The Blue Lights. Frederic Arnold Kummer
a sharp watch upon him.
He seemed in somewhat of a hurry, and walked briskly along, looking neither to left nor to right. Grace kept as close to him as she dared, without running the risk of detection. The walk was a long one. When half an hour had passed, the girl saw that they were entering the Champs Elysees. The Seine they had long since crossed by the Pont Neuf. Up the brilliantly lighted avenue they went, toward Arc de Triomphe. At the comer of the Avenue Kleber, the man turned to the left. Grace followed, wondering where the chase would lead next. To her astonishment, the man disappeared suddenly through a gate which formed the servants' entrance of one of the stately houses which fronted on the avenue. She looked up. It was the house of Mr. Stapleton!
CHAPTER IV
ON the day following that upon which she arrived in Paris, Grace Duvall sallied forth, determined to find out two things--first, the position occupied by Alphonse Valentin in the aSair of the kidnapping; secondly, the identity of the man who had stolen the box of cigarettes from Valentin's room, and gone with them to the house in the Avenue Kleber. The latter incident seemed trivial enough, at first sight; yet she reasoned that no one would risk arrest on the score of burglary, to steal anything of such trifling value, without an excellent reason.
She had a short conference with Monsieur Lefevre, before she left the house, and told him of the events of the previous night. The Prefect seemed greatly interested.
"Could you identify the man who stole the cigarettes?" he asked.
"Easily. I had a splendid view of his face."
"Then go to Mr. Stapleton's house and take a look at all the servants. You may find him among them."
"I had intended to do so, this morning."
The Prefect smiled. "I do not know what your investigations will lead to, but they seem promising. I have a dozen men working on the case; yet so far they have not made the least progress. Their efforts, however, are directed toward finding the child. They are searching the city with the utmost care. We believe that by discovering the missing boy, we shall also find the persons who committed the crime."
"Have you no one under suspicion?" '
"No one. The nurse, Mary Lanahan, is of course being closely watched; also the chauffeur, François. My men report, however, that he gave them the slip for an hour, last night. I have an idea that he may prove to be the one who took the cigarettes."
"Can you imagine any reason for his having done so?"
"I confess, my child, that I cannot. It seems utterly absurd; unless, indeed, there was something else concealed in the box."
"What?"
The Prefect laughed. "I cannot imagine. But if you can identify the man, we shall no doubt find out. As for the matter of Alphonse Valentin, we have already had him under observation. So far as we can learn, he is merely a chauffeur, out of work, who seems to be somewhat in love with the nurse."
"Then his actions have not been suspicious, during the past week?"
"Not in the least. He has hung around the Stapleton house for several days, asking for news of the Lanahan woman; but that is all. We attribute his actions to a natural anxiety over her illness."
Grace left the house, by no means satisfied with the progress she was making. Her interview with Mary Lanahan, and subsequent visit to the scene of the crime, told her nothing she had not already known. Her greatest disappointment, however, came when she had Mrs. Stapleton bring in François, ostensibly to question him about his part in the affair. She saw at once that he was not the man who had broken into Alphonse Valentin's room on the night before. This man had been heavily bearded and tall. François was smooth shaved and rather short. Mrs. Stapleton assured her that none of her servants resembled in the least her description of the burglar. She left the house, greatly dissatisfied, after satisfying herself that this was the case.
Her visit to the house of Alphonse Valentin that afternoon was productive of no greater results. The man was out. The woman who opened the door--the same one who had admitted her the previous evening--regarded her with ill-concealed suspicion, and informed her that she had no idea when her lodger would return. Grace left, determined to try again the following day.
Throughout the whole evening she hung about the Stapleton house, hoping again to see the man with the heavy beard who had disappeared within the night before; but he did not put in an appearance. Grace began to feel discouraged. She thought of her lilac bushes, at home, of Aunt Lucy feeding the chickens, of the dogs, the sweet call of the wood robins among the poplar trees on the lawn, and half wished that she had stayed at home and left to Richard the apparently hopeless task of finding the abductors of little Jack Stapleton.
What, after all, could she hope to do, where the entire police force of Paris had failed? The thing was absurd. Monsieur Lefevre had overrated her abilities. She heard the sound of church bells, striking the hour of ten, and decided to go home and forget the whole affair until tomorrow. Tomorrow--the day Richard must arrive! How she longed to be with him! This stupid interruption of their honeymoon seemed peculiarly cruel, now that over a week had elapsed since they had seen each other. She wondered if she would meet him, the next day. Then she thought of her changed appearance, of her hair, dyed a jet black, and worn in a new and to her mind unbecoming fashion, of her darkened complexion, her extremely French costume, her heavy veil, and laughed. If Richard did see her, here in Paris, when he fully believed her to be peacefully tending her flower beds at home, he would never believe the evidence of his senses.
She was strolling toward the Champs Elysees, lost in thought, when suddenly she heard the soft throbbing of a high-powered motor car, as it came up the street behind her. She turned and glanced toward it; but the brilliant glare of the electric headlights blinded her. She could see nothing, except that the car was moving very slowly.
Suddenly It stopped, almost abreast of her, and a tall man leaped to the sidewalk. Before she had an opportunity so much as to glance in his direction, he came swiftly up behind her, threw his arm about her neck, and choked her into unconsciousness. Her last sensation was of being lifted bodily into the already moving car, and then the feeling of rapid motion, quickly blotted out by the coming of insensibility.
When she returned to consciousness, it was broad daylight. She lay upon a small wooden bed, in a low-ceilinged little room, the only furniture of which was a small chest of drawers and a chair. Upon this chair sat a large man, his face so thoroughly hidden by a mask that his features were quite unrecognizable. He was regarding her with keen scrutiny.
"Oh--what--where am I?" she gasped.
The man hesitated for a moment, then slowly spoke. "Where you are, mademoiselle, is of no importance. Attend to what I have to say."
Grace made no reply. There seemed nothing that she could say. She sat up and gazed at the man, half dazed. Her head swam. She felt that she had been drugged.
"Ten days ago," the man went on, in a cold and menacing voice, "the child of Monsieur Stapleton was taken from his nurse in the Bois de Boulogne. You are trying to find that child."
"But--" Grace made a movement of protest.
"It is useless to deny it. You have been watched."
Grace gasped in silence.
"I desire to send a message to the boy's father, and I have chosen you to take it to him. I have selected you, because to send one of my own men would doubtless result in his arrest. That is why you have been brought here."
"The--the child is safe?" asked Grace.
"Perfectly. You shall see for yourself." He motioned to the window.
Grace rose, and looked out. The view comprised a bit of garden, surrounded by bushes. She could see nothing beyond--nothing that would enable her in any way to identify the place. On the tiny plat of grass in the garden sat a child--a little girl, playing with a small