"The Crime of the Opera," is the best known
of the works of Du Boisgobey. Like all of Du
Boisgobey's detective stories, it is founded upon
fact. The murder of Maria Fellerath, under
circumstances very similar to those surrounding the
murder of Julie d'Orcival, gave Du Boisgobey the
motive for his plot.
And Maria Fellerath was killed by just exactly
the same sort of an instrument as the Japanese
fan-dagger described in the story as belonging to
Berthe Lestrel. But the police of Paris were never
able to solve the mystery of the crime of Maria's
murder. It remains a mystery to this day.
Du Boisgobey in twenty years wrote between
sixty and seventy novels. His forte was detective
fiction.
He had an immense popularity in his day, and
many of his detective novels have taken a
permanent place in French literature. 'The Man
Without a Name," "The Mysteries of New Paris"
and "The Crime of the Opera" may fairly be
regarded as his most successful works.
Dead In the Opera Box.
The finding of the dead body of Julie
d'Orcival in the box at the Opera House
at 3 o'clock in the morning created a
sensation in Paris.
There she lay, the most beautiful and
the most notorious woman in Paris, clad
in the satin domino of black and white
in which she had come to the ball — and
with a dagger thrust through her throat!
That astute and excellent magistrate,
Roger Darcy, took charge of the mysterious
case — for most mysterious it was —
and set his detectives at work.
The body had been discovered by an
amateur detective, or rather a busybody,
who fancied that he had detective talents
— one Lolif.
His curiosity had been excited by seeing
a woman to mask and domino sitting
alone in box 27 of the first tier and then
by seeing several visitors, all women,
enter and leave the box.
At 3 o'clock Lolif saw the woman in
the black and white domino look out upon
the floor of the opera house, then turn
as if to greet another visitor and disappear.
In box 20, next to that occupied by the
mysterious domino, he saw sitting two
men well known about Paris, Gen. Simancas,
of Peru, and Dr. Saint Gaulmier,
of Canada.
Lolif, Amateur Detective.
People might lift their eyebrows and
shrug their shoulders when the names of
these two inseparable friends were
mentioned, but they belonged to the clubs,
appeared to have plenty of money and
managed to get invitations to houses
where people who met them would greet
them with an expression of face which
seemed to say, "How the deuce did you
get here?"
When Lolif saw the two chevaliers
d'industrie leave their box he hastened up
there. It would be a good place, he
thought, from which to solve the mystery
of the woman in the domino in Box
27.
As he passed through the corridor
behind the two boxes he saw the edge of a
gown showing beneath the curtain which
hung before the entrance of Box 27.
He looked at it intently. It did not
stir. There was something unnatural in
its repose. He entered the box, and there
saw the beautiful demimondaine lying dead.
He gave the alarm at once. He talked
volubly of his theories, he hurried off to
his clubs to carry his news. He swelled
with importance; it was a great night
for M. Lolif.
Next morning all Paris was talking of
the crime of the opera.
Time to Reform.
But to go back a day or two.
When a young man goes astray he
gets into trouble. When he tries to
reform he gels into more trouble.
Gaston Darcy was a gay young man
about town, and seemed destined to
continue a gay young man indefinitely. But
when he reached the age of thirty his
uncle, the magistrate, called a halt.
"Gaston," said the magistrate, "you
are my heir. You will not have a sou
but what I leave you. If you do not at
once change your mode of life and get
married within three months I will get
married myself and disappoint you of
your inheritance."
The magistrate was a well-preserved
bachelor of forty-five, and Gaston knew
when his uncle said a thing he meant it.
That evening Gaston went to call upon
Julie d'Orcival, with whom he had been
intimate for a year. He explained matters
to Julie — rather awkwardly, it is
true — but it was a rather awkward
situation.
Count Golymine's Threats.
Before Julie had fully realized what the
young man was driving at a servant
informed her that the Count Golymine
wanted to see her. He was one of those
Polish counts who are to be found in all
large European cities — half exiles and
wholly adventurers.
He was a superb sample of his kind,
however, and a great Don Juan. He
had formerly been a lover of Julie's,
and was still madly infatuated with her.
