Burnley and Lefarge took the tram along the quais and, dismounting at the Pont Alma, proceeded up the Avenue on foot. The house was a corner one fronting on the Avenue, but with the entrance in the side street. It was set a few feet back from the footpath, and was a Renaissance building of gray rubble masonry, with moulded architraves and enrichments of red sandstone and the usual mansard roof. The two men mounted the steps leading to the ornate porch. On their right were the windows of a large room which formed the angle between the two streets.
‘You can see into that room rather too clearly for my taste,’ said Burnley. ‘Why, if that’s the drawing-room, as it looks to be by the furniture, every caller can see just who’s visiting there as they come up to the door.’
‘And conversely, I expect,’ returned Lefarge, ‘the hostess can see her visitors coming and be prepared for them.’
The door was opened by an elderly butler of typical appearance, respectability and propriety oozing out of every pore of his sleek face. Lefarge showed his card.
‘I regret M. Boirac is not at home, monsieur,’ said the man politely, ‘but you will probably find him at the works in the rue Championnet.’
‘Thanks,’ returned Lefarge, ‘we have just had an interview with Mr. Boirac, and it is really you we wish to see.’
The butler ushered them into a small sitting-room at the back of the hall.
‘Yes, messieurs?’ he said.
‘Did you see an advertisement in this morning’s papers for the identification of a lady’s body?’
‘I saw it, monsieur.’
‘I am sorry to say it was that of your mistress.’
Fran?ois shook his head sadly.
‘I feared as much, monsieur,’ he said in a low tone.
‘M. Boirac saw the advertisement also. He came just now to the S?reté and identified the remains beyond any doubt. It is a painful case, for I regret to tell you she had been murdered in a rather brutal way, and now we are here with M. Boirac’s approval to make some inquiries.’
The old butler’s face paled.
‘Murdered!’ he repeated in a horrified whisper. ‘It couldn’t be. No one that knew her could do that. Every one, messieurs, loved Madame. She was just an angel of goodness.’
The man spoke with real feeling in his voice and seemed overcome with emotion.
‘Well, messieurs,’ he continued, after a pause, ‘any help I can give you to get your hands on the murderer I’ll give with real delight, and I only hope you’ll succeed soon.’
‘I hope so too, Fran?ois. We’ll do our best anyway. Now, please, will you answer some questions. You remember M. Boirac being called to the works on Saturday the 27th of March, the evening of the dinner party, at about a quarter to nine. That was about the time, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, monsieur.’
‘He went out at once?’
‘He did, monsieur.’
‘Then he telephoned at about half-past ten that he could not return until later. Was that about the time?’
‘Rather earlier than that, I should think, monsieur. I don’t remember exactly, but I should think it was very little, if at all, past ten.’
‘About ten, you think? Can you tell me what words he used in that message?’
‘He said the accident was serious, and that he would be very late, and possibly might not get back before the morning.’
‘You told your mistress, I suppose? Did the guests hear you?’
‘No, monsieur, but Madame immediately repeated the message aloud.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Shortly after that, about 11.00 or 11.15, the guests began to leave.’
‘All of them?’
The butler hesitated.
‘There was one, a M. Felix, who waited after the others. He was differently situated to them, being a friend of the family. The others were merely acquaintances.’
‘And how long did he wait after the others?’
Fran?ois looked confused and did not immediately reply.
‘Well, I don’t know, monsieur,’ he said slowly. ‘You see, it was this way. I happened to have a rather bad headache that evening, and Madame asked me if I was not well—it was just like her to notice such a thing—and she told me to go to bed and not to sit up for Monsieur. She said M. Felix was waiting to get some books and would let himself out.’
‘So you went to bed?’
‘Yes, monsieur. I thanked her, and went after a little time.’
‘About how long?’
‘Perhaps half an hour.’
‘And had M. Felix gone then?’
‘No, monsieur, not at that time.’
‘And what happened then?’
