I was caught on the landing, and pushed in here, and then tied up,” said Victoire.
“I’m sure that wasn’t one man’s job,” said Guerchard, looking at her vigorous figure with admiring eyes.
“You may be sure of that,” said Victoire. “It took four of them; and at least two of them have some nice bruises on their shins to show for it.”
“I’m sure they have. And it serves them jolly well right,” said Guerchard, in a tone of warm approval. “And, I suppose, while those four were tying you up the others stood round and looked on.”
“Oh, no, they were far too busy for that,” said Victoire.
“What were they doing?” said Guerchard.
“They were taking the pictures off the walls and carrying them out of the window down the ladder,” said Victoire.
Guerchard’s eyes flickered towards the Duke, but the expression of earnest inquiry on his face never changed.
“Now, tell me, did the man who took a picture from the walls carry it down the ladder himself, or did he hand it through the window to a man who was standing on the top of a ladder ready to receive it?” he said.
Victoire paused as if to recall their action; then she said, “Oh, he got through the window, and carried it down the ladder himself.”
“You’re sure of that?” said Guerchard.
“Oh, yes, I am quite sure of it—why should I deceive you, Mr. Inspector?” said Victoire quickly; and the Duke saw the first shadow of uneasiness on her face.
“Of course not,” said Guerchard. “And where were you?”
“Oh, they put me behind the screen.”
“No, no, where were you when you came into the room?”
“I was against the door,” said Victoire.
“And where was the screen?” said Guerchard. “Was it before the fireplace?”
“No; it was on one side—the left-hand side,” said Victoire.
“Oh, will you show me exactly where it stood?” said Guerchard.
Victoire rose, and, Guerchard aiding her, set the screen on the left-hand side of the fireplace.
Guerchard stepped back and looked at it.
“Now, this is very important,” he said. “I must have the exact position of the four feet of that screen. Let’s see…some chalk…of course.… You do some dressmaking, don’t you, Madame Victoire?”
“Oh, yes, I sometimes make a dress for one of the maids in my spare time,” said Victoire.
“Then you’ve got a piece of chalk on you,” said Guerchard.
“Oh, yes,” said Victoire, putting her hand to the pocket of her dress.
She paused, took a step backwards, and looked wildly round the room, while the colour slowly faded in her ruddy cheeks.
“What am I talking about?” she said in an uncertain, shaky voice. “I haven’t any chalk—I—ran out of chalk the day before yesterday.”
“I think you have, Madame Victoire. Feel in your pocket and see,” said Guerchard sternly. His voice had lost its suavity; his face its smile: his eyes had grown dangerous.
“No, no; I have no chalk,” cried Victoire.
With a sudden leap Guerchard sprang upon her, caught her in a firm grip with his right arm, and his left hand plunged into her pocket.
“Let me go! Let me go! You’re hurting,” she cried.
Guerchard loosed her and stepped back.
“What’s this?” he said; and he held up between his thumb and forefinger a piece of blue chalk.
Victoire drew herself up and faced him gallantly: “Well, what of it?—it is chalk. Mayn’t an honest woman carry chalk in her pockets without being insulted and pulled about by every policeman she comes across?” she cried.
“That will be for the examining magistrate to decide,” said Guerchard; and he went to the door and called Bonavent. Bonavent came in, and Guerchard said: “When the prison van comes, put this woman in it; and send her down to the station.”
“But what have I done?” cried Victoire. “I’m innocent! I declare I’m innocent. I’ve done nothing at all. It’s not a crime to carry a piece of chalk in one’s pocket.”
“Now, that’s a matter for the examining magistrate. You can explain it to him,” said Guerchard. “I’ve got nothing to do with it: so it’s no good making a fuss now. Do go quietly, there’s a good woman.”
He spoke in a quiet, business-like tone. Victoire looked him in the eyes, then drew herself up, and went quietly out of the room.
CHAPTER XVII
SONIA’S ESCAPE
“One of M. Formery’s innocents,” said Guerchard, turning to the Duke.
“The chalk?” said the Duke. “Is it the same chalk?”
“It’s blue,” said Guerchard, holding it out. “The same as that of the signatures on the walls. Add that fact to the woman’s sudden realization of what she was doing, and you’ll see that they were written with it.”
“It is rather a surprise,” said the Duke. “To look at her you would think that she was the most honest woman in the world.”
“Ah, you don’t know Lupin, your Grace,” said Guerchard. “He can do anything with women; and they’ll do anything for him. And, what’s more, as far as I can see, it doesn’t make a scrap of difference whether they’re honest or not. The fair-haired lady I was telling you about was probably an honest woman; Ganimard is sure of it. We should have found out long ago who she was if she had been a wrong ’un. And Ganimard also swears that when he arrested Lupin on board the Provence some woman, some ordinary, honest woman among the passengers, carried away Lady Garland’s jewels, which he had stolen and was bringing to America, and along with them a matter of eight hundred pounds which he had stolen from a fellow-passenger on the voyage.”
“That power of fascination which some men exercise on women is one of those mysteries which science should investigate before it does anything else,” said the Duke, in a reflective tone. “Now I come to think of it, I had much better have spent my time on that investigation than on that tedious journey to the South Pole. All the same, I’m deucedly sorry for that woman, Victoire. She looks such a good soul.”
Guerchard shrugged his shoulders: “The prisons are full of good souls,” he said, with cynical wisdom born of experience. “They get caught so much more often than the bad.”
“It seems rather mean of Lupin to make use of women like this, and get them into trouble,” said the Duke.