"Why did you admit him?" asked Julie.
"He forced his way in, madam,"
replied the servant.
"Very well; I will see him in the drawing
room. I will be back in a moment,
Gaston."
As soon as he saw Julie, the count
threw himself upon his knees and madly
besought her to fly with him. He poured
out his protestations of love in a flood.
Julie laughed at him, scorned him and
repulsed him. "Leave this house and
never let me see you again," she said
at length, and turned and left the room.
As she did so the count sprang to his
feet and shrieked out: "Go and join
your lover. I curse you and you will
learn what the maledictions of the dead
will bring you."
Off with the Old Love.
When she returned to Gaston he
proceeded with his remarks. She saw what
he would get at and then there was a
scene.
At first she wept and then she lost
her temper and Gaston lost his. But
the upshot of it was that Gaston
regained his freedom and went away
exulting in it.
The chains of Julie had rested pretty
heavily upon him of late.
Julie had really loved Gaston, that is,
as nearly loved him as a woman of her
sort could love anybody. But now her
whole thoughts of him were turned to a
bitter vindictiveness and a great thirst
for revenge.
Revenge upon him she would have.
But how? Then she thought of the blind
infatuation of Count Wencelas Golymine
and an idea struck her.
There was an agent for her. She would
send to him at once. But what was his
address?
She remembered that there was a card
of his in the card receiver on a table
in the long gallery, which led from the
drawing room.
"I will write to him. He shall be my
minister of revenge."
Letters from the Dead.
She went down into the long, dim-lit
gallery. For a moment her heart stopped
still. Against one of the windows a dark
object was hanging. It took all even of
Julie's courage and resolution, to
approach it.
She found there, hanging by a window
frame, the dead body of the Count
Wencelas Golymine. On the table near by
she saw a letter lying. She seized it in
her hand and went with stealthy and
steady steps back to her boudoir.
For an instant she threw herself into
a chair and her face became blanched.
But she summoned all her native
resolution and the tigress woke within her.
She opened the letter and read it, her
hand trembling slightly. The infatuated
man had, after Julie had left him, gone
into the gallery and committed suicide.
That was apparent.
The letter was a letter to the authorities
asking them to send two letters
found upon his person to the ladles to
whom they were addressed.
Swiftly Julie descended again into the
gallery and searched the pockets of the
dead man hanging there. The letter left
by the count for the authorities she
burned and burned thoroughly. The
three letters she took from the dead
man's pockets she placed in her writing
desk.
Explaining to the Police.
Then she rang the bell and her maid,
Mariette, appeared.
"I can not sleep, Mariette; go to the
gallery and set me a book" — and she
signified what book she wanted, though
she mentioned the first title that came
into her head.
In a minute — Mariette came shrieking
back into the room. There was hanging
there a dead man, and the maid went
off into hysterics.
"What is this you say?" cried Julie.
"There; calm yourself. What is it?"
Mariette managed to tell her what she
had seen.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, madam."
"Well, rouse the servants. Send for a
doctor and send for the police authorities
at once."
The whole household was aroused; the
police came and the doctor came. When
the police official in charge came to tell
madam of the identity of the man who
had been found hanging in the gallery
she said with a long-drawn sigh: "I was
afraid so. I was afraid so. O, this is
horrible."
Then she told, and told fully and
frankly, of the visit to her that evening
of the Polish count, of his asking her
to fly with him and of her refusal.
Of the letters, of course, she said nothing.
Selecting a Wife.
Gaston, after leaving the house of
Julie, had hurried to his club to meet his
friend, Capt. Nointel. He was rejoicing
in his newly acquired freedom and full
of animation.
A new life was before him. He would
marry and, as his uncle desired, he would
become a magistrate. The foolish past
was gone forever.
But these foolish pasts! How they
cling to one and reach out their scaly
hands to draw us back from the paths
we would tread!
Nointel was one of the ornaments of
Parisian society, well-bred, well-born
and well-balanced.
"Well, my dear Gaston," said the captain,
"since you will marry, let me
recommend to you a wife.
"Now there is the charming Mme.
Cambray — she is a young widow with
money and character. In some ways
she would be just the woman you want.
