it is all right, sir," the museum man hastened to assure me. "You, of course, have personal knowledge of all this?" "Certainly. Mr. Vantine himself told me the story." "Very well, sir," but his eyes dwelt lovingly upon the Boule cabinet. "That is a very handsome piece," he added. "I am sorry the museum is not to get it." "Perhaps you can buy it from M. Armand," I suggested, but the curator laughed and shook his head. "No," he said, "we couldn't afford it. But Sir Caspar might persuade Mr. Morgan to buy it for us—I'll mention it to him." The two men, meanwhile, under M. Armand's direction, had been stripping the wrappings from the other cabinet, and it finally stood revealed. It, too, was a beautiful piece of furniture, but even my untrained eye could see how greatly it fell below the other. "We shall be very pleased to have Mr. Morgan see it," said M. Armand, with a smile. "I will not conceal from you that we had already thought of him—as what dealer does not when he acquires something rare and beautiful? I shall endeavour to secure an appointment with him. Meanwhile…." "Meanwhile the cabinet is yours," I said. He made a little deprecating gesture, and then proceeded to have the cabinet very carefully wrapped in the burlap which had been around the other one. I watched it disappear under the rough covering with something like regret, for already my eyes were being opened to its beauty. Besides, I told myself again, with it would disappear the last hope of solving the mystery of Philip Vantine's death. However my reason might protest, some instinct told me that, in some way, the Boule cabinet was connected with that tragedy. But at last the packing was done, and M. Armand turned to me and held out his hand. "I shall hope to see you again, Mr. Lester," he said, with a cordiality which flattered me, "and to renew our very pleasant acquaintance. Whenever you are in Paris, I trust you will not fail to honour me by letting me know. I shall count it a very great privilege to display for you some of the beauties of our city not known to every one." "Thank you," I said. "I shall certainly remember that invitation. And meanwhile, since you are here in New York…." "You are most kind," he broke in, "and I was myself hoping that we might at least dine together. But I am compelled to proceed to Boston this evening, and from there I shall go on to Quebec. Whether I shall get back to New York I do not know—it will depend somewhat upon Mr. Morgan's attitude; we would scarcely entrust a business so delicate to our dealer. If I do get back, I shall let you know." "Please do," I urged. "It will be a very great pleasure to me. Besides, I am still hoping that some solution of this mystery may occur to you." He shook his head with a little smile. "I fear it is too difficult for a novice like myself," he said. "It is impenetrable to me. If a solution is discovered, I trust you will inform me. It is certain to be most interesting." "I will," I promised, and we shook hands again. Then he signed to the two men to take up the cabinet, and himself laid a protecting hand upon it as it was carried through the door and down the steps to the van which was backed up to the curb. It was lifted carefully inside, the two men clambered in beside it, the driver spoke to the horses, and the van rolled slowly away up the Avenue. M. Armand watched it for a moment, then mounted into the cab which was waiting, waved a last farewell to me, and followed after the van. We watched it until it turned westward at the first cross-street. "Mr. Godfrey's occupation will be gone," said Parks, with a little laugh. "He has fairly lived with that cabinet for the past three or four days. He was here last night for quite a while." "Last night?" I echoed, surprised. "I was sure he would be here to-day," I added, reflecting that Godfrey might have decided to have a final look at the cabinet. "He half-promised to be here, but I suppose something more important detained him." The next instant, I was jumping down the steps two at a time, for a cab in which two men were sitting came down the Avenue, and rolled slowly around the corner in the direction taken by the van. And just as it disappeared, one of its occupants turned toward me and waved his hand—and I recognised Jim Godfrey. <h2 id="id01613" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XIX</h2> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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