CHAPTER VII
The Three Warnings
I HAVE known for nearly a year that Madame was in trouble," Margot began. "Deep trouble, which grew greater as time passed, but I never dreamed that danger threatened her or I should have told Monsieur, I swear it! No one can ever know how heavenly kind Madame has been to me, how much I loved her. Madame was second only to the good God himself! After the Germans came and my home was destroyed, my parents killed before my eyes and I fled with others to England, Madame found me and was, oh! so good! She brought me to this great country with her, and I—I would have given my life for her, Messieurs! When she bade me be silent and speak to no one of the trouble which had come to her, I vowed that not a word would ever pass my lips. It is the thought that I might perhaps have saved her had I disobeyed which is tearing my heart!"
She paused with her hands clasped convulsively at her breast while the slow, heavy tears gathered in her eyes. Oliver Jarvis was staring at her as if transfixed but Inspector Druet moved impatiently, and she forced herself to continue.
"It was just two days before Christmas last year, when the box came. Not that one—" she pointed to the receptacle containing the huge cake, "but another covered with white glazed paper with gilt edges and corners, such as confectioners use, only there was no name upon it nor card within. It arrived late in the afternoon, I remember, when Madame, worn out with the last of her Christmas shopping, was having tea alone in her own sitting-room. Henri called me and placed the box on my hands and I took it to Madame. Many gifts had arrived during the day and believing it to be just another like the rest, Madame opened it.
"The cake was very beautiful then, Messieurs, snowy and fresh and imposing; it appeared fit for a fête, a banquet, and I exclaimed over it until some—how do you say!—some intuition born of Madame's lack of response made me glance at her face. Mon Dieu! I shall never forget her nor the horror in her eyes as she sat there in her low chair staring at the innocent cake upon the table before her as though it were some monster! For a long time she did not speak and then when her voice came it was so changed that I scarcely recognized it as hers.
"'Where did this come from, Margot?' she asked of me. 'There may be some mistake. Go to Henri and find out how it came here.'
"But Henri could only tell me that a messenger—a young boy, not in uniform—had brought it and had said quite distinctly that it was for Meeses Oliver Jarvis. Henri had signed no receipt and the boy had gone instantly away without waiting.
"When I returned to Madame's sitting-room to tell her I found that she had torn the box all apart in her search for some name, some message, but none was there. For a long time she did not speak and I waited, not knowing what to do for it seemed that Madame was almost in a trance. At last she roused herself and said:
"'Margot, find another box and we will put the cake away. It is just a—a joke which someone has played on but Monsieur must know nothing about it Do you understand? Do not mention it to Henri again or to any of the other servants. Not a word of this must reach Monsieur's ears.'"
As the girl paused Jarvis wrenched his eyes from her face as though with a visible effort and turning, walked abruptly to the window where he stood with his back to the others, staring out unseeingly at the driving downpour of rain.
Margot gazed after him with a sort of dumb appeal, as if mutely imploring pardon for the pain she was inflicting upon him, but he was oblivious to her glance and sighing, she resumed:
"I took this box which you see here—and which had come but that morning with a purchase of Madame's—placed the cake in it and put it away as she directed, in a corner of the highest shelf in the closet in her dressing-room. Madame did not speak of it again, but from that moment a change came upon her. I, watching her, could see it as no one else could. Through all the holiday entertainments she was feverishly gay, but it was as if the heart had gone out of her, and often when I came with her coffee in the morning, I knew that she had not slept. I did not comprehend why the mere gift of the cake should have so changed Madame, but as time went on it grew more marked. Only in the presence of Monsieur was Madame like her old self, but when she was alone with me one could see the effort it cost her.
"She never disturbed the cake but many times I have seen her eyes straying to that closet and it seemed always that she listened and waited. Once, about two months after its arrival I ventured to ask Madame if I should not throw the cake away, pretending to come upon it in the closet as though I had only then remembered it, but she ordered me quite sharply not to touch it nor refer to it again and I obeyed.
"Another month passed and Madame was at last recovering her spirits and forgetting, I think, the shock of whatever that strange gift had meant, when just after Easter it came; the first of those letters mystérieux! It was not in an envelope but had been slipped between two squares of cardboard and wrapped in plain brown paper, with no name or address upon it. One night at ten o'clock as I sat mending and waiting for Madame to return from a dinner, Etta, the housemaid, brought it to me. She had been out for the evening and said that when she reached the basement vestibule she found a man waiting there in the darkness. He told her he had rung the bell but no one responded; that he had been sent to deliver the packet to Meeses Jarvis, and he placed it in her hands. Etta brought it to me and I did not tell her that the man had lied, but he had not rung the bell.