She has a firmness of character which
will keep you straight, my boy.
"You know how much she is sought
after. You know how she dominates
any society in which she moves. With
her for a wife you might rise to
anything.
"Then there is the Marchioness de
Barancos, another widow. By all means
I recommend to you a widow. This Spanish
marchioness is, as you know, a most
dazzling, bewildering beauty.
"And she has 10,000,000 of francs. She
is distinctly a grande dame. She
has a beautiful estate in the country.
"I have noticed that neither of these
young and beautiful widows are
unappreciative of your personality. Marry
either one of them, my dear boy — I am
convinced that you can win either if
you set about it."
His Only Overcoat.
As they sat talking and drinking there
Lolif came bustling in, bringing the news
of Golymine's suicide. He spread it all
over the club — he created a sensation —
which was what delighted him.
Gen. Simancas and Dr. Saint Gaulmier
finally got him aside and inquired as
to the details. What they seemed
especially to want to know was whether,
when he hanged himself, the count had
worn a certain pelisse with a sable collar.
This pelisse with a sable collar was
as well known in Paris as was the count
himself. It was, in fact, the only overcoat
the poor man was possessed of — a
remnant or former prosperity.
Yes, yes; Lolif knew even that detail.
The pelisse was on the body when it
was cut down.
It was nearly 3 o'clock in the morning
when Gaston Darcy left the club. He
had drank heavily and played heavily to
celebrate his emancipation. Luck had
seemed to be seated beside him and his
pockets were full of money.
He would walk home; he thought the
fresh air and the exercise would do him
good. As he passed down a rather
obscure street he saw a hurrying female
form. It was a young woman endeavoring to
escape the attentions which a strange
man was trying to force upon her. As
she saw Gaston she ran towards him.
The "masher" disappeared.
Not Entirely Satisfied.
"Why, Mlle, Lestrel, is it you?" cried
Gaston in amazement. "Pray let me
escort you home."
His amazement at finding Berthe Lestrel
out at that hour of the night
unattended was so apparent that Berthe,
as soon as she could recover from her
agitation, explained that she had been
to the house of her sister, Mme. Crozon,
who was suffering from a severe nervous
attack.
She had not realized how late it was
until she had started to return to her
own home and the distance was so short
that she thought she might traverse it
in safety.
"It was foolish of me. I know," said
Berthe, "and I know not what I should
have done had you not come to my
rescue."
Gaston was all politeness, but Berthe
thought that her explanation had not
entirely satisfied him.
"My sister's husband is to return
to-morrow — he is a sea captain, you know,"
said Berthe, "and I must be there when
he arrives. For, really, Mme. Crozon is
in a highly nervous state."
She mentioned the hour at which she
must be at her sisters the next day and
Gaston took leave of her at her own
door.
One Way to Live.
Berthe Lestrel was a young woman
of excellent and unsullied character, but
was poor and supported herself by singing
at entertainments at private houses.
Gaston had often met her, and had been
much impressed with her.
He walked away musing after seeing
Berthe home, and his musing cost him
Dear. He was suddenly set upon by footpads,
garroted and robbed of all the
winnings he had made that night at the
club.
Perhaps the Peruvian general and the
Canadian doctor, who had seen him leave
the gaming table with so much money,
were not entirely unconnected with this
little financial transaction These
adventurers had to live, you know — or
thought they had to.
Mme. Crozon.
The next day Gaston started out to
visit his uncle, the magistrate, and tell
him of his deliverance from the snares
of Julie d'Orcival and of his readiness
to live cleanly ever after, marry and
become a magistrate.
He had to pass not very far from the
house where Mme. Crozon, Berthe's, sister
lived. Gaston looked at his watch.
It was just about the hour when Berthe
had said she was to visit her sister again
and be present at the captain's return.
His steps, somehow, led him to Mme.
Crozon's door. And there he met Berthe.
"So, monsieur," said she, "you doubted
me last night when I told you the reason
of my being out so late? Coma in — my
sister will confirm what I said."
She insisted and Gaston entered. Mme.
Crozon, of course, confirmed all that
Berthe had said.
While they talked the captain arrived
in a towering race, and Berthe hurried
Gaston into a side room from which he
could reach the street unseen.
