The Waxworks Murder

pneumatique to a man named Bencolin. .. .'

The enormous hand clenched, and sinews of muscle stood out on the wrist. I could not see his face, except for the working of the jaw muscles, but I felt an explosion swell and darken here....

'It contained certain information, Etienne. Just how much I won't tell you. But if anything happens to me, you'll go to the guillotine.'

A silence. Then she said huskily:

'Why, when I look back at what I thought - there was in. life. . .. And to-day I saw Odette in her coffin and remembered - and how I ragged her about being so homelike, and thought she was a damned little fool who ought to get a good waking up, and hated her for getting pleasure out of little things . . . and then the expression of her face!'

Very thoughtfully Galant nodded. His hand had relaxed.

'And so, my dear, you will tell the police. What will you tell them?'

'The truth. It was an accident.'

'I see. Mademoiselle Odette died by an accident. And your other friend, Claudine, was that an accident also?'

'You know it wasn't. You know it was deliberate murder.'

'Come, we are getting along! At least you admit that.'

Something in his voice roused her from her drugged torpor. Again her face turned; I saw the taut nostrils. She knew that he was holding threats gently, as a man shakes a whip before lashing out with it.

'Now, darling,' he went on, 'suppose you tell me. How did this 'accident' occur?'

'As though - as though you didn't know! Oh, damn you! what have you got —!'

'I was not in the room at the time, as I think you will admit. This is all I can safely say: You and your good friend Mademoiselle Martel loathed the excellent Odette.

.. . Please, please, my dear, don't use your devastating stage contempt on me; the look is too dramatic. Neither of you could understand why she should want a husband and babies, and a dull cottage at Neuilly or a duller army post in the colonies. So you arranged a little reception for her here.'

'There wasn't anything in it! I tell you I'm willing to go to the police....'

He drained his glass of champagne, and then leaned over to pat her hand. She moved it away, but she was trembling.

'The moving spirit, I am willing to admit,' he said, with a magnanimous gesture, 'was Mademoiselle Martel. You were unable to get your friend Odette here on any pretext except one, which was for Mademoiselle Martel to tell her, and repeat it so frequently that she grew hysterical, a certain lie - namely, my dear, that Captain Chaumont came frequently to this club. Does she doubt it ? A shrug. She may look for herself. ... What a good joke it would be! What a taste of the real life she should get! Bring her here, ply her with wine, introduce her to some gallant later in the evening. . .. She wouldn't come here at night? The afternoon would do as well, for much champagne could be administered before night. .. .'

Gina Prevost had pressed her hands over her eyes.

'Now, I was unacquainted with the precise nature of your plan, my dear,' Galant resumed. 'As to the last I am only guessing. But your behaviour tells me much. However,' he shrugged, 'I approved the idea. I allowed you to bring her, without a key, past the guards. But what went on in that room - by the way, you used M. Robiquet's room, because you knew he was in London and could not possibly be there - what went on in that room I do not know.'

'I told you, didn't I ?'

'Please relax, my dear Gina: you are exciting yourself. Did you?'

'I don't know what your game is. I'm afraid of you. ...

It was an accident; you know it. At least, it was Claudine's fault. Odette got hysterical when we - we put her off about seeing Robert Chaumont —' 'And then?'

'And Claudine had been drinking, and all of a sudden she flared out. She told Odette not to worry: we'd get her a man as good as Chaumont. It was awful! I only intended a joke. I just wanted to see how she'd take it. But Claudine always hated her, and Claudine turned into a fury. I saw that the thing was getting past us, and I was scared. And Claudine said : 'I'll shake some sense into you, you little snivelling hypocrite,' and —'

She swallowed hard, looking at him wildly. 'Claudine dashed towards her. Odette jumped up across the bed to run from her, and she tripped, and - O Christ! - when I saw that glass break, and Odette's face. . . . ! We heard her hit the court down there....'

There was a terrible, gasping silence. I turned away from the screen, feeling rather sick.

'I didn't mean — ! I didn't mean — !' the girl whispered. 'But you knew. You came up and promised to take her away. You said she was dead, and that you would handle it, or we'd both go to the guillotine. Didn't you?'

'So,' Galant said meditatively, 'she died by an accident, did she? She died from falling out of the window, of a fractured skull? ... My dear, have you seen the newspapers?'

'What do you mean?'

He rose and stood looking down at her. 'Sooner or later the fall might have killed her. But as to what else went on up here! Why, you can see in the newspapers that the real cause of death was a stab through the heart, eh?'

The soft swing of his hand continued, curling back for the crack of the whip. His lips were pursed and smugness again spread round his eyes.

'The knife with which she was stabbed,’ he said, 'was not found. And no wonder. It belongs to you, I believe. If the police look, they can find it hidden in your dressing-room at the Moulin Rouge. ... Now I hope, my dear, you did not give too much information to Monsieur Bencolin?'

Knives!

Crouched there in the gloom, I dropped my eyes again, and my brain was muddled with the crazy words which I heard. Then Galant laughed. His laughter had suddenly become high and giggling and obscene, jarring the nerves. 'Don't believe me, my dear,' he urged. 'Read the papers’ A silence. I did not dare put my eye to the crack again, lest I should betray myself by fumbling and tipping it over.

She said in a low, incredulous voice: 'You - did - that'

'Now please listen to me. I feared that exactly this might happen, from the moment your good Odette fell. I feared you might lose your nerve, or get an attack of conscience, and go to the police and explain your 'accident', Mademoiselle Martel, I thought (and wisely), was less unstable. You might ruin us all. However, if you were bound to silence....'

'You stabbed Odette yourself.'

'Well, well, I may have hastened her death. She wouldn't have lived more than a few hours, anyway.' He was enjoying himself, and I heard a clink as he poured out more champagne. 'Did you fancy I would rush her to the hospital, and betray everything? No, no ! The police are too eager to hang something on me as it is. Better to finish her in the courtyard. Which - between ourselves - I did. You recall, you did not see her after she fell?'

I looked out again. She sat rigid, her face away from me. Galant was frowning musingly at his glass as he swirled round its contents. Behind his complacence you could feel the cold rage. I knew instinctively that he would never forgive her for one thing, above all - for striking at his vanity. He raised veiled eyes, clear cat-yellow now.

'The knife I used is - distinctive. And the crookedness of the blade left a distinctive mark. Somehow it found its way into your dressing-room. You wouldn't find it easily. But the police could. .. . You damned little fool’ he said, trying to hold back a rush of rage, 'they'll blame you for both murders! - that is, if I give them the tip. You put your neck right under the guillotine last night when Claudine Martel was killed! Don't you realize that? And yet you have the nerve, the impudence, the damned conceit to — '

For a moment I thought he would fling the glass at her. Then with an effort he composed his swollen face, seeming a bit alarmed at his own fury.

'Ah, well, my dear . .. won't do, will it, to get upset? No. Listen, please. I took her down, after dark, and dropped her into the river from my own car. There is no shred of proof to connect me with it. But you!'

'And Claudine- - ?'