The Waxworks Murder

Along the street outside swept the clangour of a bell on a Surete car. It ground to a stop outside and we heard the murmur of voices. Bencolin hurried out to the front door. Another car drew in beside the first. I glanced at Chaumont's puzzled face.

'What the devil,' Chaumont suddenly groaned, 'is all this about? I can't understand any of it. What are we doing? What .. . ' He seemed to remember that he was speaking before Marie Augustin, and subsided with a confused smile.

I turned to her. 'Mademoiselle,’ I said, 'the police are here, and they are likely to turn things upside down. If you want to retire, I am sure Bencolin will offer no objection.'

She examined me gravely. With something of a shock I realized that, in the proper environment, she would be almost beautiful. If she relaxed her rigid carriage, her strong and supple body would be graceful; clothes and colour would set off her features and enhance the moody brilliance of her eyes. This I saw as a sort of spectre behind the girl in dowdy black. She saw it reflected in my face, so that for a moment we spoke together without a word being uttered. I did not know then how well that communion was to stand me in the near future, at a time of deadly danger. She nodded as though answering.

'You are a very ingenious young man.' It was the spectre speaking! A little smile twisted round the tight lips. I felt a sudden compression in my chest, as though the spectre were really taking form; our unspoken words echoed and replied. She went on: 'I am inclined to like you. But I do not care to retire. I am interested in seeing what the police do.'

Through the door we could see them tramping in; a sergeant in uniform, two quick-eyed men in felt hats, the attendants with boxes and spindly camera-legs slung over their shoulders. I heard Bencolin giving directions. He came back into the room, accompanied by one of the felt hats.

'Inspector Durrand,' he said, 'is taking charge. I leave everything in his hands. You understand, Inspector, what I have told you - about the passage?'

'We will be careful,' the other assented, briefly.

And no photographs?'

'No photographs there. I understand.'

'Now, about these things.' Bencolin approached the table. On it lay the handbag with contents arranged in a line, together with the black domino mask we had seen on the floor of the passage. 'You will want to look at them. As I told you, they were in the passage. ...'

The inspector's shrewd, clean-shaven face bent over the table. His fingers ran over the articles rapidly. He said: 'The handbag belonged to the dead woman, I take it?'

'Yes. Her initials are on the clasp. I find nothing significant in the contents of the bag, except this.'

Bencolin held out a small slip of paper, apparently torn hastily from the sheet of a writing-tablet. On it had been written a name and address. The inspector whistled.

'My God!' he muttered. 'Is he concerned in this? Ah, I see! The house next door. . .. Shall I round him up?’

'Under no circumstances! I am going to interview him personally.'

I heard a slight noise behind me. Marie Augustin had seized the back of the rocking-chair, which creaked suddenly.

'May I ask,' she said in a clear voice, 'whose name that is?'

'You may, mademoiselle.' The inspector looked up sharply from under the brim of his hat. 'The paper reads: 'Etienne Galant. 645 Avenue Montaigne. Telephone Elysee 11-73.' Is it familiar to you?'

'No’

Durrand seemed about to question her further, but Bencolin touched his arm. 'The address-book contains nothing significant. Here is the key of a car, and her driver's licence. Also the car number. You might give the patrolman on his beat the number and see whether the car has been left in this neighbourhood... .'

In response to Durrand's summons an agent came in and saluted. When he had received his instructions he hesitated.

‘I have something to report, monsieur,' he said, 'which may bear on this matter.' As both Bencolin and the inspector whirled on him, he grew flustered. 'It may not be of importance, messieurs. But earlier in the evening I noticed a woman outside the door of the museum, I noticed her particularly because I passed her twice within fifteen minutes, and each time she was standing outside the door, as though trying to make up her mind to ring the bell. When she saw me she turned away; she seemed to be trying to make it appear that she was waiting for somebody. ...!

'The museum was closed?' demanded Bencolin.

'Yes, monsieur. I noted that. I was surprised, because ordinarily it stays open until twelve, and when I first passed it was barely twenty minutes of the hour. ... The woman also seemed puzzled.'

'How long did she remain there ?'

'I don't know, monsieur. The next time I passed it was well after twelve, and she had gone.'

'Should you recognize this woman if you saw her again?'

The man frowned doubtfully. 'Well - the light was very dim. But I think I should recognize her. Yes, I am almost positive.'

'Good !' said Bencolin. 'Accompany the rest of them back here and see whether it was the dead woman. Be careful about your identification, now! Wait! Did she seem - nervous ?'

'Very nervous, monsieur.'

Bencolin waved him out. He looked swiftly at Marie Augustin. 'You heard or saw nobody outside here, mademoiselle?'

'Nobody!'

'The bell was not rung?'

‘I have already told you it was not.'

'All right, all right. Now, Inspector' - he picked up the black mask - 'this was found near the bloodstains. As I reconstruct it, the girl must have been standing with her back to the brick wall of the house next door, in the passage, say about a foot and a half away from it. The murderer must have stood directly in front of her; judging by the way the blood spurted, he must have struck over her left shoulder and down beneath the shoulder blade. The direction of the wound will determine that. Now, this mask is very suggestive. You see that the elastic has been ripped out on one side, as though it had been torn off. . ..'

'Torn off the murderer?'

Bencolin grunted. 'Well, how do you explain it?'

Holding the white inside of the mask close under the lamp, Durrand let out an exclamation.

'The mask,' he said, 'was worn by a woman. Its lower edge would just touch the upper lip on a small face, and here is a red smudge of - he scraped with his finger nail -'yes, of lipstick. Faint, but you can see it.'

Bencolin nodded. 'Yes. It was worn by a woman. What else?'

'Wait! Suppose it had been worn by the dead woman?'

'I examined her carefully, Inspector. She wears no lipstick. But look further. The colour of the lipstick, you can see, is very dark. The woman was of fairly dark complexion: probably a brunette. Now examine the elastic.' He snapped it out. 'It is quite long, though, by the fact of an ordinary domino mask's reaching down to the upper lip, we know that the face was small. A small woman, then, wearing a mask with a very long elastic —'

'Yes,' said Durrand, nodding as the other paused interrogatively, 'long and heavy hair, to be confined by that band.'

Bencolin smiled and blew out a cloud of cigar smoke. 'Therefore, Inspector, we get a brunette of small stature, using cosmetics freely, and wearing her hair piled up. That is all, I think, the mask can tell us. It is of a common variety, which may be bought at any shop.'

'Anything else?'

'Only this.' Taking an envelope from his pocket, Bencolin shook out on the table a few small bits of glass. 'On the floor of the passage,' he explained, 'one minute particle clinging to the wall. I leave them for your consideration, Inspector; at present I have nothing to go on. I don't think you will find any footprints out there or fingerprints, either, if I am any judge. ... Now I am taking Jeff and Captain Chaumont along to interview Monsieur Galant. Afterwards, if you want me, I shall be in my rooms; you can telephone at any time. For the present I have no instructions.'