She found Mrs. Stapleton to be a very pretty and stylish woman of thirty; whose beauty, however, was sadly marred by the intense suffering through which she was pa.s.sing. The poor creature had scarcely slept for over a week, and her distress was pitiable.
She answered Grace"s questions as well as she could, under the circ.u.mstances. There was, after all, little to say. The nurse, it appeared, stuck to her story--that the boy had vanished, in the twinkling of an eye, while her back had been turned for but a few moments. Mrs. Stapleton could offer no explanation--attempted none.
"It is all so mysterious--so terrible!" she cried. "Poor Mary--she is too ill to see you, I fear, or I would have her tell you the story herself."
"Too ill?" inquired Grace, who had come more to question the maid, than Mrs. Stapleton. "What is the matter with her?"
"They tried to poison her--last Friday."
"They? Who?"
"I do not know. She went out for a walk. The poor woman was half dead, from nervous exhaustion and loss of sleep. She tells me that she stopped to get a cup of chocolate at a cafe in the Rue St. Honore. After that she came back to the Champs elysees, and sat upon a bench. She began suddenly to feel deathly ill, and, calling a cab, was driven home. When she arrived here, she was unconscious, and had to be carried to her room by the servants. She has been in bed ever since. I am glad to say, however, that she is better, and I think she could see you, by morning."
Grace left the Stapleton house, feeling somewhat baffled. The more she heard of this curious affair, the more inexplicable it seemed. She had hoped to visit the scene of the kidnapping, in company with the nurse, and examine the spot with her own eyes. This she now realized she could not do until the following day. She was walking in the direction of the Arc de Triomphe, revolving the affair in her mind, when a young man, evidently a Frenchman, of good appearance and not unpleasant face, came up beside her, bowed politely, and in excellent English asked her regarding Mary Lanahan.
"Miss Lanahan--is she better?" he inquired.
"Who are you, monsieur?" asked Grace, suppressing her inclination to resent the man"s action, in her hope that she might learn something from him of value. His question showed Grace at once that he was acquainted with at least one member of the Stapleton household.
"I am a friend of Miss Lanahan"s," the man replied. "I hear that she is ill. I saw you enter and leave the house, and I ventured to ask you if she is better."
"I was told that she is. I did not see her."
A peculiar expression crossed the young man"s face; but Grace could not determine, so fleeting was it, whether it indicated pleasure or disappointment.
They walked along in silence for a few moments, and had almost reached the arch, when a ragged little urchin, a veritable Paris gamin, came up to Grace"s companion and thrust a crumpled bit of paper into his hand, then darted off, whistling shrilly.
The man looked after him a moment, then examined the note. Whatever its contents, they made a startling impression upon him. He looked about, an expression of fear upon his face, turned to Grace with a hurried bow, and a quick good evening, and at once walked off in the opposite direction at full speed, at the same time fumbling in the breast pocket of his coat, as though searching for something in it. In his efforts, he dropped several papers to the street. Grace watched him as he picked them hurriedly up and moved off into the gathering darkness.
She fancied that one of the bits of paper had escaped his notice, and, on going back to the spot, found that she was correct. A small visiting card lay upon the sidewalk. She picked it up, and read the name as she walked away. It was Alphonse Valentin, Boulevard St. Michel.
Grace slipped the card into her pocketbook. The man"s name meant nothing to her--she fancied that he was some friend of Miss Lanahan"s, concerned about her condition. Yet why did he not inquire for her at the house, in the ordinary way? And why should the note, handed to him by the street urchin, have caused him such evident alarm?
She glanced at her watch, and saw that it was close to seven o"clock.
She had intended to return to Monsieur Lefevre"s for dinner; but a sudden determination to find out more about this man Valentin caused her to proceed at once to a hotel near the Louvre, where she ate her dinner alone.
An hour later she descended from a cab at the number on the Boulevard St. Michel, which was inscribed upon Alphonse Valentin"s card.
The place was a dingy old building, the main floor of which was occupied by a dealer in cheese. A narrow doorway at one side gave access to the upper floors. Grace rang the bell, and waited in some trepidation. This going about Paris at night was rather an unusual experience. She thought of the simple joys of her life at home, and for a moment regretted that she had not stayed there. The opening of the door interrupted her thoughts.
The woman who stood in the hallway regarded her without particular interest, and inquired her business. "I wish to see Monsieur Valentin,"
said Grace.
"He is not in."
"Then I will wait. I must see him. He expects me."
The woman shrugged her shoulders. "As you wish, mademoiselle. Come this way." She led Grace up a flight of stairs, and indicated a door at the rear of the upper hall. "That is Monsieur Valentin"s room." Then she turned away, apparently quite indifferent as to whether Grace entered or not.