"I felt a sad misgiving but I dared not keep the packet from Madame and when she returned I gave it to her. She grew very white, but said no word as she tore the paper, lifted a square of cardboard and glanced beneath it. The next instant she fell in a crumpled heap to the floor. She had fainted.
"I called no one, though I was very frightened, for I knew Madame would not want anyone to be told. I did not pry, Messieurs, but as I worked over her I could not avoid seeing the paper which lay beside her on the floor, nor reading those words of macaroni paste letters. When Madame opened her eyes at last and looked into mine she saw that I knew.
"She told me then that she was in trouble, that there was something which she could not explain to me, but Monsieur must never, never know. If any more messages come I must bring them straight to her, and I must give her my promise that I would not allow one word of it to pass my lips to any living person. I took a solemn oath, Messieurs, and I would not have broken it had not my poor Madame come so terribly to her death."
"When did the second message come, and how, Margot?" Jarvis' strained voice sounded from the window as he turned and came slowly forward once more.
"Monsieur, you gave it to Madame yourself," the girl responded quietly.
"I!"
"But yes, Monsieur. You and Madame had been motoring together one afternoon about a month later. It was just after Madame had been so ill, if you remember. The doctor said it was a breakdown of the nerves, but me, I knew it was anxiety which was eating her strength away"
"Go on!" he ordered, hoarsely, as she hesitated.
"Madame preceded you into the house, Monsieur, and you followed to her room while I was removing her cloak, and handed her the packet. She turned pale, so pale that I feared she would faint again and the marks were on my arm for days where she clung to me to steady herself, to keep from collapsing in your presence"
"Good heavens! I do recall it!" Jarvis exclaimed. "I stopped to give some directions to the chauffeur and my wife went on into the house. When I turned to the steps, a boy standing there touched his cap and handed a small fiat package to me, saying that the lady had dropped it. I gave him some loose change and he scampered off."
Margot nodded.
"That is just what you told Madame; I remember, because it was necessary for me to repeat it to her later. She was too stunned, at the moment, to comprehend. When you left the room, Monsieur, she opened and read the message and then locked it away in her desk. I saw only that it was made of macaroni paste, like the first, but not what words the letters formed.
"I feared Madame would be ill again but in the morning she was stronger and in the days that followed she seemed more cheerful and almost gay. Two weeks passed, and then one morning Madame came here to see Mademoiselle Joan, through the little door in the wall. When she returned I saw the old hunted look in her eyes and in her hand she held a packet like the others. It had been tossed over the wall at her feet as she came back through the garden."
"'Over the wall!'" repeated Jarvis. "Then the people next door"
"They had gone away for the summer, Monsieur," Margot interrupted quietly. "The house was closed and boarded up. You and Madame were planning then to go to Maine"
"I remember. That was early in June. But my wife changed her mind suddenly and refused to leave the city; she insisted on remaining here all during the hot weather in spite of my remonstrance, doing war work" Jarvis paused with a groan and his eyes fell again upon the letters on the table. "I understand, now! That wretched money had to be under the rose bush on the twenty-sixth of every month; she dared not go away! Oh, my poor girl, if she had only told me the truth! I would have forgiven anything! Had there been murder itself on her hands, she was my wife and I would have defended her against all the world!"
"I know nothing of any money, Monsieur, save that demand for it in the first letter," Margot said. "I do not know whether Madame paid any or not; she took me no further into her confidence. But no more letters came that I heard of after that third one and in the early autumn, as you know, Monsieur, Madame began talking of going to France. I thought Madame had destroyed the letters until one day, a short time ago, I came upon a second box, sealed, beside the one which contained the cake upon the shelf. I did not dare speak of it to Madame; indeed I did not want to! She was so happy at the prospect of leaving America that I had no desire to recall her trouble which I believed was safely past. And then, only last Wednesday night, it descended upon her again."
"'Last Wednesday!'" Calvin Norwood repeated, aghast.
"But that was the night of your little dinner, Oliver! The evening was a great success and I have never seen Evelyn in better spirits! What could have happened then?"
