Madame’s reception of the stereotyped warning convinced me that this was the first occasion on which she had come into collision with the English law. It appeared to impress her favourably, and to dispel her first terrors.
“But there is some mistake,” she protested. “I did not understand. I have no wish to resist the law. I thought there was an understanding that this misfortune should not be dealt with by the police.”
“Nonsense,” my chief interjected roughly. “It is being dealt with by the police. They have been in possession of these premises since five o’clock this morning—since you called them in yourself. Do you intend to produce the register, or must we search for it?”
Madame Bonnell gave a last sigh of reluctance. Then she was all submission. She led the way out of the dancing-hall into the adjoining premises. Her private apartment was between the kitchen and the row of dressing-rooms for the accommodation of the dancers who preferred to assume their costumes on the spot. Drawn curtains on one side concealed what was no doubt Madame’s bed; the rest of the room having the aspect of a business man’s parlour, furnished with a roll-top desk, a typing machine and shelves for books and correspondence. In one corner was a cupboard with a stout door which the proprietress unlocked with a show of eagerness, and threw open for our inspection.
The contents of the cupboard seemed innocent enough. A private ledger, a file of accounts, a cash-box into whose contents Tarleton forbore to pry, and, more important for our purpose, two thin volumes bound in black leather, one of which was labelled “Members” and the other “Visitors.” It would have been unchivalrous to speculate as to the contents of certain little bottles and boxes on a lower shelf which had a look of feminine elegance.
My chief pointed to the two black-bound volumes.
“Will you take charge of these books, Cassilis. We can examine them at our leisure.”
The Frenchwoman uttered a faint groan as I stretched out my hand to obey. I could have groaned in sympathy with her. And yet I was not in any fear on my own account. I had no reason to think that my name would be found in the Visitors’-book. I had been too careful for that. But there was another name which I had only too much reason for expecting to see in the other volume. And I cursed the proprietress in my heart for not destroying the dangerous record while it was in her power. She had fancied herself secure, and had cared nothing for the security of her patrons. What did it matter to her who might be incriminated, as long as her livelihood was not threatened? True, she had done her best at the last moment to prevent the authorities from gaining access to these books. But it was easy to see her self-interest in that. Those records were part of her stock-in-trade. They gave her a hold on the members of the club, who might be disposed to forsake it as soon as any hint of the tragedy got abroad. In that case she had only to say to them, “Leave the club, throw me over, and I take my books to the newspaper offices, and sell them for what they will fetch.”
Such was the situation, so far as I could see it. Either the reputation of the Domino Club was to be saved, and all was to go on as before; or it would be for Madame’s benefit that the scandal should be as widespread as possible, and that every member and visitor should pay heavily for having his or her name kept out of it. In parting with these two volumes she was parting with her most valuable weapons as a blackmailer.
Whether any such considerations as these influenced my chief, I could not tell. Outwardly he seemed to have only one end in view—the tracing of the crime to its perpetrator. As soon as I had possessed myself of the two books he made a sign to Captain Charles.