“The old sinner! Well, Monsieur Bouchard wasn’t saying his prayers when he told you that. I tell you the stones are real, and unless you hand the necklace over to me this instant I shall telephone for a couple of policemen—there is a police station not two minutes away—and to-morrow morning you and Monsieur Bouchard can explain the matter in the police court.”
Now, Madame Vernet was really as brave as a lion. She suspected at once that she had got hold of something of actual value, and she determined to hold on to it and get away with it; hence nothing could have been more pleasing to her at that moment than to have de Meneval out of the way for a few moments—even to fetch a policeman—so she merely replied, with calm assurance:
“Do as you like, Monsieur. I never saw you before—I hope I shall never see you again. My protector is at hand, and when you arrive with your police officers it is Monsieur Bouchard with whom you will have to settle.”
De Meneval turned and ran out of the garden toward the police station. He thought that exposure was coming anyhow, and he had better secure the stakes in the game. As he rushed out he caromed against a very well-dressed, portly, clean-shaven elderly gentleman, who was parading into the garden with a great air of pomposity. In his hand he held conspicuously a newspaper, on the first page of which was a large photogravure easily recognizable as himself, and under it, in letters an inch long, were the words,
Dr. Delcasse
The Most Celebrated Alienist
in Paris.
Below this was the cut of a handsome building, and under this was inscribed, “The Private Sanatorium at Melun of Dr. Delcasse.”
Dr. Delcasse seemed to feel the injury to his dignity very much when de Meneval jostled by him so unceremoniously, nearly knocking him down. He stopped, scowled, growled, and then, with a portentous air of being much displeased, stalked forward, took a seat close to where Madame Vernet was standing, and began pompously to unfold his newspaper, always keeping the picture to his audience, so to speak—which audience consisted solely of Madame Vernet.
Now, for quickness and boldness of resource Madame Vernet was fully the equal of de Meneval or any man alive, and the moment she became convinced of the identity of Dr. Delcasse a plan was formed in her mind. Everybody knew Dr. Delcasse, and also of the war waged between him and Dr. Vignaud, another celebrated alienist, which, if carried to extremes, would have resulted in locking up half the population of Paris as lunatics either in Dr. Delcasse’s sanatorium at Melun or Dr. Vignaud’s private hospital in Paris.
Madame Vernet realized, in her brilliant scheme, the value of time. There was a train leaving for Paris in ten minutes. If she could but make the first train, getting away before Monsieur Bouchard returned! She determined to at least try for it. She came near to Dr. Delcasse, and said, in a silvery voice: