The Ivory Snuff Box

by Frederic Arnold Kummer

She hesitated, looking at her husband pitifully. What would he think of her? Would he, too, regard her as a traitor, a weak and contemptible creature, forever barred from love and respect, false to her duty, her honor? His face told her nothing. He was regarding her impassively. She remembered now that he had said that he would never see her again if she disobeyed him. Then she turned away, her mind made up. She would save him, come what might. He had told her that the box was hidden in an opera hat, in one corner of the room. She glanced about quickly, trying to discover its whereabouts in one of the dark corners.

Duvall saw her intention. He took a step forward, and addressed Hartmann. "You have forced this girl, through her love for me, to betray a great trust. I prefer that, if anyone here is to become a traitor, it shall be myself." He thrust his hand into the pocket of his coat, and extended a round white object toward the astonished doctor. "Here is the snuff box."

Dufrenne, for the moment left unguarded by Mayer, sprang forward with a fierce cry. "No—no—no!" he screamed. "You shall not—you shall not."

"Out of my way!" exclaimed the doctor, brushing the old man aside as easily as though the latter had been a child. With eager hands he took the box, and going to the light, bent over it. As he saw the pearls, the cross, his face lit up with delight. "This is it, Mayer. Just as the valet described it." He gave the ring of pearls a swift turn, then pressed immediately upon the larger one of the circle and slid the top of the ivory cross to one side. Duvall, who was watching him with interest, concluded that from some source, probably through Monsieur de Grissac's dead servant, Dr. Hartmann had learned thoroughly the secret of the box.

With a cry of satisfaction the latter drew out from the tiny recess the slip of folded paper, glanced at the row of numbers written upon it, then passed it over to Mayer. The latter nodded his head. "Now we are all right," he muttered. "This is easily worth a million francs."

"Money doesn't measure its value, my friend," the doctor remarked, gravely, as he replaced the slip of paper beneath the cross and put the box carefully into his pocket.

During these few moments, Dufrenne had been observing the doctor with bulging eyes. Suddenly he turned on the detective. "May the good God curse you and your woman for this," he cried, hoarsely, "until the day of your death. May He turn all men against you, and make your name a despised and dishonored one forever. You have been false to your duty—false to France. You are a traitor, a contemptible dog of a traitor, and you deserve to die." His whole body shook with passion as he poured the fury of his wrath upon the man before him.

Duvall sank weakly against the packing case behind him. Suffering, lack of sleep and food, the burning pain in his eyes and brain, threatened to overcome him. "Let me alone," he gasped. "I am so tired, so very tired!" He almost fell as he uttered the words and indeed would have done so had Grace not gone quickly up to him and passed her arm lovingly about his shoulders. Turning to Dufrenne, she regarded him with a look of defiance. "He is not guilty!" she cried. "It is I—I!—who have been false. I made him do it—I made him do it. Go away, and tell the others what you please. I know that my husband has done his best." She fell to soothing him, kissing him upon his hot forehead, his burning cheeks.

Dufrenne looked at Dr. Hartmann, who was regarding the scene before him with impatience. "Do I understand, monsieur," he asked, in a ghastly voice, "that I am free to leave this place?"

"Yes. Out with you. I could hold you for trespass upon my grounds, for attempting to break into my house, but I don't want to be bothered with you. Go!" He went to the door and held it open. "Mayer," he said, "show this fellow the road. And as for you"—he turned to Duvall and his wife—"get away from here, and from Brussels, as soon as you like. I advise you not to stay in the town. I rather think that, through the evidence of Seltz, I can make it slightly uncomfortable for you. Tell what story you please. I have done you no injury. You came here of your own free will—you could have escaped and you would not. As for the light—" He laughed harshly. "An ordinary arc, focused on your eyes with a powerful lens. It would probably have blinded you, in time, and if it kept you awake long enough, you would no doubt have gone mad, but so far you are not hurt much. I can swear that it is part of my new treatment for a disordered mental state. My man here will agree with me. What are you going to do about it? How are you going to explain your robbery of Seltz in my office, the deception your wife has practised upon me and upon the United States Minister? And above all, now that I have the secret I desired, I am quite willing to have a cast made of the snuff box and return it to you, but I fancy that neither Monsieur de Grissac nor my friend Lefevre will want to have the matter made public in the courts. You'd better leave here quietly and take the first steamer to America. I don't fancy you'll find a very flattering reception awaiting you in Paris." He turned to the door. "Come, I'll have your belongings put on a cab, and be glad to be rid of you." He paused beside the doorway, waiting.