"Go, go, she said; "the captain is furiously
jealous — he must not find any one
here but ourselves."
Only Three Months Left.
The captain came into the room like a
cyclone. He had received many anonymous
communications while he had been
away reflecting upon his wife's honor and
stating that she had given birth to a
child the month before.
The poor Mrs. Crozon went into
hysterics and Berthe declared that the whole
thing was an infamous slander. She had
been with her sister every day. Finally
the captain calmed down, embraced his
wife and cursed the slanderers.
When Gaston reached his uncle's house
that worthy magistrate greeted him with
urbanity and heard his story with a smile,
in which there was, however, a little bit
of incredulity as to the reality of his
nephew's reformation.
"Well, well, Gaston," said the judge, "I
am glad to hear that you are come to
your senses. Now as to a wife. How
would Mme. Cambray do? However, I
will not insist upon particular person.
Any well-born and virtuous girl will be
acceptable to me.
"But remember — if within three months
you are not married I will marry myself
and disappoint you."
Three Blackmailers.
To return to Julie d'Orcival. Early in
the morning after the suicide of Golymine
Gen. Simancas called upon her. He
desired to know, he said, if any letters
were found in the pelisse which the poor
count wore when he hanged himself.
There should have been in his pockets,
he said, some letters which related to a
South American conspiracy in which both
himself and the count were engaged. It
would be very annoying should these letters
fall into the hands of strangers.
He looked Julie steadily in the face as
he talked but she was not a woman to
betray herself.
Letters? Why, how should she know?
The police had taken charge of the body
and consequently of the clothing. She
was astonished at the general's questions.
But when Simancas had gone she
thought — "That man knew the count had
those letters on him. Golymine, Simancas,
Saint Gaulmier — three blackmailers.
Doubtless they worked together and,
knew each other's secrets. They know
me, too, and suspect me. They suspect
I have the letters. Well, they are wise
people.
Planning Humiliation.
She examined the letters. One packet
was addressed to the Marchioness de
Barancos.
"So, my haughty lady," said she to
herself, "you, too, have been playing
at love."
The letters were written by the
marchioness to the count in a most
loving manner. It had evidently been
the man's idea that they should be
returned to her after his death, of course.
The other packets contained letters
from Mme. Crozon. "Humph," said
Julie. "I suspected that. And who is
this third person. I do not know her.
Evidently a bourgeoise person.
"But the packet is addressed: I will
humilitate her with the rest of them.
I want revenge upon some one; I will
take it out upon these ladies.
"As for Mme. Crozon. I could not
humilitate her much. But Berthe — I will
humilitate Berthe by making her the
agent of her sister. We went to school
together — we three — but since I left the
straight and narrow path Berthe has
refused to recognize me.
"Well, my pretty prude, I will take
your pride down a little. I will show
you that there are other women gone
astray beside myself."
Appointments at the Opera.
Then, taking a piece of plain paper,
she wrote the following note to Mme.
Barancos: "Madame — An accident has
placed in my hands the letters addressed
by you to the Count Wencelas Golymine.
I wish to return them to you,
but I think it more prudent and becoming
not to present myself at your house
or to receive you at mine.
"I shall be at the ball at the Opera
House on Saturday evening. In box 27,
first tier. I shall be absolutely alone
and will wear a black and white domino.
I shall await you there at half after one.
— A Friend."
She sent a similar note to the woman
whom she did not know and then wrote
a note to Berthe Lestrel, telling her
what letters she had and telling her that
if she wanted to restore them to her
sister she must be at the Opera House
at 2:30 and call upon her in box 27.
She made the appointment with Berthe
so late from sheer spite, wishing to give
the girl all the trouble she could.
At Mme. Cambray's Musical.
"Here, Mariette," said she, "take this
note to Mlle. Berthe Lestrel and, after
she has read it, ask her what her reply
is."
