'Apparently to hide the fact that she had been murdered in the passage. To throw suspicion away from the Club of Masks.'
Bencolin looked at me with raised eyebrows. Then he sighed.
'My dear fellow,' he said, sadly, 'sometimes you are so profoundly brilliant that ... Ah, well. He carried the body in to make it appear that she had been murdered in the museum, eh ? And, in doing so, he left a big handbag lying slap in the middle of the passage, its contents scattered all over the floor? He left wide open the door to the museum, for everybody to notice? He —'
'Oh, shut up! He might have had to leave in a hurry, and forgotten.'
'And yet still he had time to put the body in the satyr's arms, arrange the drapery over it, and do everything else up to a nicety. .. . Again, no. It won't do. He didn't care where the body was found. He took it into the museum for a very definite purpose, and his putting it in the satyr's arms was an afterthought. Think ! What did you notice about the body?'
'Good God ! The broken gold chain round her neck.'
'Yes. That was the object: the thing she carried on that chain. Do you see now? He thought it would be in her handbag; so he rifled the handbag, and found it wasn't there. ... It must, he reasoned, be about her person somewhere. Very likely the pockets. But in that very dim light he couldn't see the pockets of her coat, he didn't know where she might be carrying it. So — ?'
I bowed. 'All right! He dragged her into the museum-landing, where the light was fairly good.'
'There is another reason. He knew that Gina Prevost (not knowing who it was, of course) had looked in and seen him stab the girl. He had seen her dash out - for all he knew, to scream for a policeman. He couldn't stand there all night, exposed. Somebody had switched on the museum lights; that way was dangerous, but it was less dangerous than remaining in the passage, for he could simply drag the girl into the museum and lock the door behind him. At a pinch, he could always hide. And he wasn't willing to run out of the boulevard door until he had found what he searched for.
'So he went in to the landing beside the satyr. A second more, and he has found the gold chain, and - the object.'
'I suppose you will now proceed to tell me what it was?'
He sat back hi his chair and stared up thoughtfully at the lights.
'I'm not sure, of course. But there are suggestive points. For one thing, even aside from Madame Martel's assuring us that Claudine never wore pendants or anything of that nature, what she carried on that chain was not a light locket, or even a charm such as men carry on their watch-chains. As I pointed out to you, that chain was strong. It had been snapped in two - demonstrating that the object was also strong, and not made with a flimsy link to hold it on. It was probably one of these.'
From the table he took up the silver key. I looked at the round hole in its thumb-grip; I looked back to Bencolin and nodded....
'Claudine Martel's own key,' he amplified, tossing Robiquet's on the desk. 'It is (I admit) sheer conjecture, but in the absence of any more tenable hypothesis, I suggest the key. Why did die murderer want it? Why did he run appalling risks of discovery in order to wrench it off? ... Anyhow, his story is soon complete. He found the key. The idea occurred to him of putting the body in the satyr's arms. He does so, and what happens? As though by a kind of ghastly curtain-fall, the lights go out; Mademoiselle Augustin is satisfied that nothing is amiss in the museum. Not more than five minutes have elapsed since he stabbed his victim. He opens the museum door, slips into the passage, and escapes by way of the boulevard. And he must be damnably puzzled as to why that girl, that intruder who saw him at work, has not summoned the police!'
'Well, if your theory is correct, why didn't she?'
'Because she feared a police investigation, and what it might lead up to in Odette Duchene's case. She wanted to be tangled up in no suspicious events centring round the club, or even to explain her presence there. What she actually did do will be apparent to you....'
'I can guess at it,' I admitted. (I couldn't quite guess it, actually, but another matter thrust itself forward, and I dismissed Gina Prevost to hurry on with it.) 'However there's one thing in your line of campaign which seems inconsistent. You say you believed from the first that the murderer had gone into the museum that night before it closed?'
'Yes.'
'And went in by the front door, ticket and all?' 'Yes.'
'Then why the devil didn't you ask the Augustin woman — she was on guard at the door all evening - who had visited the museum that night? There couldn't have been many people; there never are. She must have seen the murderer go in!'
'Because she wouldn't have told us, and it would have served merely as a warning to the murderer. See here!' He tapped the key on his desk, emphasizing each word. 'I suspect that the killer is a member of that club. Now the good Mademoiselle Augustin is very anxious to protect, not an assassin, but all members of the organization. Failure to protect them from any inquiry might mean the destruction of her very lucrative business. Suppose that one, two, even half a dozen club members had gone in by way of the museum that night, do you imagine we should have got a description of them?'
‘I suppose not,' I acknowledged.
'Eh, weil! And, knowing we were looking for one of them, she might - I say she might - pass a warning, unobtrusively, to all members who might have gone through last night. How many times must I tell you, Jeff, that our salvation rests on having everybody believe, the police included, that this crime is a mere wanton robbery or rape? Don't you remember? - I fostered this idea in Mademoiselle Augustin's mind by saying, carelessly, that Mademoiselle Martel had probably never been in the museum in her life, she breathed more easily afterwards.... In God's name, consider that in those club members we are dealing with some of the greatest names in France! We don't want scandal. We can't "sweat" the truth out of people, as your American forthrightness might like. .. . And here is another point. I am convinced that in some fashion Mademoiselle Augustin plays an important part in this affair. As yet I don't see how. And yet - there are hidden fires there, I am willing to swear! Somehow I think we shall find her bulking large in our thoughts before the case is finished, even though she sits placidly selling tickets. If her father knew .. . '
He was relighting the cigar, which had several times gone out that afternoon; now his hand jerked in mid-air and stopped. It stayed motionless until the flame grew large and toppled. But he did not notice. His eyes had taken on a frozen, startled stare.
In a whisper, as though to test incredible words, he repeated: 'Selling tickets. ... If her father ...'
His lips moved soundlessly. With a spasmodic motion he rose to his feet, rumpling his hair, staring ahead.
'What's the matter? What - - ?' I demanded, and paused as he made a fierce gesture. But still he did not see me. He took a few steps up and down, in and out of the shadows. Once lie let out an incredulous laugh, but he checked himself. I heard him mutter, 'Alibi ,.. that's the alibi,' and again; 'I wonder who the jeweller is? We've got to find the jeweller. 'Look here!'
'Ah, yes! But,' he argued, turning and addressing me with an appearance of easy good sense, 'if you had one, it would be inevitable. You have got to consider the wall. What else could you use. that would do it?'
'How about bromo-seltzer?' I suggested. ' " 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe." Blast you!’