Then I became aware of old Augustin. His grey flannel nightshirt stretched almost to his feet and gave him an absurd appearance. On top of a long, scrawny neck his head was bent forward; the fan of white whiskers wagged, and the red eyes kept blinking and blinking with an expression of solicitude. Tiny and bobbing he flopped across the room in a pair of leather slippers much too large. In his hands he had a black dusty shawl.
'Put this round your shoulders, Marie,' he urged, in his piping voice. 'You'll catch cold.'
She seemed on the point of laughing. But he was very serious. He arranged the ugly thing on her shoulders with a nicety, and her amusement died. 'Is - is it all right, papa ?' she asked gently. 'You know now.'
He gulped. Then he turned his old eyes on us with some savagery.
'Why, of course, Marie. Anything you do - is all right. I'll protect you. You trust - your old daddy, Marie.'
Patting her shoulder, he continued to defy us with his eyes.
'I will, papa. Hadn't you better go to bed?'
'You're always trying to send me to bed, cherie! And I won't go. I'll stay and protect you. Now, now!'
Very slowly Bencolin removed his cloak. He put hat and stick on the table, drew out a chair, and sat down, his fingers tapping his temple. Something in the look he directed at Augustin attracted my attention....
'Monsieur’ Bencolin said, 'you are very fond of your daughter, are you not?'
He spoke idly. But Mile Augustin reached up and grasped the old man's hand with abruptness, as though she were thrusting herself before him. It was she who said:
'What do you mean ?'
'Why, certainly he's right!' piped the old man, tightening his thin chest. 'Don't press my hand, Marie. It's swollen. I--'
'And no matter what she might have done, you would always shield her, wouldn't you?' the detective continued, still idly.
'Yes, naturally! Why do you ask?'
Bencolin's eyes seemed to be looking inward. 'The standards of the world,' he said, 'should be at least understandable. I don't know. They are altogether mad, sometimes. ‘ wonder how I should feel. . .'
His voice trailed off, rather puzzled, and then he passed a hand across his forehead. In a steady, rather vicious voice Marie interposed:
'I don't know what this means, monsieur. But it would strike me that you had business of more import than sitting here talking about the "standards of the world". Your business is to arrest a murderer.'
'That's just it,' he agreed, nodding in a preoccupied way. 'My business is - to arrest a murderer.'
He spoke almost sadly. The ticking of the tin clock seemed to have slowed down. Bencolin examined the toe of his shoe, moving it about on the carpet. He observed :
'We know the first part of the story. We know that Odette Duchene was enticed here, and we know by whom; we know that she fell from a window, and then was stabbed by Galant. . . . But our real, terrifying killer? Mademoiselle, who stabbed Claudine Martel and Galant?'
'I don't know! That is your affair, not mine. I have told Monsieur Marie why I think it was a woman.' 'And the motive ?'
The girl made an impatient gesture. 'Isn't that clear enough? Don't you agree that it was vengeance?'
'It was vengeance,' said Bencolin. 'But a very extraordinary sort of vengeance. I don't know whether any of you could understand, or even whether ‘ understand. It's an odd crime. You explain the theft of the key by saying that a woman - who was avenging the death of Mademoiselle Duchene by killing Claudine Martel - used it to enter the club. H'm.
There was a knock at the door. It had an almost portentous effect.
'Come in!' said the detective. 'Ah ... good evening, Gap-tain! You know all the people here, I think?'
Chaumont, very straight but somewhat pale, entered the room. He bowed to the others, cast a startled look at the bandages round my head, and then turned towards Bencolin with an exclamation on his lips... .
'I took the liberty,' said the detective, 'of summoning Monsieur Chaumont here after I heard from you, Jeff. I thought he would be interested.'
'I - I hope I don't intrude?' Chaumont asked. 'You sounded excited over the telephone. What - what has happened?'
'Sit down, my friend. We have discovered a number of things.' Still he did not look at the young man, but kept his eyes on his shoe. His voice was very quiet. 'For example, your fiancee, Mademoiselle Duchene, met her death at the direct instigation of Claudine Martel, and of Galant also. Please don't get excited, now. . ..'
After a long pause Chaumont said: 'I - I'm not excited. I don't know what I am.... Will you explain?'
He stumbled into a chair, where he kept running his hat round his fingers. Slowly and carefully Bencolin proceeded to tell him everything I had learned that night. ' ... So you see, my friend,' he continued, 'Galant believed you were the murderer. Are you ?'
He asked the question carelessly. Chaumont was stricken dumb. Long ago he had dropped his hat and gripped the arms of the chair, but he was merely incoherent. He tried to stammer something; his brown face grew even more pale ... Abruptly his words tumbled out:
'They suspect me? Me? O my God! Look here, do you think I'd do a thing like that? Stab a girl in the back, and.. !'
'Softly,' murmured Bencolin. 'I know you didn't.'
A coal dropped with a rattle from the grate. The stupor of my nerves had begun to wear off; Chaumont's protests jabbed like lancets. I felt that the coffee was burning my throat. .. .
'You seem to think,' Marie Augustin snapped, 'that you do know who is guilty. And you've overlooked - everything of importance.'
There was a wrinkle between Bencolin's brows. He said, deprecatingly :
'Well ... not exactly everything, mademoiselle. No, I should hardly say that.'
Something was going to happen. You sensed it, though you did not know what direction it would take. But I could see the small vein beating on Bencolin's forehead as though in time to the tick of the tin clock.
'There is just one flaw, mademoiselle, in your theory that the killer stole Mademoiselle Martel's key in order to get into the club.' The detective mused. 'Well, well - let us say two flaws.'
The girl shrugged.
'First, mademoiselle, you can give no earthly reason why the killer should have wanted to go into the club after the stabbing. . . . The second point is simply that I know your theory is wrong.'
He rose to his feet slowly. All of us immediately tried to move backwards, though he was still very quiet and his look was almost absent. The clock ticked loudly. . . .
'Say whatever you like about my stupidity, mademoiselle. I grant it! I came very close to bungling this case altogether. Oh, yes. It was only this afternoon, very late, that the whole truth came to me. I take no credit for it. The killer deliberately gave me clues; the killer gave me an even chance to guess. That is why this is the strangest crime in my experience. ...
'Fool!' His eyes suddenly glittered. He straightened his shoulders. I shot an uneasy look round the circle. ...
Chaumont sat hunched back in his chair. Marie Augustin leaned forward into the lamp-light; her underlip was turned down, her eyes were as ebony in the light, and her grip tightened on old Augustin's arm.. . .