The Waxworks Murder

Chaumont caught Bencolin's eye. Then he sank down in his chair. He seemed now to be wearing uniform and holster, a puzzled soldier with sunken eyes, seated on a foolish gilt chair in a foolish, over-decorated room.

A long silence. Odette Duchene, Claudine Martel, the Club of Coloured Masks. ...

'Let me tell you a little more of what I know, Monsieur Galant,' Bencolin was saying, 'before you make any more comments. As I have pointed out, the club is apparently owned and operated by some woman; the name does not matter, for it is obviously assumed. Further: contacts with the upper world — that is to say, the securing of new members for the club - is also done by a woman. At the prefecture we do not know the name of this woman; she clearly belongs to the upper circles and approaches trustworthy people who might be interested. Let that part of it pass. You run an expensive, high-strung, dangerous menage (if relatives should find out!), and I dare say your own large bodyguard is forever on hand to prevent trouble, A tragedy there, with the newspapers publishing the whole story and the members afraid to go again lest their dear ones discover - why, you are undone.'

With steady fingers Galant took out a cigarette-case.

'Being myself only a member,' he said, 'I cannot, of course, understand all this. Nevertheless, I think you said a murder was committed in the passage outside the entrance. That need not involve the club.'

'Ah, but it does. For, do you see, this passage is actually a part of the club-rooms. You enter it from the street through a door with a special lock, which is always fastened. Members are provided with a special key for this door. It is a silver key, stamped with the name of the member. Therefore — ?' Bencolin shrugged.

'I see.' Galant lighted a cigarette, still impassive, and blew out the match. He seemed again to admire the absolute steadiness of his hand. 'In that case, I suppose, the newspapers will get the story, and the full account of the club.'

'They will get nothing of the kind.'

'I - I beg your pardon ?'

'I said,' Bencolin repeated complacently, 'they will get nothing of the kind. That is what I came here to tel! you.'

After another long pause, Galant murmured: 'I do not understand you, monsieur. Therefore I admire you,'

'Not a word of this whole affair will leak into the .newspapers. The club will continue on its usual cheerful course.

By no word will you intimate what has occurred to-night. . .. There is another interesting feature of the club also. ''Coloured masks'' is no idle term. I am informed of the signs by which members may be guided. Those who have no lover, but are merely looking at random for someone who pleases them, wear black masks. Those who are seeking out a definite person wear green. Finally, those who are there by assignation with some definite person, and will speak to no other, wear - as a hands-off signal - scarlet. The mask found in the passage to-night was black.... I ask you again, by the way, what you know of the murder.'

Now Galant was again in his element. He relaxed. Letting smoke drift out of his weird nose, he sat back and eyed Bencolin whimsically.

'My dear fellow, I know nothing. You tell me a crime has been committed there. It is sad. Oh, most tragic. Nevertheless, I don't know who was murdered, or how, or why. Will you enlighten me ?'

'Are you acquainted with Mademoiselle Claudine Martel?'

Galant frowned at his cigarette. Then he looked up, startled. I would have defied anybody to tell when this man was lying and when he was evading answers by telling the simple truth. Now I was at a loss; he seemed to be genuinely astonished.

'So?' he muttered. 'Eh, but this is odd! Why, yes. The Martels are a very good family. I used to have some slight acquaintance with the girl. Claudine Martel!' He chuckled. 'A member of the club! Well, well!'

'That's a lie,' Chaumont said, swiftly and coldly. 'Look here! And as for Mademoiselle Duchene —'

I heard Bencolin swear under his breath. He interposed: 'Captain, will you be so good as to keep out of this?'

' 'Duchene',' Galant was repeating. ' 'Duchene' ? I never heard that name. Besides, it's too common. What about her?'

'She does not concern us. ... Let me continue with Mademoiselle Martel,' said Bencolin. 'She was found tonight, stabbed through the back, in the waxworks whose rear door communicates with the passage.'

'In the waxworks? - Oh! Oh, yes, I know the place you mean. Tiens! that is too bad! But I thought you said she was killed in the passage?'

'She was. Her body was later carried in, through an open door, to the museum.'

'For what purpose?'

Bencolin shrugged. But there was a twinkle in his eye; he was enjoying himself. These two had a subtle way of communicating, so that you fancied Galant heard Bencolin's unspoken words: 'Why, that is our solution,' Aloud the detective asked:

'Are you acquainted with Monsieur Augustin or his daughter?'

'Augustin? No. I never heard. . .. Wait, yes, of course! That is the owner of the waxworks. No, monsieur, I have not the pleasure.'

A falling log dropped with a rattle in the fireplace, and a shower of sparks flickered yellow lights on Galant's face. He was all thoughtful concern - an admirable witness, choosing his words carefully. Under it lay an edge of satire. Now that it had come merely to fencing, he felt that he was in no danger. The quiet was jarred by Bencolin's laugh.

'Oh, come now!' he suggested. 'Think, my friend! Don't you want to consider?'

'What do you mean?' Elaborate casualness!

'Why, only this. For the information about your place I have previously given, I take no credit. It was supplied me long ago by our own agents. But when I visited the waxworks to-night, certain facts were manifest.'

Bencolin examined the palm of his hand, as though he were consulting notes. His face puckered, he went on :

'The street entrance to the passage, we know, is carefully guarded by a burglar-proof lock, for which special silver keys are given to members. The club wishes its outer entrance to be impregnable. But there is another entrance to this passage! - the back of the museum. Now, with all these precautions, is it reasonable to suppose that the club-owners would have neglected this back way? Is it reasonable to suppose that they would have left unnoticed a door with an ordinary spring lock, opening from the inside of the museum, through which any casual prowler could step into the passage? Of course not. Then I noticed that this museum door had a very new lock, freshly oiled and in excellent working order. Yet Monsieur Augustin assured me, with evident sincerity, that the door was never used and that he had lost the key. His daughter's attitude, however, intrigued my interest. ...

'Well, well, it is rather obvious, isn't it? Monsieur Augustin's daughter, who takes care of everything for a rather doddering father, has seen a way to capitalize the Musee Augustin aside from its waxworks display. Going into the museum would make an excellent blind for those of its members who were afraid of being caught! They could go to the rear and step in without the need of a key - though, of course, they must be club members —'

'One moment!' Galant interposed, raising his hand. 'This Mademoiselle Augustin could not refuse to admit everybody to the museum except club members, could she? The general public —'

Bencolin laughed again. 'My friend, I am not so ingenuous as to suppose that those two entrances - i.e., from the street through the bulldog-locked door, and from the back of the museum through the door that can be opened from inside - are the sole barriers to be overcome. No, no! The door into the actual club has yet to be passed. This also must be opened with the silver key, I am told, and subsequently the key must be shown to a man on guard inside. So, whichever way a member entered, he must have his key.'

Galant nodded. He seemed to be examining the matter as an abstract problem.

'Some inkling of this situation in the museum,' said Bencolin, 'had come to me before I visited it. At the prefecture of police, my friend, we are thorough. We have a department which is in communication with the Ministry of State, and with the three leading banking institutions of France. We receive monthly lists of the citizens of Paris whose incomes or bank balances are larger than their occupations warrant. Very often, in that way, we are able to pick up evidence which will be useful - later. When, this afternoon, we recovered the body of a woman who was last seen going into the Musee Augustin - (Oh, yes, don't look surprised! Two murders have been committed) - when