"That was all.But it was enough.I set a special customs officer to watch Mademoiselle, a clever fellow.He didn't have time to find out much, but on the other hand I am sure he didn't do anything to alarm Mademoiselle.That would have been a bad game.His case was progressing favourably and he had become acquainted with one of the girls who worked in the shop.We might have got some evidence, but suddenly this morning he walked up to my desk and handed me an early edition of an afternoon paper.Mademoiselle Violette had been discovered dead in her shop by the girls when they came to work this morning.Apparently she had been there all night, but the report was quite indefinite and I am on my way up there now to meet the coroner, who has agreed to wait for me.""You think there is some connection between her death and the letters?" put in Craig.
"Of course I can't say, yet," answered Herndon dubiously."The papers seem to think it was a suicide.But then why should she commit suicide? My man found out that among the girls it was common gossip that she was to marry Jean Pierre, the Fifth Avenue jeweller, of the firm of Lang & Pierre down on the next block.Pierre is due in New York on La Montaigne to-night or to-morrow morning.
"Why, if my suspicions are correct, it is this Pierre who is the brains of the whole affair.And here's another thing.You know we have a sort of secret service in Paris and other European cities which is constantly keeping an eye on purchases of goods by Americans abroad.Well, the chief of our men in Paris cables me that Pierre is known to have made extraordinarily heavy purchases of made-up jewellery this season.For one thing, we believe he has acquired from a syndicate a rather famous diamond necklace which it has taken years to assemble and match up, worth about three hundred thousand.You know the duty on made-up jewellery is sixty per cent., and even if he brought the stones in loose it would be ten per cent., which on a valuation of, say, two hundred thousand, means twenty thousand dollars duty alone.Then he has a splendid 'dog collar' of pearls, and, oh, a lot of other stuff.I know because we get our tips from all sorts of sources and they are usually pretty straight.
Some come from dealers who are sore about not ****** sales themselves.So you see there is a good deal at stake in this case and it may be that in following it out we shall kill more than one bird.I wish you'd come along with me up to Mademoiselle Violette's and give me an opinion."Craig had already risen from the bench and we were walking up the Avenue.
The establishment of Mademoiselle Violette consisted of a three-story and basement brownstone house in which the basement and first floor had been remodelled for business purposes.Mademoiselle's place, which was on the first floor, was announced to the world by a neat little oval gilt sign on the hand railing of the steps.
We ascended and rang the bell.As we waited I noticed that there were several other modistes on the same street, while almost directly across was a sign which proclaimed that on September 15 Mademoiselle Gabrielle would open with a high class exhibition of imported gowns from Paris.
We entered.The coroner and an undertaker were already there, and the former was expecting Herndon.Kennedy and I had already met him and he shook hands cordially.
Mademoiselle Violette, it seemed, had rented the entire house and then had sublet the basement to a milliner, using the first floor herself, the second as a workroom for the girls whom she employed, while she lived on the top floor, which had been fitted for light housekeeping with a kitchenette.It was in the back room of the shop itself on the first floor that her body had been discovered, lying on a davenport.
"The newspaper reports were very indefinite," began Herndon, endeavouring to take in the situation."I suppose they told nearly all the story, but what caused her death? Have you found that out yet? Was it poison or violence?
The coroner said nothing, but with a significant glance at Kennedy he drew a peculiar contrivance from his pocket.It had four round holes in it and through each hole he slipped a finger, then closed his hand, and exhibited his clenched fist.It looked as if he wore a series of four metal rings on his fingers.
"Brass knuckles?" suggested Herndon, looking hastily at the body, which showed not a sign of violence on the stony face.
The coroner shook his head knowingly.Suddenly he raised his fist.
I saw him press hard with his thumb on the upper end of the metal contrivance.From the other end, just concealed under his little linger, there shot out as if released by a magic spring a thin keen little blade of the brightest and toughest steel.He was holding, instead of a meaningless contrivance of four rings, a most dangerous kind of stiletto or dagger upraised.He lifted his thumb and the blade sprang back into its sheath like an extinguished spark of light.
"An Apache dagger, such as is used in the underworld of Paris," broke out Kennedy, his eyes gleaming with interest.
The coroner nodded."We found it," he said, "clasped loosely in her hand.But it is only by expert medical testimony that we can determine whether it was placed on her fingers before or after this happened.We have photographed it, and the prints are being developed."He had now uncovered the slight figure of the little French modiste.
On the dress, instead of the profuse flow of blood which we had expected to see, there was a single round spot.And in the white marble skin of her breast was a little, nearly microscopic puncture, directly over the heart.
