“No one, except the floor-waiter who airs and dusts the rooms.”
“Send for him, please.”
The man, whose name was Gustave Beudot, replied that he had closed the windows of five rooms on the previous day in accordance with his general instructions.
“At what time?”
“At six o’clock in the evening.”
“And you noticed nothing?”
“No, sir.”
“And, this morning … ?”
“This morning, I opened the windows at eight o’clock exactly.”
“And you found nothing?”
He hesitated. He was pressed with questions and ended by admitting:
“Well, I picked up a cigarette-case near the fireplace in 420. … I intended to take it to the office this evening.”
“Have you it on you?”
“No, it is in my room. It is a gunmetal case. It has a space for tobacco and cigarette-papers on one side and for matches on the other. There are two initials in gold: an L and an M. …”
“What’s that?”
Chapman had stepped forward. He seemed greatly surprised and, questioning the servant:
“A gunmetal cigarette-case, you say?”
“Yes.”
“With three compartments—for tobacco, cigarette-papers, and matches. … Russian tobacco, wasn’t it, very fine and light?”
“Yes.”
“Go and fetch it. … I should like to see it for myself … to make sure. …”
At a sign from the chief detective, Gustave Beudot left the room.
M. Lenormand sat down and his keen eyes examined the carpet, the furniture and the curtains. He asked:
“This is room 420, is it not?”
“Yes.”
The magistrate grinned:
“I should very much like to know what connection you establish between this incident and the tragedy. Five locked doors separate us from the room in which Mr. Kesselbach was murdered.”
M. Lenormand did not condescend to reply.
Time passed. Gustave did not return.
“Where does he sleep?” asked the chief detective.
“On the sixth floor,” answered the manager. “The room is on the Rue de Judée side: above this, therefore. It’s curious that he’s not back yet.”
“Would you have the kindness to send someone to see?”
The manager went himself, accompanied by Chapman. A few minutes after, he returned alone, running, with every mark of consternation on his face.
“Well?”
“Dead!”
“Murdered?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, by thunder, how clever these scoundrels are!” roared M. Lenormand, “Off with you, Gourel, and have the doors of the hotel locked. … Watch every outlet. … And you, Mr. Manager, please take us to Gustave Beudot’s room.”
The manager led the way. But as they left the room, M. Lenormand stooped and picked up a tiny little round piece of paper, on which his eyes had already fixed themselves.
It was a label surrounded with a blue border and marked with the number 813. He put it in his pocket, on chance, and joined the others. …
A small wound in the back, between the shoulder-blades. …
“Exactly the same wound as Mr. Kesselbach’s,” declared the doctor.
“Yes,” said M. Lenormand, “it was the same hand that struck the blow and the same weapon was used.”
Judging by the position of the body, the man had been surprised when on his knees before the bed, feeling under the mattress for the cigarette-case which he had hidden there. His arm was still caught between the mattress and the bed, but the cigarette-case was not to be found.
“That cigarette-case must have been devilish compromising!” timidly suggested M. Formerie, who no longer dared put forward any definite opinion.
“Well, of course!” said the chief detective.
“At any rate, we know the initials: an L and an M. And with that, together with what Mr. Chapman appears to know, we shall easily learn. …”
M. Lenormand gave a start:
“Chapman! But where is he?”
They looked in the passage among the groups of people crowded together. Chapman was not there.
“Mr. Chapman came with me,” said the manager.
“Yes, yes, I know, but he did not come back with you.”
“No, I left him with the corpse.”
“You left him! … Alone?”
“I said to him, ‘Stay here … don’t move.’ ”
“And was there no one about? Did you see no one?”
“In the passage? No.”
“But in the other attics? … Or else, look here, round that corner: was there no one hiding there?”
M. Lenormand seemed greatly excited. He walked up and down, he opened the doors of the rooms. And, suddenly, he set off at a run, with an agility of which no one would have thought him capable. He rattled down the six storeys, followed at a distance by the manager and the examining-magistrate. At the bottom, he found Gourel in front of the main door.
“Has no one gone out?”
“No, chief.”
“What about the other door, in the Rue Orvieto?”
“I have posted Dieuzy there.”
“With firm orders?”
“Yes, chief.”
The huge hall of the hotel was crowded with anxious visitors, all commenting on the more or less accurate versions that had reached them of the crime. All the servants had been summoned by telephone and were arriving, one by one. M. Lenormand questioned them without delay. None of them was able to supply the least information. But a fifth-floor chambermaid appeared. Ten minutes earlier, or thereabouts, she had passed two gentlemen who were coming down the servants’ staircase between the fifth and the fourth floors.
“They came down very fast. The one in front was holding the other by the hand. I was surprised to see those two gentlemen on the servants’ staircase.”
“Would you know them again?”
“Not the first one. He had his head turned the other way. He was a thin, fair man. He wore a soft black hat … and black clothes.”
“And the other?”
“Oh, the other was an Englishman, with a big, clean-shaven face and a check suit. He had no hat on.”
The description obviously referred to Chapman.
The woman added:
“He looked … he looked quite funny … as if he was mad.”
Gourel’s word was not enough for M. Lenormand. One after the other, he questioned the under-porters standing at the two doors:
“Did you know Mr. Chapman?”
“Yes, sir, he always spoke to us.”
“And you have not seen him go out?”
“No, sir. He has not been out this morning.”
M. Lenormand turned to the commissary of police: “How many men have you with you, Monsieur le Commissaire?”
“Four.”
“That’s not sufficient. Telephone to your secretary to send you all the men available. And please be so good as yourself to organize the closest watch at every outlet. The state of siege, Monsieur le Commissaire. …”
“But I