‘I fell asleep, but woke up suddenly again after about an hour. I felt better and I thought I would see if Monsieur was in and if everything was properly locked up. I got up and went towards the hall, but just as I came to the staircase I heard the front door close. I thought, ‘That’s Monsieur coming in,’ but there was no sound of any one moving in the hall and I went down to see.’
‘Yes?’
‘There was no one there, so I looked into the different rooms. They were all empty, though lighted up. I thought to myself, ‘This is strange,’ and I went to find Suzanne, Madame’s maid, who was sitting up for her. I asked her had Madame gone to bed, but she said not. “Well,” I said, “she’s not downstairs. Better go up and see if she’s in her room.” She went and came down in a moment looking frightened, and said the room was empty, but that Madame’s hat and fur coat and a pair of walking shoes were gone. Her evening shoes that she had been wearing were lying on the floor, where she had changed them. I went up myself and we searched around, and then I heard the latch of the front door again and went down. Monsieur was just coming in and, as I took his coat and hat, I told him about hearing the door close. He asked where Madame was, and I answered I did not know. He looked himself, and in the study he found a note which I suppose was from her, for after he had read it he asked no more questions, but told me she had had to go to Switzerland to her mother, who was ill. But I knew when he got rid of Suzanne two days later that she wasn’t coming back.’
‘What time did M. Boirac come in?’
‘About one o’clock, or a few minutes after.’
‘Were his hat and coat wet?’
‘Not very wet, monsieur, but he had been evidently walking through rain.’
‘You didn’t make any further search to see if anything else had been taken, I suppose?’
‘Yes, monsieur. Suzanne and I searched the entire house most thoroughly on Sunday.’
‘With no result?’
‘None, monsieur.’
‘I suppose the body could not have been concealed anywhere in the house?’
The butler started as this new idea struck him.
‘Why, no, monsieur,’ he said, ‘it would have been absolutely impossible. I myself looked in every spot and opened everything large enough to contain it.’
‘Thank you, I think that’s about all I want to know. Can you put me in touch with Suzanne?’
‘I believe I can get you her address, monsieur, from one of the parlourmaids with whom she was friends.’
‘Please do, and in the meantime we shall have a look through the house.’
‘You will not require me, monsieur?’
‘No, thanks.’
The plan of the downstairs rooms was simple. The hall, which was long and rather narrow, stretched back from the entrance door in the rue St. Jean to the staircase in a direction parallel to the Avenue de l’Alma. On the right was the drawing-room, a large apartment in the angle between the two streets, with windows looking out on both. Across the hall, with its door facing that of the drawing-room, was the study, another fine room facing on to the rue St. Jean. A small sitting-room, used chiefly by the late Madame Boirac, and the dining-room were situated behind the study and the drawing-room respectively. To the rear of the doors of these latter rooms were the staircase and servants’ quarters.
The detectives examined these respective rooms in detail. The furnishing was luxurious and artistic. The drawing-room furniture was Louis Quatorze, with an Aubusson carpet and some cabinets and tables of buhl. There was just enough of good Sèvres and Ormolu, the whole selection of arrangement reflecting the taste of the connoisseur. The dining-room and boudoir gave the same impression of wealth and culture, and the detectives as they passed from room to room were impressed by the excellent taste everywhere exhibited. Though their search was exhaustive it was unfortunately without result.
The study was a typical man’s room, except in one respect. There was the usual thick carpet on the floor, the customary book-lined walls, the elaborate desk in the window, and the huge leather arm-chairs. But there was also what almost amounted to a collection of statuary—figures, groups, friezes, plaques, and reliefs, in marble and bronze. A valuable lot, numerous enough and of sufficient excellence not to have disgraced the art galleries of a city. M. Boirac had clearly the knowledge, as well as the means, to indulge his hobby to a very full extent.
Burnley took his stand inside the door and looked slowly round the room, taking in its every detail in the rather despairing hope that he would see something helpful to his quest. Twice he looked at the various ob............