The Waxworks Murder

I grant you. But you are wrong in looking for a member of the club. And now I can tell you two things.'

'Well?'

She put her hands on her lips, breathing deeply. Her face was flushed with triumph, and the lids drooped over her eyes.

'This much, then, which the whole Paris force doesn't seem to have uncovered,' she told me. 'First - I know where the weapon is hidden.'

What!'

'And second,' she went on, imperturbably, 'I know that the crime was almost certainly committed by a woman.'

A Dead Man Pushes Open a Window

This thing was getting to be too much for me. I felt as a certain celebrated wanderer in a topsy-turvy land must have felt when the whole court of justice dissolved and rained down in a shower of playing- cards. Nonsense sounded like sense, and sense like nonsense.

'Ah, well,' I said, resignedly, after a long pause - 'ah, well!...'

She inquired with the utmost politeness: 'It surprises you?'

'Damn you! are you joking?'

'Not in the least,' she assured me, patting her hair. 'After that detective's cheap tricks last night, I am sorry I could not have told him first. However, I shall reserve that pleasure.'

'Now, first of all,' I said, desperately - 'first of all, you say you have found the weapon ?'

‘I know where it is, yes. I haven't disturbed it. Tell me - by the way, what is your name? - -' She broke off.

'My name is Marie. What were you saying?'

'Tell me, didn't the police search every inch of the waxworks, and the passage, and everywhere else, without finding it?'

'Yes, yes, go on! Your triumph is delicious. I know, but —‘

'But they failed, Monsieur Marie, because they neglected an ancient rule. The knife was right in front of them all the time; so they didn't see it. Now, did you go down into the Gallery of Horrors?'

'Yes. Just before I discovered the body.'

'Did you notice that masterly tableau just at the foot of the stairs? I mean the stabbing of Marat. Marat lies halfway out of his bathtub, the knife in his chest, blood streaming from it. Well, my dear boy, some of that blood was real.'

'You mean - - ?'

'I mean,' she said, composedly, 'that the killer went down into that room. She removed the knife from the wax chest of Marat. When papa built that figure he used the longest, sharpest, deadliest knife he could find; wax never dulled its edge, it was sheathed from dirt and rust, and it could easily be pulled out. When the killer had finished with her work, she replaced it in Marat's chest. The police looked at it last night, and hundreds of people have looked at it to-day, but nobody noticed.'

I saw again that grisy tableau in the cellar, as I had seen it the night before, and remarked its hideous realism. And then I remembered another thing, which caused me very heartily to curse myself. It was right there - there, in front of Marat - that I had heard something dripping. Later I had attributed it to the figure of the satyr, where the body was; but with the slightest grain of sense I should have realized I could not have heard blood drip from such a distance. It came from the Marat tableau all the time. . ..

'Well,' I demanded, 'how did you notice it?'

'Ah! So I am again to be under suspicion? (Give me a cigarette, will you?) No, no; I could not avoid noticing. Monsieur Marie, I have lived in that waxworks all my life. If a single button is out of place on any of the figures, I know it....'

'Yes?'

'When I looked through this morning, I saw a dozen small changes. Marat's writing-board had been pushed a quarter of an inch to the left. Somebody had brushed past Charlotte Corday's skirt and ruffled a fold. Most of all - the dagger was not quite buried to the hilt in his wax chest, and a few spots beside the tub were not painted blood.'

'Did you touch it?'

She lifted a whimsical eyebrow. 'Oh, no! I waited for the police to discover it. I imagined I should wait a long time.'

'There may be fingerprints everywhere.. ..'

'Possibly,' she replied, with indifference. She waited for me to light the cigarette she had taken from the lacquer box. Then she said: ‘I am not greatly interested in Mademoiselle Martel's murder. But I didn't think you would overlook the leads that it must have been a woman - a woman who was not a member of the club.'

'Why?'

'The killer was after something which she wore on a gold chain round her neck.' She looked at me sharply. 'Isn't that clear?'

'We have already decided that it was the silver key.'

'Our opinions,' she murmured, 'coincide. I am happy to have thought of the same thing as the great Bencolin. Good! - Well, my dear boy, why did the killer want that key, except to get into the club? How did you yourself get here to-night?'

'Borrowed a key from a member.'

'Yes. You borrowed a man's key, which could be examined and checked at the door. Well, what on earth good would Mademoiselle Martel's key have done the murderer if the murderer had been a man? I am beginning to think he is stupid, that Bencolin ! . .. A woman took it. A woman who must have looked at least a little like Mademoiselle Martel herself, so that she could get in.'

She leaned back, stretching her arms above her head.

'Now,' I suggested, smiling, 'if you can produce a reason why the murderer wanted to get into the club ... ?'

'I am afraid that would be a little too much.'

'Or if I could find out whether a woman, presenting Mademoiselle Martel's key, got past the guards last night

She said, dryly, ‘I don't suppose you would care to go out and ask them, would you ?' 'You could.'

'Listen, my dear boy.' She exhaled smoke savagely. 'I don't care who killed Claudine Martel. I wouldn't walk a step out of my way to help you on that, because, whoever else it was, it couldn't have been Galant. So much I gather from what you've told me. All I want to do is get him - do you understand?'

'One involves the other.'

Her eyes narrowed. 'How so?'

'He's accessory after the fact, isn't he? - both he and the Prevost woman? And she's willing to turn State's evidence.'

She smoked for the first time in silence, and then nodded. 'Good. That goes. Now, then, what's the plan of campaign?'

'The first thing is whether you can get me out of here. Can you ?'

She shrugged. 'Something, my friend, has got to be done. They'll have finished looking in all the other rooms for you before very many minutes, and then . .. ' Drawing a finger across her throat, she studied me. 'I could, of course, call in my own attendants, gather the guests round, and march you out in full view. Dare Galant to do anything about it. It might mean trouble... .'

I saw her narrowed eyes fixed on me speculatively again. I shook my head.

'That won't do. Galant would be warned. He might not start a fight, but he'd be sure to get away before the police could be summoned.'