IV
Notwithstanding all the precautions he had taken, notwithstanding his recommendations to the Questura, Julius de Baraglioul did not succeed in preventing the newspapers from divulging his relationship to the victim—nor, indeed, from mentioning in so many words the name and address of his hotel.
That evening, of a truth, he had gone through some incredibly sickening moments of apprehension, when, on his return from the Questura at midnight, he had found, placed in a conspicuous position in his room, the Cook’s ticket which had his name written in it and which he had lent to Fleurissoire. He had immediately rung the bell and, going out into the passage, pale and trembling, had begged the waiter to look under his bed—for he did not dare to look himself. A kind of inquiry, which he had held on the spot, led to no results; but what confidence can be placed in the personnel of big hotels?... However, after a good night’s sleep, behind a solidly bolted door, Julius had woken up more at ease. He was now under police protection. He wrote a number of letters and telegrams, which he took to the post himself.
On his return, he was told that a lady had asked for him; she had not given her name and was waiting for him in the reading-room. Thither Julius went and was not a little surprised to find Carola.
It was not, however, in the first room that he found her, but in another which was more retired, smaller and not so well lighted. She was sitting sideways, at the corner of a distant table, and was absently turning over the leaves of a photograph album, so as to give herself countenance. When she saw Julius come in, she rose, looking more confused than pleased. Beneath the long black cloak she was wearing could be seen a bodice that was dark, plain and almost in good taste; on the other hand, her tumultuous hat, in spite of its being black, gave her away sadly.
“You’ll think me very forward, Monsieur le Comte. I don’t know how I found courage enough to come to your hotel and ask for you. But you bowed to me so kindly yesterday.... And, besides, what I have to say is so important.”
She remained standing on the other side of the table; it was Julius who drew near; he held out his hand to her over the table, without ceremony.
“To what am I indebted for the pleasure of your visit?”
Carola’s head sunk.
“I know you have just lost....”
Julius did not at first understand; but as Carola took out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes:
“What! Is it a visit of condolence?”
“I knew Monsieur Fleurissoire,” she went on.
“Really?”
“Oh, I hadn’t known him long, but I was very fond of him. He was such a dear! so kind!... In fact, it was I who gave him his sleeve-links; you know, the ones they described in the papers. That’s how I knew it was he. But I had no idea he was your brother-in-law. It was a great surprise to me, and you may fancy how pleased I was.... Oh! I beg your pardon—that wasn’t what I meant to say.”
“Never mind, dear Miss Carola. You meant, no doubt, that you are pleased to have an opportunity of meeting me again.”
Without answering, Carola buried her face in her handkerchief; her sobs were convulsive and Julius thought it was his duty to take her hand.
“And so am I,” he said feelingly, “so am I, my dear young lady. Pray believe....”
“That very morning, before he went out, I told him to be careful. But it wasn’t his nature.... He was too confiding, you know.”
“A saint, Mademoiselle, a saint!” said Julius fervently, taking out his handkerchief in his turn.
“Yes, yes, that was just how it struck me,” cried Carola. “At night, when he thought I was asleep, he used to get up and kneel at the foot of the bed and....”
This unconscious revelation put the finishing touch to Julius’s discomposure; he returned the handkerchief to his pocket and, drawing still nearer:
“Do take your hat off, my dear young lady.”
“No, thank you; it’s not in my way.”
“But it is in mine. Won’t you let me....”
But as Carola unmistakably drew back, he pulled himself together.
“Let me ask you whether you had any special reason for uneasiness?”
“Who? I?”
“Yes; when you told my brother-in-law to be careful, I want to know whether you had any reason to suppose.... Speak openly; no one comes in here in the mornings and we can’t be overheard. Do you suspect anyone?”
Carola’s head sank.
“It’s of particular interest to me, you see,” went on Julius with volubility. “Put yourself in my place. Last night, when I came back from the Questura, where I had been giving evidence, I found lying on the table in my room—on the very middle of my table—the railway ticket with which poor Fleurissoire had travelled. It had my name on it; I know those circular tickets are not transferable. Quite so; I did wrong to lend it—but that’s not the point. The very fact of bringing the ticket back to my room—seizing the opportunity to flout me cynically when I had gone out for a few minutes—constitutes a challenge—a piece of bravado—an insult almost—which (I need hardly say) would not disturb me in the least if I hadn’t good reason to suppose that I am threatened in my turn. I’ll tell you why. Your poor friend Fleurissoire was in possession of a secret—an abominable secret—a most dangerous secret—I didn’t question him about it—I had no desire to hear what it was, but he had the lamentable imprudence to confide it to me. And now I ask you again—do you know who the person is who actually went so far as to commit a murder for the purpose of stifling that secret? Do you know who he is?”
“Don’t be alarmed, Monsieur le Comte; I gave his name to the police last night.”
“Mademoiselle Carola, I expected no less of you.”
“He had promised me not to hurt him; he had only to keep his promise and I would have kept mine. It’s more than I can stand! He may do what he likes to me—I don’t care!”
Carola was growing more and more excited; Julius passed behind the table and, drawing near her again:
“We should perhaps be able to talk more comfortably in my room.”
“Oh, Monsieur le Comte,” said Carola, “I’ve told you everything I had to say; I mustn’t keep you any longer.”
As she went on retreating, she completed the tour of the table and found herself near the door once more.
“We had better part now, Mademoiselle,” said Julius virtuously and with the firm determination of appropriating the credit of this resistance. “Ah! I just wanted to add that if you mean to come to the funeral the day after to-morrow, it would be better not to recognise me.”
At this they took leave of each other, without having once mentioned the name of the unsuspected Lafcadio.