The Waxworks Murder

'How many times have I got to tell you' - his own voice was losing a little of its whimsical tolerance - 'that you aren't suspected? Look at me.' A tinge of amusement, a tinge of hurt. 'You love me, don't you?'

'How can you talk about that here ?'

'Ah, well! Who killed Claudine Martel?'

‘I tell you,' hysterically, 'I don't know!'

'Unless you did it yourself — '

'I didn't!'

'You must have been standing at the murderer's elbow when she was stabbed. Keep your voice down, dearest. Was it a man or a woman?'

He spoke with repressed eagerness. I could almost feel his eyes searching her, prowling over her face like a cat.

'I've told you, I've told you! It was dark — '

He drew a long breath. 'I see the circumstances are not appropriate. Then I will ask you to be at the usual place tonight, usual hour.'

After a pause, she said in a sort of half-gasping, half-laughing voice. 'You don't expect me to go back - to the club - - ?'

'You will sing at the Moulin Rouge to-night. Then you will go to our own number eighteen and you will remember who killed your dear friend. That is all. I must go now.'

So long I remained twisted behind the casket, the words beating in my head, that I almost forgot to slip out and hurry upstairs before Gina Prevost should have let him out of the front door. Fortunately they had not pulled the portieres entirely open, and I was able to escape unobserved. This conversation - well, definitely it ruled out Galant as a possible murderer, whether it eliminated the girl or not, but all sorts of nebulous suspicions were afloat in my mind because of it. I was just entering the door of the sitting-room upstairs when I heard her begin to ascend the steps.

Mme Duchene and Bencolin were still in the same positions, and still impassive, though Robiquet badly concealed his curiosity as he saw me. What explanation of my departure Bencolin had given to madame I did not know; but she seemed neither excited nor curious about my absence, so I presumed the detective had found some plausible excuse. A moment later the girl entered.

She was quite calm. She had taken time to apply powder and lipstick, and to arrange the gold-lighted hair in its sweep across her forehead; now her eyes darted between Bencolin and madame, wondering what had been said.

'Ah, mademoiselle,' Bencolin greeted her. 'We were about to go, but perhaps you can help us. I understand you were a good friend of Mademoiselle Duchene. Can you tell us anything about this 'change'?'

'No, monsieur, I am afraid not, I have not seen Odette in several months.'

'But I understand — '

Mme Duchene gave her a glance of amused tolerance. 'Gina,' she said, 'has thrown family conventions overboard. A fond uncle left her a legacy and she has cut loose from home. I - I've scarcely had time to think of it. What on earth are you doing, Gina? And that reminds me' - she looked bewildered - 'how did Robert find you to telephone?'

She was in a bad position. All attention seemed focused on her. How she must have wondered, desperately, what we all knew! Galant had just said enough to stir up all manner of fears, without any explanations. Did Bencolin connect the second murder with the first, or either with her? He had not mentioned Claudine Martel's death at all. Did he possibly suspect that she was Estelle, the American singer? All these problems must have twisted through her mind in a horrible kaleidoscope, so that you had to admire her poise. She sat down carelessly; the wide-set blue eyes were expressionless now.

'You mustn't ask too many questions, Mamma Duchene,' she said. 'I'm just - enjoying myself. And I'm studying for the stage, so I've got to keep my headquarters a secret'

Bencolin nodded. 'Of course. Well, I don't think we shall bother you any longer. If you are ready, Jeff — ?'

We left diem among the dull shadows of the room. I could see that Bencolin was eager to be gone, and that Mine Duchene, despite her politeness, wanted to be left alone. But in the last few minutes I had noticed a decided change in Robiquet; he fidgeted with his tie, he cleared his throat, he kept a nervous eye on madam, as though he were wondering whether to speak. When we were tramping down the hall he laid his hand on Bencolin's arm.

'Monsieur,' he said, 'I - er - will you step into the library for a moment? I mean the drawing-room. The library is where ... That is. I have just thought of something. ...'

Once inside, he peered up and down the hall. Then he resumed:

'You were speaking up there of a - what shall I say? - a difference in Odette's behaviour of late?' 'Yes?'

'Why, you see,' deprecatingly, 'nobody had mentioned it to me. I arrived only last night. But I am in regular correspondence with a friend of hers, a certain Mademoiselle Martel, who keeps me informed. Yes. And -'

He was no fool, for all his mannerisms and assumption of dignity. That pale eye had caught the expression on Bencolin's face, and he said, sharply:

'What's the matter, monsieur?'

'Nothing. You are well acquainted with Mademoiselle Martel?'

'I will be frank. At one time,' he acknowledged, as though conferring a favour, 'I had considered asking her to be my wife. But she has no conception of a diplomat's duties. None! Nor does she understand the conduct that would be necessary as my wife. ... Men, of course' - a wave of his hand, judicially - 'are entitled to a little - ah - amusement, hein? But Caesar's wife; you know the quotation. Yes, certainly. I detect in her a certain hardness. Unlike Odette! Odette would listen when you talked. She thought a great deal of my career. . ., But I am wandering.'

He brought himself up with a jerk. Drawing out a violently coloured handkerchief, he mopped his ruddy face, and seemed to find difficulty in approaching the subject he had opened.

'What, precisely, are you trying to say, monsieur?' asked Bencolin. For the first time that day he smiled.

'We all,' Robiquet began again, 'used to be much amused at Odette's - ah - domestic qualities. Her refusal to go out with anybody but Robert Chaumont, and so on. That is to say, we pretended to be. For myself, I admired it. There would be a wife! Had I not grown up with her, I myself ., .' He waved his hand. 'But I remember, when we would be playing tennis at the Touring Club, a group of us, they would try to get Odette on a party. Everybody would laugh when she refused, and Claudine Martell would say: 'Ah, her captain in Africa!' - and she would picture him twisting his big moustaches and waving his sword at the Riffs.'

'Yes?'

'You asked upstairs, a while ago, whether she had been interested in anybody else. The answer is, definitely, no. But' - Robiquet lowered his voice, his pale eyes looking very intent - 'by a recent letter I received from Claudine, I understand that Chaumont has been - playing round, and Odette knew it. There! Understand me, I say nothing against him. It is only natural for a young man, if he is careful about it —⁵

I glanced at Bencolin. This piece of information, worded in Robiquet's mealy-mouthed fashion, was very difficult to believe. It did not sound at all like Chaumont. Studying Robiquet's ruddy, sharp-nosed face, imagining the delicate steps he took in furtherance of his career ('It is only natural for a young man, if he is careful about it — ' Thus spoke his smalt, cautious soul), I doubted this information. It was petty, and it was mean. But obviously Robiquet believed it. Bencolin, to my surprise, manifested the greatest interest.

' 'Playing about'?' he repeated. 'With whom, monsieur?'

'That Claudine did not say. She mentioned it in passing, and said, rather mysteriously, not to be surprised if Odette had her fling yet'

'No person even hinted at?'

'None.'

'You take this, then, to be responsible for her altered attitude towards him?'

'Well - not having seen Odette for some time, I, of course, didn't know of any altered attitude until you mentioned it upstairs. But it made me remember.'

'Have you the letter with you by any chance?'