The Blue Lights: A Detective Story. Kummer Frederic Arnold
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 Élysées, 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 black and white spaniel. Her dark hair was drawn tightly beneath a pink sunbonnet. Her dress, her whole appearance, was that of a peasant child.
Grace turned from the window, bewildered. "I see nothing," she said, "except a little girl – "
"That is the child of Monsieur Stapleton," the man said. "Now attend to the message."
She sat down again, wondering.
"Tell the boy's father this: He will leave his house tomorrow evening, in his automobile, at eight o'clock. He will bring with him, in a package, the sum of five hundred thousand francs – one hundred thousand dollars. He will have with him, in the automobile, no one but himself and his chauffeur. He will leave Paris by the Porte de Versailles, and drive along the road to Versailles at a speed of twelve miles an hour. Somewhere upon that road, among the many automobiles that will pass him, will be one, from which a blue light will flash, as it approaches him. It will also slow up. He will toss the package of bank notes into that car, and drive on. If the package contains the sum of five hundred thousand francs, he will find his child at his house, upon his return. If not, or if these instructions are not carried out to the letter – if there is any attempt made at pursuit – the child will not be there, and you can tell him that he will be given but one more chance. After that, the boy will die."
The man in the mask made this gruesome statement with the utmost coolness.
Grace listened, aghast at the cruelty of his words, and at the same time struck by the extreme ingenuity of the plan. To catch the perpetrators of the crime, under these circumstances, seemed impossible. A rapidly moving automobile – one of a hundred. An instant's flash of a blue light in passing – the tossing into the car of the money – and it would speed away into the darkness, beyond any hope of detection. Should Mr. Stapleton have others in his car – should he have his car followed by a second, containing armed men, the occupants of the kidnapper's machine would no doubt refuse to give the signal, and nothing would be accomplished. It would be impracticable to line the road, for a possible distance of twenty miles, with gendarmes, nor could their presence accomplish anything, beyond putting the kidnappers on guard, and preventing the carrying out of the plan.
The weakest point in the whole scheme seemed, to Grace at least, the delivery of the child to Mr. Stapleton, provided he paid the money demanded. Just how that was to be accomplished, without subjecting the person who brought the boy to arrest, she did not see. A moment's reflection, however, showed her that a stranger might be employed, at any point, who for a few francs would agree to take the child to the house. She turned to the man before her with feelings not devoid of admiration.
"How can Mr. Stapleton know that you will do as you say?"
The man shrugged his shoulders. "That is a chance he must take. If he does not believe that the child will be delivered to him, provided he pays the money, he had better not pay it. But if he does his part, I shall do mine – and this I swear by the memory of my mother!"
Grace shuddered. A wretch of this sort, talking about the memory of his mother! "Very well," she said quietly, "I will take your message."
"Good! You will not leave here, of course, until it is dark – tonight. You will be blindfolded, and conducted to some point in the city. From there, you can make your way to Monsieur Stapleton's house." He rose, and went toward the door. "Make no attempt to escape. It will be useless. Any attempts on the part of the police to interfere with the plan I have outlined will result in nothing. Food will be sent in to you at once. Good morning."
It was close to ten o'clock that night, as nearly as Grace could judge, when she was led a considerable distance blindfolded, to a closed automobile, and driven away. She could form no idea of her whereabouts. The car continued on its way, for over an hour. Once she attempted to snatch the bandage from her eyes; but a hand was placed upon her arm by another occupant of the machine, and a low voice warned her to desist.
After an interminable ride, the car suddenly stopped, and she felt the man at her side slip away from her and open the door. Instantly she snatched the bandage from her eyes. The man had disappeared. She stepped to the sidewalk, and looked about. She was standing upon a brightly lighted street, which seemed somehow familiar to her. The man on the box of the cab glanced down at her with a look of curious interest. She saw his face clearly, in the light of the street. It was the heavily bearded man whom she had seen take the box of cigarettes from the room of Alphonse Valentin two nights before.
Grace stood with the bandage which had encircled her eyes, still in one hand. Suddenly she saw a dark figure uncoil itself from the rear of the car, and drop noiselessly to the pavement as the machine started off. She gave a low cry of surprise. The man came up to her, a grim smile upon his face. It was Alphonse Valentin.
CHAPTER V
JOHN STAPLETON, the millionaire banker, accompanied by Richard Duvall, arrived in Paris early in the afternoon, and went at once to the former's house in the Avenue Kleber.
Upon their arrival, Duvall waited for sometime, while the distressed husband and wife were closeted together upstairs. At