She gave the maid the address of the
singer and then went out and with her
own hand posted the other two letters
That Saturday evening Mme. Cambray
gave her usual weekly musical. Berthe
Lestrel was the principal singer of the
evening. As her clear, sweet voice rang out
through the crowded rooms the passion
which had been so long slumbering in
the breast of Gaston Darcy broke forth
into flame
He sought his uncle, who was among
the guests, and his uncle grumbled a
little — but did not seriously object. He
had said any well-born girl, and Berthe
was well-born, though poor. He had
said virtuous, and there was no question
as to the virtue of Berthe.
After Berthe had sung Gaston sought
her side and said: "It is getting late —
let me call a cab and see you home."
"No, no," replied Berthe, "I have a
cab already waiting — I arranged for it."
A Mysterious Woman.
She had, indeed, a cab in waiting, and
in the cab a mask and a domino. She was
lingering on in the salon of Mme. Cambray
until the time should come when
she could drive to meet Julie at the
Opera House.
"Besides," added Berthe, "I am not
afraid to go home alone. For see, my
brother-in-law, the captain, gave me this
present yesterday. Do you see this
pretty Japanese fan? It is really a dagger
concealed in a case like a fan, and
with it I can defend myself."
As they talked a servant came up to
say that a woman, who refused to give
her name, wanted to see Berthe at once.
She hurried down and held a brief
conversation in a low tone with the
unknown woman.
"Get into that cab," said Berthe. "You
will go with me to a place where I must
go. You will wait for me in the cab
while I go into the Opera House. Then
I will go where I am needed."
The woman obeyed and Berthe went
back to take her leave of Mme. Cambray,
saving that her sister. Mme. Crozon,
had had another of her severe nervous
attacks and desired her immediately.
Nointel's Hints.
Gaston went off to his club. He found
it deserted. Capt. Nointel had left, word
that he was gone to the ball at the Opera
House, Gaston went to find him.
"Who do you suppose is here, or has
been here, tonight?" asked Nointel when
Gaston found him. "None other than your
fair friend, Berthe Lestrel."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Gaston.
"I tell you yes. As she was coming up
the stairs her mask slipped, and she
paused to arrange it before a mirror. I
saw her distinctly.
"And another surprise for you — Mme.
Barancos has been here. I saw some
half-drunken revelers crowding around
a woman who was apparently frightened
and went to the rescue. By her voice and
accent I knew it to be the Marchioness de
Barancos.
She slipped away suddenly. I am worried.
What could have induced a woman
of her rank and character to come to a
ball like this?
The two friends looked about, but could
find no trace of either Berthe or the
Marchioness.
"Come," said the captain, "the best
thing for us to do is to go home and go
to bed. We will investigate this mystery
later."
They left the Opera House in silence
and went moodily to their respective
homes.
The Japanese Dagger.
The next morning Gaston went to see
his uncle. The judge was at the prefecture.
Hither he repaired.
As he was talking with his uncle Gaston
gave a gasp and uttered an exclamation
of surprise. Upon the table among
some papers was lying Berthe's dagger —
the dagger of the Japanese fan.
"O, you know that, do you?" said the
magistrate. "Where did you see it?
Who had it?"
Gaston told him. Then the Judge told
Gaston of the murder of Julie d'Orcival,
of which the young man had not heard.
Berthe Lestrel was arrested. She was
startled to hear of Julie's murder and
horrified at the part her dagger had played
in it. But she steadily refused to give
an account of her movements from 11:30 —
when she had left Mme. Cambray's —
up to 4 o'clock in the morning, when she
had returned to her own home.
She said she did not know the name
of the woman who called for her at Mme.
Cambray's, and admitted that she had
not been to the house of Mme. Crozon
that night at all — though she had told
Mme. Cambray she was going there. She
asserted her innocence — but would say no
more.
Under Arrest.
Well, of course, they locked up poor
Berthe — locked her up in that filthy St.
Lazare prison — and Gaston was in
despair.
"Mlle. Lestrel
is innocent," he cried to
his uncle. "I will yet prove it and marry
her."
"Then I shall marry," calmly replied the
judge, "and I shall marry Mme. Cambray."
Capt. Nointel and Gaston now devoted
all their energies to solve the mystery of
the crime of the opera. Berthe was under
arrest; Mme. Barancos was suspected.
