True Crime & Murder Mysteries Collection. Moffett Cleveland

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      Gibelin lifted his pudgy hands deprecatingly. "For one thing I discovered a photograph of the woman who was in Number Six with Martinez."

      "The devil!" cried Coquenil.

      "It is not of much importance, since already you have the woman's name and address." He shot a keen glance at his rival.

      M. Paul was silent. What humiliation was this! No doubt Gibelin had heard the truth and was gloating over it!

      "How do you know it is the woman's photograph?" questioned the judge.

      "I'll tell you," replied Gibelin, delighted with his sensation. "It's quite a story. I suppose you know that when this woman slipped out of the Ansonia, she drove directly to the house where we arrested the American. You knew that?" He turned to Coquenil.

      "No."

      "Well, I happened to speak to the concierge there and she remembers perfectly a lady in an evening gown with a rain coat over it like the one this woman escaped in. This lady sent a note by the concierge up to the apartment of that she-dragon, the sacristan's wife, where M. Kittredge was calling on Alice."

      "Ah! What time was that?"

      "About a quarter to ten. The note was for M. Kittredge. It must have been a wild one, for he hurried down, white as a sheet, and drove off with the lady. Fifteen minutes later they stopped at his hotel and he went up to his room, two steps, at a time, while she waited in the cab. And Jean, the garçon, had a good look at her and he told Rose, the chambermaid, and she had a look and recognized her as the woman whose photograph she had often seen in the American's room."

      "Ah, that's lucky!" rejoined the judge. "And you have this photograph?"

      "No, but——"

      "You said you found it?" put in Coquenil.

      "I did, that is, I found a piece of it, a corner that wasn't burned."

      "Burned?" cried the others.

      "Yes," said Gibelin, "that's what Kittredge went upstairs for, to burn the photograph and a lot of letters—her letters, probably. The fireplace was full of fresh ashes. Rose says it was clean before he went up, so I picked out the best fragments—here they are." He drew a small package from his pocket, and opening it carefully, showed a number of charred or half-burned pieces of paper on which words in a woman's handwriting could be plainly read.

      "More fragments!" muttered Coquenil, examining them. "It's in English. Ah, is this part of the photograph?" He picked out a piece of cardboard.

      "Yes. You see the photographer's name is on it."

      "Watts, Regent Street, London," deciphered the detective. "That is something." And, turning to the judge: "Wouldn't it be a good idea to send a man to London with this? You can make out part of a lace skirt and the tip of a slipper. It might be enough."

      "That's true," agreed Hauteville.

      "Whoever goes," continued Coquenil, "had better carry him the five-pound notes found on Martinez and see if he can trace them through the Bank of England. They often take the names of persons to whom their notes are issued."

      "Excellent. I'll see to it at once," and, ringing for his secretary, the judge gave orders to this effect.

      To all of which Gibelin listened with a mocking smile. "But why so much trouble," he asked, "when you have the woman's name and address already?"

      "I had them and I—I lost them," acknowledged M. Paul, and in a few words he explained what had happened.

      "Oh," sneered the other, "I thought you were a skillful wrestler."

      "Come back to the point," put in Hauteville. "Had the chambermaid ever seen this lady before?"

      "Yes, but not recently. It seems that Kittredge moved to the Hôtel des Étrangers about seven months ago, and soon after that the lady came to see him. Rose says she came three times."

      "Did she go to Kittredge's room?" put in Coquenil.

      "Yes."

      "Can the chambermaid describe her?" continued the judge.

      "She says the lady was СКАЧАТЬ