had nothing to do with the theft of the ring.”
“Oh! Oh!” exclaimed Mon. Dudouis, “that is a bold statement and a very serious one.”
“And is that all you have discovered?” asked the Count de Crozon.
“Not at all. On the second day after the theft, three of your guests went on an automobile trip as far as Crécy. Two of them visited the famous battlefield; and, while they were there, the third party paid a hasty visit to the post-office, and mailed a small box, tied and sealed according to the regulations, and declared its value to be one hundred francs.”
“I see nothing strange in that,” said the count.
“Perhaps you will see something strange in it when I tell you that this person, in place of giving her true name, sent the box under the name of Rousseau, and the person to whom it was addressed, a certain Monsieur Beloux of Paris, moved his place of residence immediately after receiving the box, in other words, the ring.”
“I presume you refer to one of my cousins d’Andelle?”
“No,” replied Ganimard.
“Madame de Réal, then?”
“Yes.”
“You accuse my friend, Madame de Réal?” cried the countess, shocked and amazed.
“I wish to ask you one question, madame,” said Ganimard. “Was Madame de Réal present when you purchased the ring?”
“Yes, but we did not go there together.”
“Did she advise you to buy the ring?”
The countess considered for a moment, then said:
“Yes, I think she mentioned it first—”
“Thank you, madame. Your answer establishes the fact that it was Madame de Réal who was the first to mention the ring, and it was she who advised you to buy it.”
“But, I consider my friend is quite incapable—”
“Pardon me, countess, when I remind you that Madame de Réal is only a casual acquaintance and not your intimate friend, as the newspapers have announced. It was only last winter that you met her for the first time. Now, I can prove that everything she has told you about herself, her past life, and her relatives, is absolutely false; that Madame Blanche de Réal had no actual existence before she met you, and she has now ceased to exist.”
“Well?”
“Well?” replied Ganimard.
“Your story is a very strange one,” said the countess, “but it has no application to our case. If Madame de Réal had taken the ring, how do you explain the fact that it was found in Herr Bleichen’s tooth-powder? Anyone who would take the risk and trouble of stealing the blue diamond would certainly keep it. What do you say to that?”
“I—nothing—but Madame de Réal will answer it.”
“Oh! She does exist, then?”
“She does—and does not. I will explain in a few words. Three days ago, while reading a newspaper, I glanced over the list of hotel arrivals at Trouville, and there I read: ‘Hôtel Beaurivage—Madame de Réal, etc.’
“I went to Trouville immediately, and interviewed the proprietor of the hotel. From the description and other information I received from him, I concluded that she was the very Madame de Réal that I was seeking; but she had left the hotel, giving her address in Paris as number three rue de Colisée. The day before yesterday I went to that address, and learned that there was no person there called Madame de Réal, but there was a Madame Réal living on the second floor, who acted as a diamond broker and was frequently away from home. She had returned from a journey on the preceding evening. Yesterday, I called on her and, under an assumed name, I offered to act as an intermedium in the sale of some diamonds to certain wealthy friends of mine. She is to meet me here to-day to carry out that arrangement.”
“What! You expect her to come here?”
“Yes, at half-past five.”
“Are you sure it is she?”
“Madame de Réal of the Château de Crozon? Certainly. I have convincing evidence of that fact. But … listen! … I hear Folenfant’s signal.”
It was a whistle. Ganimard arose quickly.
“There is
“Oh! Oh!” exclaimed Mon. Dudouis, “that is a bold statement and a very serious one.”
“And is that all you have discovered?” asked the Count de Crozon.
“Not at all. On the second day after the theft, three of your guests went on an automobile trip as far as Crécy. Two of them visited the famous battlefield; and, while they were there, the third party paid a hasty visit to the post-office, and mailed a small box, tied and sealed according to the regulations, and declared its value to be one hundred francs.”
“I see nothing strange in that,” said the count.
“Perhaps you will see something strange in it when I tell you that this person, in place of giving her true name, sent the box under the name of Rousseau, and the person to whom it was addressed, a certain Monsieur Beloux of Paris, moved his place of residence immediately after receiving the box, in other words, the ring.”
“I presume you refer to one of my cousins d’Andelle?”
“No,” replied Ganimard.
“Madame de Réal, then?”
“Yes.”
“You accuse my friend, Madame de Réal?” cried the countess, shocked and amazed.
“I wish to ask you one question, madame,” said Ganimard. “Was Madame de Réal present when you purchased the ring?”
“Yes, but we did not go there together.”
“Did she advise you to buy the ring?”
The countess considered for a moment, then said:
“Yes, I think she mentioned it first—”
“Thank you, madame. Your answer establishes the fact that it was Madame de Réal who was the first to mention the ring, and it was she who advised you to buy it.”
“But, I consider my friend is quite incapable—”
“Pardon me, countess, when I remind you that Madame de Réal is only a casual acquaintance and not your intimate friend, as the newspapers have announced. It was only last winter that you met her for the first time. Now, I can prove that everything she has told you about herself, her past life, and her relatives, is absolutely false; that Madame Blanche de Réal had no actual existence before she met you, and she has now ceased to exist.”
“Well?”
“Well?” replied Ganimard.
“Your story is a very strange one,” said the countess, “but it has no application to our case. If Madame de Réal had taken the ring, how do you explain the fact that it was found in Herr Bleichen’s tooth-powder? Anyone who would take the risk and trouble of stealing the blue diamond would certainly keep it. What do you say to that?”
“I—nothing—but Madame de Réal will answer it.”
“Oh! She does exist, then?”
“She does—and does not. I will explain in a few words. Three days ago, while reading a newspaper, I glanced over the list of hotel arrivals at Trouville, and there I read: ‘Hôtel Beaurivage—Madame de Réal, etc.’
“I went to Trouville immediately, and interviewed the proprietor of the hotel. From the description and other information I received from him, I concluded that she was the very Madame de Réal that I was seeking; but she had left the hotel, giving her address in Paris as number three rue de Colisée. The day before yesterday I went to that address, and learned that there was no person there called Madame de Réal, but there was a Madame Réal living on the second floor, who acted as a diamond broker and was frequently away from home. She had returned from a journey on the preceding evening. Yesterday, I called on her and, under an assumed name, I offered to act as an intermedium in the sale of some diamonds to certain wealthy friends of mine. She is to meet me here to-day to carry out that arrangement.”
“What! You expect her to come here?”
“Yes, at half-past five.”
“Are you sure it is she?”
“Madame de Réal of the Château de Crozon? Certainly. I have convincing evidence of that fact. But … listen! … I hear Folenfant’s signal.”
It was a whistle. Ganimard arose quickly.
“There is
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