Nointel questioned the box opener at
the Opera House as to whether anything
had been found on the floor of No. 27
after the murder. The box opener showed
him a gold sleeve button with a B on it,
which she picked up.
The captain bought it from her at her
own price. He showed it to Gaston. They
looked at each other in horror. That
"B" might mean Berthe or Barancos.
Upon the hearth in Berthe's room the
police found the ashes of letters which
she had evidently burned.
The testimony of Mariette, Julie's maid,
showed that when she had brought the
note of her mistress to Berthe, Berthe
had replied, "Say to her that I will go."
Not Proven.
But Bertha was finally released from
captivity. Her mask and domino proved
an alibi for her. At 3 o'clock in the
morning of that Sunday succeeding the
night of the ball the police found, in a
distant part of Paris, a mask and domino.
It was turned in to the prefecture, as it
evidently had some connection with the
ball.
When Nointel came to see it he could
swear that it was the same that Berthe
had worn at the Opera House. Berthe
admitted it to be hers — but would not tell
what she was doing in that section of
Paris at 3 o'clock on Sunday morning.
Now it was proved that the murder had
been committed at about 3 o'clock, and
the place where the mask and domino
were found was far from the Opera
House. Berthe could not have been in
the two places at the same time.
In short, Berthe was released — but with
a dark mystery and no little suspicion
still hanging over her.
All Sympathy.
But Gaston was satisfied. He declared
he would marry her as soon as she would
consent.
As soon as Berthe was released madam
came to see her. The judge, Roger Darcy,
had kept his word; had proposed to Mme.
Cambray and had been accepted. Madam
was all sympathy with Berthe.
"My dear child," said Mme. Cambray,
"there is still suspicion hanging over
you. But I will see that M. Darcy
completely exonerates you if you will tell
me all that you did on that fatal Saturday
night."
"I will be frank with you," replied
Berthe. "It has been proved that I
received a letter from Julie d'Orcival
summoning me to meet her at the Opera
House at 2.30 on Sunday morning.
"I had a cab in readiness at your
home. But while I was waiting for the
appointed time, as you Know, a woman
came to me with a message. That
message called me to a remote part of Paris
on business with my sister, Mme. Crozon.
The nature of it I am not at liberty to
disclose.
The Fan Explained.
"I, therefore, upon receiving this
message, drove at once to the Opera House
and sought out Julie d'Orcival in box 27.
"She had some letters which she
desired, she said, to give me. What the
nature of those letters were is another's
secret. These were the letters whose
ashes were found in my fireplace.
"When I entered Julie's box she
received me with anger and insult. Alas,
as girls, we had been school friends.
Finally she gave me the packet of
letters and then, noticing my Japanese fan,
asked to look at it. I explained to her
that it was a dagger in a sheath made
to look like a fan.
"Give it to me," she cried eagerly; "it
may save my life. I expect a stormy
interview later."
"Agitated and scared, scarce knowing
what I did, I gave her the fan. Then I
left the Opera House and went upon
the business of my sister. That is all I
know."
"The good Mme. Crozon," said Mme.
Cambray; "she really must go with
Berthe to visit that admirable woman."
A Bombshell.
They found the Crozons very happy.
The captain was discoursing upon his
domestic felicity when a woman with a
baby in her arms forced her way into
the room and cried out:
"O, here is the child, Mme. Crozon.
Since the arrest of Mlle. Berthe I have
not known what to do with it."
Capt Crozon sprang to his feet in a
rage. "So the reports were true, were
they, madame?" said he to his wife.
"And this is your child."
"No," cried Berthe firmly. "Calm
yourself, captain. The child is mine.
Come," said she to the woman, "let us
go."
Mme. Cambray lost no time in relating
to the Darcys what had transpired at
the house of the Crozons.
Gaston was thrown by it into the greatest
agony. Berthe wrote him a note
saying that she must never see him
more.
To Shield Her Sister.
Now the child was Mme. Crozon's. It
had been put out to nurse in a distant
part of Paris and all negotiations
concerning it had been conducted through
Berthe. It was to see this child, who
had been suddenly taken ill, that she
had been summoned from Mme. Cambray's
on that fatal night of the ball.
