Madame had obviously employed her time since the discovery of this particular mischance in making the best of her personal appearance. She greeted us with affability.
Even Tarleton, I thought, was softened by her graceful and yet dignified deportment. In a moment we seemed to become four friends engaged in a confidential talk over a matter of common interest. It was Madame who induced me to sit down.
“You understand, no doubt, Madame, that we are not here with any hostile purpose,” the representative of the Home Office began. “If it is possible to dispose of this matter privately, without involving you or your establishment in any scandal, I shall be glad.”
The explanation seemed unnecessary. Madame Bonnell by her manner refused to perceive the possibility of her being involved in scandal, or in anything else inconsistent with the character of a respectable business woman.
“You have identified the deceased, I understand, by the name of Wilson. Have you any idea whether that was his real name, or an assumed one?”
Madame Bonnell had no idea. Madame Bonnell was desolated by having no idea, since the amiable Sir Frank seemed to wish her to have one. Monsieur the late Wilson had introduced himself to her originally under that name, and she had never inquired if he had any other.
Madame succeeded in conveying to us that she was not in the habit of inconveniencing her patrons by inquiries of any sort, or of distracting her own mind by curiosity on any subject except their ability to pay her.
Under the polished surface of indifference I nevertheless thought I could detect in the proprietress of the Domino Club a consciousness that she was being examined by the representatives of the law about a serious business, and that it would not be prudent on her part to withhold any material information. It must have been clear to her that candour was her best policy, up to a certain point at all events.
To Tarleton’s next question, how she came to make the acquaintance of the dead man, she made a pretty full reply. Monsieur Wilson had introduced himself to her a year or two before, when she was managing a small restaurant in Soho, in a street in which there is more than one small restaurant, and the restaurants are patronized by more than one class of customers. It was Monsieur Wilson who had proposed to her that she should exchange her position there for the more profitable one of proprietress of a fashionable night club. Monsieur had offered to provide the funds required for starting such a club, and had undertaken to make it fashionable, and in both respects he had kept his word. All the first members of the club had been brought by him, and he had gone on introducing others since. Madame avowed that she was under a debt to Monsieur Wilson, which she could not easily repay. She made an effort to repay it, as she spoke, with tears for his fate, but the dividend forthcoming did not strike me as a heavy one. By this time, doubtless, the Domino Club was fairly on its feet, and in no great need of the dead man’s further support.
Madame Bonnell’s evidence so far had only served to deepen the mystery instead of lightening it. Who was this unknown Wilson? Why should he have wanted to start a night club, and what was the influence that had enabled him to fill it with so many members drawn from the highest social ranks? The chief part in the examination had been taken by the physician, Inspector Charles intervening mostly to secure dates and addresses for his note-book after the meticulous fashion of the law. At length I took advantage of a break to put a question which had been in my mind for some time.