The Holladay Case Part 16
"Will you not try one?" he asked, seeing that my pipe was finished, and I presently found myself enjoying the best cigarette I had ever smoked. "You comprehend French--no?"
"Not well enough to enjoy it," I said.
"I am sorry--I believe you would like this book which I am reading,"
and he pulled a somewhat tattered volume from his pocket. "I have read it, oh, ver' many times, as well as all the others--though this, of course, is the masterpiece."
He held it so that I could see the t.i.tle. It was "Monsieur Lecoq."
"I have read it in English," I said.
"And did you not like it--yes? I am ver' fond of stories of detection.
That is why I was so absorbed in that affair of Mees--Mees--ah, I have forgotten! Your names are so difficult for me."
"Miss Holladay," I said.
"Ah, yes; and has that mystery ever arrived at a solution?"
"No," I said. "Unfortunately, we haven't any Monsieur Lecoqs on our detective force."
"Ah, no," he smiled. "And the young lady--in her I conceived a great interest, even though I did not see her--how is she?"
"The shock was a little too much for her," I said. "She's gone out to her country-place to rest. She'll soon be all right again, I hope."
He had taken a third cigarette, and was lighting it carelessly, with his face half-turned away from me. I noticed how flushed his neck was.
"Oh, undoubtedly," he agreed, after a moment; "at least, I should be most sad to think otherwise. But it is late; I perceive that you are weary; I thank you for your kindness."
"Not at all," I protested. "I hope you'll come in whenever you feel lonely."
"A thousand thanks! I shall avail myself of your invitation. My apartment is just across the hall," he added, as I opened the door. "I trust to see you there."
"You shall," I said heartily, and bade him good-night.
In the week that followed, I saw a good deal of Martigny. I would meet him on the stairs or in the hall; he came again to see me, and I returned his visit two nights later, upon which occasion he produced two bottles of Chateau Yquem of a delicacy beyond all praise. And I grew more and more to like him--he told me many stories of Paris, which, it seemed, had always been his home, with a wit to which his slight accent and formal utterance gave new point; he displayed a kindly interest in my plans which was very pleasing; he was always tactful, courteous, good-humored. He was plainly a boulevardier, a man of the world, with an outlook upon life a little startling in its materiality, but interesting in its freshness, and often amusing in its frankness. And he seemed to return my liking--certainly it was he who sought me, not I who sought him. He was being delayed, he explained, in establishing his business; he could not get just the quarters he desired, but in another week there would be a place vacant. He would ask me to draw up the lease. Meanwhile, time hung rather heavily on his hands.
"Though I do not quarrel with that," he added, sitting in my room one evening. "It is necessary for me that I take life easily. I have a weakness of the heart, which has already given me much trouble.
Besides, I have your companionship, which is most welcome, and for which I thank you. I trust Mees--Mees--what you call--Holladay is again well."
"We haven't heard from her," I said. "She is still at her place in the country."
"Oh, she is doubtless well--in her I take such an interest--you will pardon me if I weary you."
"Weary me? But you don't!"
"Then I will make bold to ask you--have you made any--what you call--theory of the crime?"
"No," I answered; "that is, none beyond what was in the newspapers--the illegitimate daughter theory. I suppose you saw it.
That seems to fit the case."
He nodded meditatively. "Yet I like to imagine how Monsieur Lecoq would approach it. Would he believe it was a murder simply because it so appeared? Has it occurred to you that Mees Holladay truly might have visited her father, and that his death was not a murder at all, but an accident?"
"An accident?" I repeated. "How could it be an accident? How could a man be stabbed accidentally in the neck? Besides, even if it were an accident, how would that explain his daughter's rushing from the building without trying to save him, without giving the alarm? If it wasn't a murder, why should the woman, whoever she was, be frightened?
How else can you explain her flight?"
He was looking at me thoughtfully. "All that you say is ver' true," he said. "It shows that you have given to the case much thought. I believe that you also have a fondness for crimes of mystery," and he smiled at me. "Is it not so, Mistair Lester?"
"I had never suspected it," I laughed, "until this case came up, but the microbe seems to have bitten me."
"Ah, yes," he said doubtfully, not quite understanding.
"And I've rather fancied at times," I admitted, "that I should like to take a hand at solving it--though, of course, I never shall. Our connection with the case is ended."
He shot me a quick glance, then lighted another cigarette.
"Suppose it were a.s.signed to you to solve it," he asked, "how would you set about it?"
"I'd try to find the mysterious woman."
"But the police, so I understand, attempted that and failed," he objected. "How could you succeed?"
"Oh, I dare say I shouldn't succeed," I laughed, his air striking me as a little more earnest than the occasion demanded. "I should probably fail, just as the police did."
"In France," he remarked, "it is not in the least expected that men of the law should----"
"Nor is it here," I explained. "Only, of course, a lawyer can't help it, sometimes; some cases demand more or less detective work, and are yet too delicate to be intrusted to the police."
"It is also the fault of our police that it is too fond of the newspapers, of posing before the public--it is a fault of human nature, is it not?"
"You speak English so well, Mr. Martigny," I said, "that I have wondered where you learned it."
"I was some years in England--the business of wine--and devoted myself seriously to the study of the language. But I still find it sometimes very difficult to understand you Americans--you speak so much more rapidly than the English, and so much less distinctly. You have a way of running your words together, of dropping whole syllables----"
"Yes," I smiled, "and that is the very thing we complain of in the French."
"Oh, our elisions are governed by well-defined laws which each one comprehends, while here----"
"Every man is a law unto himself. Remember, it is the land of the free----"
"And the home of the license, is it not?" he added, unconscious of irony.
Yes, I decided, I was very fortunate in gaining Martigny's acquaintance. Of course, after he opened his business, he would have less time to devote to me; but, nevertheless, we should have many pleasant evenings together, and I looked forward to them with considerable antic.i.p.ation. He was interesting in himself--entertaining, with that large tolerance and good humor which I have already mentioned, and which was one of the most striking characteristics of the man. And then--shall I admit it?--I was lonely, too, sometimes, as I suppose every bachelor must be; and I welcomed a companion.
It was Monday, the fourteenth day of April, and we had just opened the office, when a clerk hurried in with a message for Mr. Royce.
"There's a man out here who wants to see you at once, sir," he said.
"He says his name's Thompson, and that he's Miss Frances Holladay's butler."