When the woman in charge of the child
heard of Berthe's release, she hurried
with the baby to Berthe's house. The
servant there told her that Berthe had
gone to visit Mme. Crozon. The woman
went thither with the child and
appeared as has been stated.
To shield her sister Berthe had claimed
the child as her own — but, in so doing,
had sacrificed herself and her love — had
forfeited all chance of ever becoming
the wife of Gaston.
Planning Blackmail.
The Marchioness de Barancos gave a
great hunting party at her chateau.
Nointel was there, and among the guests
were Simancas and Saint Gaulmier.
The captain was filled with harrowing
doubts and perplexities. He knew that
Simancas and Saint Gaulmier had occupied
the next box to the one in which
Julie had been killed and he questioned
them closely.
"O," sneered Simancas, "it is not
difficult to tell Who murdered Julie d'Orcival.
We saw Mme. Barancos in Julie's
box — saw her go out and then return
again. Then we heard Julie groan.
Madame is rich — there is money to
be made out of this. What say you,
my good captain? You shall be our agent
with the widow, who has a 'tenderness'
for you. We will divide fair."
Horrified and indignant as he was,
Nointel managed to keep his head, and,
saying that he would consider the matter,
left the conspirators.
"That was ill done," said Saint Gaulmier;
"the fellow will betray us."
"Well," replied Simancas, "I have a
faithful agent here who will kill a man
for a couple of louis. If we see any
signs of betrayal, a bullet at the hunt
tomorrow can put an end to his
tattling."
Foolish Letters.
When the company rode out that day
Capt. Nointel rode by the side of Mme.
Barancos, and so managed that they
were soon alone. He told her all that
the conspirators had said and warned
her to take flight His great love for
her, he said, could not be killed — but
she must seek safety in flight.
"You think me guilty of murder and
yet love me?" cried Mme. Barancos.
"Yes."
"Tomorrow," said she, "I will tell all
to M. Roger Darcy. I would have done
so before but that I thought Berthe
Lestrel guilty of the murder.
"I was once in love with Count Golymine.
He had letters — foolish letters —
which I had written him. Julie wrote
me that she had them and would give
them to me if I came to her box at the
Opera House.
"I went at the appointed hour. I had
taken money with me — for, I suppose,
that was what the creature wanted. I
had to wait at the door of the box for
another domino to come out.
"Julie was furious and abusive. I
discovered that she imagined that Gaston
Darcy, in leaving her, had transferred
his affections to me. Finally she handed
me the packet of letters.
"As I went out of the box the domino
who had left as I entered came back.
That is the woman who killed Julie
d'Orcival. I will discover who she is —
and then I will leave France forever.
You will never see me again."
She put her horse to a furious pace
and rejoined the company.
Fired at From Ambush.
In the hunt of the next day Nointel,
while riding at some distance from the
others, heard a bullet whiz by his head.
It was fired from a copse. He sprang
into the underbrush but could see no
one.
He slowly rode on, and to his surprise
saw Mme. Barancos alone — her horse
stopped and gazing intently at a thicket.
At the same time he saw a wild boar
charging her.
Nointel fired and the boar fell dead.
Almost at the same moment Mme. de
Barancos raised her gun and fired into
the copse. With scarcely a word of
explanation they dismounted and entered
the thicket.
There they found a miserable specimen
of humanity whom Nointel recognized
at once as a low-down tool of Simancas.
Mme. Barancos had shot the man
through the head just as he was raising
his gun to take a second shot at the
captain.
Simancas and Saint Gaulmier had
watched Nointel and had become
convinced that he had betrayed them. They
had sent this man to kill him. His first
shot having missed, he had run on
ahead to make another trial.
Mme. Barancos had caught a glimpse
of him, and when she saw the gleam of
his rifle as he aimed it at Nointel she
had fired.
Deathbed Confession.
Mme. Barancos broke up her house
party, went to Paris and told her story
to Roger Darcy. He had the box opener
summoned and Mme. Barancos, wearing
the same domino that she did on the
fatal night, appeared before her.
Was that the last domino that had left
box 27? No, it was not; the box opener
said.
Then she gave a clear statement of
the order in which the dominos had
entered and left — a more lucid one than she
had before given in her agitation.