The latter placed her hand on the k.n.o.b of the door, and slowly pushed it open. The room was dark; but the light from the rear windows rendered the objects within it faintly visible. Upon the table stood a lamp. With some difficulty the girl succeeded in finding a match, and lit it.
The light of the lamp disclosed a rather large room, with a small alcove in the rear, containing a bed. The alcove was curtained off from the main room. Grace, however, did not spend much time in examining her surroundings. A photograph on the table at once attracted her attention--not because it represented anyone she knew, but because, across the bottom of it, was inscribed, in a feminine hand, "Mary Lanahan."
She had just completed her examination of the photograph, when two other objects attracted her attention. One was a crumpled bit of paper, upon which a few words were scrawled in lead-pencil. They were, "I am suspicious of Francois. Watch him." The note was unsigned.
The third object upon the table which caught Grace"s attention was a box of cigarettes, open, and nearly full. They were small gold-tipped affairs, of the kind generally used by women, and it was this peculiarity that at first attracted her attention. She thought it strange, that a man should use such cigarettes. She looked at the box, and observed that they were of American make.
Ill.u.s.tration: Once inside he made without hesitation for the table, picked up the box of cigarettes and thrust it into his pocket.
Idly she took up one of the cigarettes, and held it in her fingers. She read the name of the brand, printed upon the paper wrapper, and was about to drop it back into the box, when she heard a curious rasping noise outside one of the rear windows. It sounded as though someone were climbing the wall of the house. Instinctively she shrank back and concealed herself behind one of the curtains which hung before the alcove door.
The rasping and sc.r.a.ping continued for some little time, and presently Grace, peering through the s.p.a.ce between the curtains, saw a face appear at one of the windows. It was a determined face, heavily bearded, dark, evil looking. Its gleaming eyes swept the room with cautious care, then, evidently satisfied that it was unoccupied, their owner began noiselessly to raise the sash of the window.
It was slow work. Several minutes pa.s.sed before the man succeeded in raising the sash sufficiently to permit him to crawl into the room. Once inside, he made without hesitation for the table, glanced over its contents, picked up the box of cigarettes and thrust it into his pocket, and then, without paying the least attention to anything else, walked quickly to the door of the room and pa.s.sed out into the hall.
The girl waited for a moment, then stepped into the light. As she did so, she realized that she held in her hand one of the gold-tipped cigarettes she had taken from the box. She quickly thrust it into her pocketbook, and, with sudden decision, left the room and descended the stairs. She had an instinctive feeling that the man who had stolen the cigarettes was in some way connected with the kidnapping of the Stapleton child. She determined to follow him, leaving the interview with Alphonse Valentin to another time.
She left the house, and saw the man going down the Boulevard some fifty feet in advance of her. She walked along after him, pretending to be totally uninterested in her surroundings, while at the same time keeping a sharp watch upon him.
He seemed in somewhat of a hurry, and walked briskly along, looking neither to left nor to right. Grace kept as close to him as she dared, without running the risk of detection. The walk was a long one. When half an hour had pa.s.sed, the girl saw that they were entering the Champs elysees. The Seine they had long since crossed by the Pont Neuf. Up the brilliantly lighted avenue they went, toward Arc de Triomphe. At the corner of the Avenue Kleber, the man turned to the left. Grace followed, wondering where the chase would lead next. To her astonishment, the man disappeared suddenly through a gate which formed the servants" entrance of one of the stately houses which fronted on the avenue. She looked up.
It was the house of Mr. Stapleton!
CHAPTER IV
On the day following that upon which she arrived in Paris, Grace Duvall sallied forth, determined to find out two things--first, the position occupied by Alphonse Valentin in the affair of the kidnapping; secondly, the ident.i.ty of the man who had stolen the box of cigarettes from Valentin"s room, and gone with them to the house in the Avenue Kleber.
The latter incident seemed trivial enough, at first sight; yet she reasoned that no one would risk arrest on the score of burglary, to steal anything of such trifling value, without an excellent reason.
She had a short conference with Monsieur Lefevre, before she left the house, and told him of the events of the previous night. The Prefect seemed greatly interested.
"Could you identify the man who stole the cigarettes?" he asked.
"Easily. I had a splendid view of his face."
"Then go to Mr. Stapleton"s house and take a look at all the servants.
You may find him among them."
"I had intended to do so, this morning."
The Prefect smiled. "I do not know what your investigations will lead to, but they seem promising. I have a dozen men working on the case; yet so far they have not made the least progress. Their efforts, however, are directed toward finding the child. They are searching the city with the utmost care. We believe that by discovering the missing boy, we shall also find the persons who committed the crime."
"Have you no one under suspicion?"
"No one. The nurse, Mary Lanahan, is of course being closely watched; also the chauffeur, Francois. My men report, however, that he gave them the slip for an hour, last night. I have an idea that he may prove to be the one who took the cigarettes."
"Can you imagine any reason for his having done so?"