The Waxworks Murder

She had not asked why. I had a good reason, though. I mumbled:

'There's information. ... I can give you information about Galant. He's going to sell you and wreck the club . .. and...'

Now I had discovered the cut in my forehead. My head must have smashed partly against the brick wall when I dropped. Pressing my handkerchief over it, I discovered that Marie Augustin was standing beside me staring up into my face. It was impossible to see her distinctly. It seemed impossible to talk. She still covered my heart with that bright ring from the gun-muzzle. There was a sharp rattling knock on the glass; a hand twisted the knob. Marie Augustin spoke.

'This way’ she said.

Somebody was leading me by the hand. When I have tried to recall that scene later, I have only hazy flashes, like the recollection of a drunken man. Soft carpets and bright light. Fierce hammering on glass behind me, and voice upraised. Then a black, gleaming door opened somewhere, and darkness. I seemed to be pushed down on something soft.

When next I opened my eyes, I knew I had lost consciousness for some time. (It was, as a matter of fact, less than ten minutes.) My face felt gratefully cold, wet, and free from stickiness; but light was painful to the eyeballs and an edifice of stone had been erected on my forehead. My hand, moving up, found bandages.

I was half reclining on a chaise-longue. At its foot Marie Augustin sat quietly, fingering the weapon, looking at me. In some fantastic way pursuit seemed (momentarily, at least) baffled. I lay quietly, trying to accustom my eyes to the light; so I studied her. The same long face. The same black-brown eyes and hair. But now she was almost beautiful. I remembered that fancy I had had last night in the waxworks: how, removed from ticket-booths and horsehair sofas, this girl would take on a hard grace and poise. Her hair was parted, drawn back behind the ears, and glossy under the lights; her shoulders were old ivory; I found I was looking at changing, luminous eyes which had lost their hard snapping....

'Why did you do it?' I said.

She started. Again that sense of secret communion. She tightened her lips, and replied in a monotonous voice :

^;It ought to be stitched up. I've used sticking-plaster and bandages.'

'Why did you do it ?'

Her finger tightened round the trigger of the pistol. 'For the moment, I grant you, I told them you were not here. That - that was my office, and they believed me. Let me remind you, though, that they are still looking for you and I have you under my thumb. A word from me . . . ' The eyes grew hard again. 'I told you I liked you. But if I discover you are here for the purpose of hurting this place, or trying to wreck it...'

She paused. She seemed to be gifted with an endless patience.

'Now, then, monsieur. If you can account for your presence in any legitimate way, I shall be pleased to believe you. If not, I can always press the bell for my attendants. Meantime . . .'

I tried to sit up, discovered that my head throbbed painfully, and relaxed again. I looked round at a large room, a woman's room, decorated in black and gold Japanese lacquer, over which bronze lamps threw a subdued light. Black velvet curtains were drawn at the windows, and the air was heavy with wistaria incense. Following the direction of my glance, she said:

'We are in my own private room, adjoining the office. They cannot get in - unless I summon them. Now, then, monsieur!'

'Your old style of speech, Mademoiselle Augustin,' I said, gently, 'does not fit your new role. And in your new role you are beautiful.'

She spoke harshly: 'Please do not think that flattery - - '

'Let me assure you I think nothing of the kind. If I wanted to win your regard, I should insult you; you would like me better. Wouldn't you? On the contrary, I have the whip hand over you'

I regarded her casually, trying to seem disinterested. She saw me fumbling in my pocket after cigarettes, and with a curt nod indicated a lacquer box on a tabouret at my elbow.

'Explain what you mean, monsieur.'

'I can save you from bankruptcy. That would please you more than anything in the world, wouldn't it?'

Colour burnt under her brilliant eyes. 'Be careful!' she snapped.

'But wouldn't it?' I asked, feigning surprise.

'Why do you - why does everybody - assume that I care for nothing but — !' She checked herself on the edge of an outburst. She went on calmly: 'You have surprised a secret, monsieur. You see me as I have always wanted to be. But please don't try to evade. What do you mean?'

I lit a cigarette deliberately. 'First, mademoiselle, we must assume certain things. We must agree that you were formerly part owner, and are now full owner of the Club of Masks.'

'Why must we assume that?'

'Mademoiselle, please! It's perfectly legal, you know. .. . It was an inspiration, brought about by a clout on the head after having heard certain things from Monsieur Galant. Then, too, that bank balance of a million francs! It could hardly have come from being a mere - shall we say, gatekeeper?'

The last was a chance shot, which had just then occurred to me. But I suddenly realized it must be the truth, and that I had been blind for not perceiving it before. A million francs, I should have known, was too huge a sum to have been amassed only from providing a second entrance.

'Therefore ... I think I can provide you with proof that Galant intends to betray you. If I do, can you get me out of here?'

'Ah! So you still are dependent on me!' she said, with satisfaction.

I nodded. She glanced at the revolver; on an impulse she dropped it beside her chair. Then she came over and sat down beside me on the chaise-longue, looking down into my face. My eyes must have shown that I felt her nearness,

that I took in her lips and eyes with an expression which had nothing to do with bankruptcy. Yes, she felt that regard, and she was not displeased. She had lost her snappish austerity. She breathed a little more heavily, and

her half-closed eyes glittered. I continued to smoke placidly

'Why are you here?' she demanded.

'To get evidence in a murder case. That is all.'

'And - did you get it?'

'Yes.'

'I hope you found, then, that it did not implicate me?'

'It did not implicate you in the least, Mademoiselle Augustin. And it need not at all implicate the club, either.'

She clenched her hands. 'The club! The club! Is that all you can say? Do you think that everything with me is a matter of business? Listen. Do you know why this place has been the dream of my life ?'

The hard mouth dropped a little. She pounded slowly on the cushions; she stared past my shoulder, and said, in a tense voice:

'There is only one complete joy. That is leading two lives - the drudge and - and the princess. Contrasting them and tasting them each day. I have done that. Each day is a new dream. I sit out in my glass booth by day; I wear cotton stockings, and fight with the butcher, and scrape for a sou.

I scream abuse at the street children, hand tickets into grimy paws, cook cabbage over a wood stove, and mend my father's shirts. I do all this faithfully; I delight in scrubbing the floor   '

Then Mlle Augustin shrugged. 'Because at night I can feel then a thousand times more fully the pleasures of -