"Was it another letter?" demanded Jarvis. "Did anyone try to see her, any intruder?"
"I do not know, Monsieur. I saw no letter, no one. I only know that when it was all over and the guests departed, I went to Madame's room to arrange her for the night and found her huddled upon the hearth before the little grate fire in her sitting-room in a worse state of collapse than I had ever seen her. She did not hear me when I spoke to her, did not seem to know me when I touched her, and the face she lifted to mine was like the face of one already dead; all but her eyes! They were bright and gleaming with a—a terrible light in them! Mon Dieu! But I was frightened! It was your knock upon her door that aroused her, Monsieur. She replied to you quietly enough"
"I remember!" Jarvis murmured brokenly. "She told me that she had a headache and had just taken a sleeping powder and I bade her 'good-night' without disturbing her. If I had only known!"
Margot shook her head sadly.
"Madame had taken no powder. I got her to bed at last, but I dared not leave her. She never knew that I rested all night on the couch in her sitting-room and many times I rose and went in to her. She was lying staring straight up at the ceiling and that terrible look never left her face until just at dawn, when sleep came to her at last. I sat beside her then, watching, and once she started up with a wild cry but my hand upon her arm quieted her, and she slept again."
"Did she say anything when she started up like that?" asked Inspector Druet suddenly. "Was it just a cry or could you distinguish any words?"
"I think, but I cannot be sure, Monsieur, that she cried out something about 'letters.' It returned later to my mind and I wondered if she could have meant those three strange messages which had caused her so much suffering and which I had hoped were forgotten. In the morning I crept away to my room, fearful to have Madame find me there when she wakened, lest she think I had been spying upon her. She slept late but when she rang for her coffee the gentle, sane look had returned to her eyes, only behind it lay the deep trouble which she could not hide from me. And it never left her! She tried to deceive me; even yesterday when she pleaded a headache, she was so bright, so feverishly animated that I felt it was not true. That is why, when she did not ring for me and I found her gone I was almost mad with anxiety! I feared in my heart that harm had come to her because of this secret trouble, this blackmailer, and as the hours lengthened and she did not return I was beside myself! The house stifled me and I went into the garden where Monsieur came upon me. The instant I saw his face I knew that the trouble which had been hanging over Madame for so long had come at last!"
"Margot, you are keeping something back!" Inspector Druet advanced sternly. "Why haven't you told us the whole truth?"
"But I have, Monsieur, I swear"
"Don't lie, girl! Your mistress was killed in her own dressing-room, strangled to death after a struggle which practically wrecked the room! And her death occurred before six o'clock last night; we have the Medical Examiner's word for that."
"There is some mistake, Monsieur." Margot eyed him calmly. "When I went to Madame's rooms at half-past six she had gone, but all was in order. The dressing-room was undisturbed."
"Do you realize, my girl, that in persisting in such a story you are drawing suspicion upon yourself? The room was ransacked, your mistress killed and her body removed from the house, and you are still attempting to claim that the room was in order immediately thereafter, when we ourselves found it later bearing unmistakable signs of the struggle that had taken place!"
"I claim it only because it is the truth, Monsieur," Margot reiterated. "Why should I lie about a thing which must certainly have been discovered? Had I not many hours before you came in which to put the room in order if I desired to conceal the fact that a—a struggle, such as you say, had taken place there? I swear that all was as usual when I entered at half-past six and again an hour later when I laid out Madame's garments for the night, and took the lingerie and work down to the basement dining-room to mend. If, when you came, you found the room ransacked I know nothing of it. I did not leave the basement again until I went into the garden."
The girl spoke with respectful repression but her voice quivered, an angry light darted from her eyes and in each pallid cheek a small, scarlet spot burned.
Inspector Druet shrugged and motioned toward the door.
"Very well, my girl, if that's the line you mean to take, we are wasting time here. I want you to come with me."
"I am under arrest, Monsieur?" She drew herself up proudly.
"Not yet," the Inspector retorted significantly. "You're coming back to the other house and see for yourself how useless it is for you to persist in your lies. You've told us half the truth; you'd better come across with the rest or it will be the worse for you."
Margot bowed her head.
"I will be ready, Monsieur." Then all at once she looked full and steadily into his eyes. "But I have not lied! I have told the truth—all, all the truth. I swear it on Madame's memory!"