Who could that woman be who had
left box 27 and then returned as Mme.
Barancos left? She was the murderer.
There could be no doubt. But there
was no clew to her identity.
Gaston and Nointel received a hurried
call one day to the house of Mme.
Crozon. They found the woman at the
point of death. The captain hung in
agony over his dying wife. She confessed
all.
"The child is mine," said she, "but
who can protect Berthe from calumny?"
"I can and will," said Gaston, "and
will adopt your child as my own."
So the erring woman died and Berthe
and Gaston wept in each other's arms.
The Same Handwriting.
One day Nointel saw Simancas hurrying
along the street, and followed him
to the Hotel Drouout. An auction of the
effects of the late Count Golymine was
going on there.
When the pelisse which the count had
worn when he hanged himself was put
up, Simancas began to bid eagerly for
it. Nointel bid against him. He exhausted
the resources of the Peruvian and took
the garment home.
"Concealed documents!" he thought.
He ripped the lining open. His
suspicions were correct.
There were three love letters: one from
Mme. Barancos, one from Mme. Crozon
and another written in a peculiar, clear,
firm hand.
"That is the woman who killed Julie,"
he said.
There were also clippings from Peruvian
papers proving the rascally character
of Simancas and Saint Gaulmier.
He hurried out of the house to the
magistrate, and found uncle and nephew
together.
"I have found," said he, "a letter from
the woman who killed Julie d'Orcival.
The fan threw suspicion upon Berthe,
the sleeve button upon Mme. Barancos.
But whom will this letter convict?"
"Talk to my uncle about it at the
office," said Gaston. "Mme. Cambray has
asked me to dine" — and he threw the
invitation upon the table.
Nointel started back with a gasp.
Mme. Cambray wrote that?" he asked.
"You can give me the letter," said the
magistrate, "and I will read it at the
office."
"I — I haven't it here," stammered Nointel.
The captain hurried to the house of
Mme. Cambray.
The Only Way.
"I have found a letter from the woman
who killed Julie d'Orcival," he said. "It
is unsigned; but once any writing of this
woman is found the very peculiar writing
will expose her.
"I fancy they must have been much
to extenuate her crime. The woman
may have repented. I feel I would like
to know what that woman would say —
what she would advise."
Mme. Cambray looked at him with
steady eyes. "She must expatiate her
crime," said she. "Who knows but that
she may enter a convent or fly to some
remote part of the world."
"People no longer regard perpetual
vows," said Nointel, "and from the ends
of the earth one may return."
"You are right," said Mme. Cambray in
a low, husky voice; "only the dead
return not."
When Nointel reached home he found
a note from Mme. Barancos awaiting
him. It read: "I love you and suffer
martyrdom. I go away." That was all.
The next morning there came to him
Mme. Cambray's maid, who handed him
a letter. It read: "I told you yesterday
that it is only the dead who return not.
I am going to die. Forgive me."
"Dead?" faltered Nointel.
"Last night," replied the woman, "she
took a quick poison which leaves no
traces. No one will know if you are
silent. Please burn this letter — and the
other one." Nointel did so. "Thank you,"
said the maid — and went away.
Final Explanation.
Mme. Cambray left her fortune to Gaston
Darcy. He distributed it in charity.
When Roger Darcy asked Nointel for the
letter he had mentioned, Nointel said
that he had lost it.
The magistrate divined all, and bowed
to Nointel. The subject of the crime
of the opera was never mentioned
between them again.
As for Mme. de Barancos, she was
heard of yachting in the Mediterranean.
Capt. Nointel followed her to Palermo —
and married her.
Poor Julie's grave, which everybody
else seemed to forget, was taken care
of faithfully by her old schoolmate,
Berthe Lestrel — or rather, Mme. Gaston
Darcy — wife of the new magistrate.
One word more of explanation. When
Mme. Cambray had received the letters
and left the box she had discovered that
there was one missing it was the one
afterward found by Nointel in the count's
pelisse.
She had returned, and a furious altercation
had ensued. Julie had threatened
her with the fan-dagger, but Mme.
Cambray had wrested it from her hand and
thrust it into her throat.
