The Mardi Gras Mystery/Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII
In The Open
IN NEW ORLEANS the carnival season is always opened by the ball of the Twelfth Night Revellers soon after Christmas, and is closed by that of the Krewe of Comus on Mardi Gras night. Upon this evening of "Fat Tuesday," indeed, both Rex and Comus hold forth. Rex is the popular ball, the affair of the people, and is held in the Athenaeum. From here, about midnight, the king and queen proceed to Comus ball.
Comus is an assembly of such rigid exclusiveness that even the tickets to the galleries are considered social prizes. The personae of the Krewe, on this particular year as in all previous ones, would remain unknown; there is no unmasking at Comus. This institution, a tremendous social power and potentially a financial power also, during decades of the city's life, is held absolutely above any taint of favouritism or commercialism. Even the families of those concerned might not always be certain whether their sons and brothers belonged to the Krewe of Comus.
Henry Gramont did not attend the ball of Proteus on Monday night. Instead, he sat in his own room, while through the streets of the French quarter outside was raging the carnival at its height. Before him were maps and reports upon the gas and oil fields about Bayou Terrebonne—fields where great domes of natural gas were already located and in use, and where oil was being found in some quantity. Early on Wednesday morning Gramont intended to set forth to his work. He had been engaged to make a report to Bob Maillard's company, and he would make it. Then he would resign his advisory job, and be free. A smile curled his lips as he thought of young Maillard and the company.
"The young gentleman will be sadly surprised to discover that I've gotten out from under—and that his respected father holds my stock!" he reflected. "That was a good deal; I lost a thousand to old Maillard in order to save the balance of thirty thousand!"
A knock at his door interrupted the thread of this thought. Gramont opened, to find the concierge with a note which had been left at the door below by a masked Harlequin, who had then disappeared without awaiting any reply.
Gramont recognized the writing on the envelope, and hastened to the note inside. His face changed, however, as he read it:
Please call promptly at eleven to-morrow morning. I wish to see you upon a matter of business.
Gramont gazed long at this note, his brows drawn down into a harsh line. It was not like Lucie in its tone, somehow; he sensed something amiss, something vaguely but most decidedly out of tune. Certainly it was not her way to write thus curtly and harshly—the words disquieted him. What could have turned up now? Then, with a shrug, he tossed the note on the table.
"Eleven to-morrow morning, eh?" he murmured. "That's queer, too, for she's to be at the Proteus ball to-night. Most girls would not be conducting business affairs at eleven in the morning, after being up all night at Proteus! It must be something important. Besides, she's not in the class with any one else. She's a rare girl; no nonsense in her—full of a deep, strong sense of things"
He forced himself from thoughts of Lucie, forced himself from her personality, and returned to his reports with an effort of concentration.
Gramont wanted to look over her Terrebonne land with a full knowledge of its geology and situation. Oil drilling is a gamble in any case, yet Gramont took a scholar's solid satisfaction in getting his subject thoroughly in hand before he went to work at it. Then, he reflected, he would get his task finished as rapidly as might be, turn in his report, and resign from the company. After that—freedom! He regretted sadly enough that he had ever gone into any relations with Maillard's company.
"Yet, what's to hinder my going ahead, in the meantime?" he considered. "What's to hinder getting my own company on its feet? Nothing! All I need is backing. I'll put in twenty-five thousand, and that much more added to it will give us plenty of capital to start in drilling with. If I could find someone who had a positive faith in my judgment and whom I could trust in turn"
He checked himself suddenly, and stared at the papers before him with widening eyes. A slow whistle came from his lips, and then he smiled and pulled the papers to him. Yet, as he worked he could not keep down the thought that had forced itself upon him. It was altogether absurd, of course—yet why not?
When Gramont went to bed that night it was with a startling and audacious scheme well defined in his brain; a scheme whose first conception seemed ludicrous and impossible, yet which, on second consideration, appeared in a very different light. It deserved serious thought—and Gramont had made his decision before he went to sleep.
The following day was Tuesday—Mardi Gras, Shrove Tuesday, the last day before Lent began, and the final culminating day of carnival. Henry Gramont, however, was destined to find little in its beginning of much personal pleasure.
At eleven in the morning Hammond drove him to the Ledanois home, where Gramont was admitted by one of the coloured servants and shown into the parlour. A moment later Lucie herself appeared. At first glance her smiling greeting removed the half-sensed apprehensions of Gramont. Almost immediately afterward, however, he noted a perceptible change in her manner, as she led him toward the rear of the room, and gestured toward a mahogany tilt-top table which stood in a corner.
"Come over here, please. I have something which I wish to show you."
She needed to say no more. Gramont, following her, found himself staring blankly down at the symbol of consternation which overwhelmed him. For upon that table, lay all those self-same boxes which he himself had packed with the loot of the Midnight Masquer—the identical boxes, apparently unopened, which had been stolen from his automobile by the supposed thief Chacherre!
For a moment Gramont found himself unable to speak. He was thunderstruck by the sight of those unmistakeable boxes. A glance at the calm features of the girl showed him that there was nothing to be concealed from her, even had he wished it. He was further stunned by this realization. He could not understand how the packages had come here. Recovering his voice with an effort, he managed to break the heavy silence.
"Well? I suppose you know what is in those parcels?"
She nodded. "Yes. One of them was opened, and the note inside was discovered. Of course, it gave a general explanation. Will you sit down, please? I think that we had better talk it over quietly and calmly."
Gramont obeyed, and dropped into a chair.
He was absurdly conscious of his own confusion. He tried to speak, but words and thoughts failed him. Torn between pride and chagrin, he found himself able to say nothing. Explanations, at any time, came to him with difficulty; now, at least, he felt that he could not lie to this girl. And how was he to tell her the truth?
And how had Lucie come into the affair? This staggered him above all else. Was she behind the theft of the loot? It must be. How long had she suspected him, then? He had thought Jachin Fell the sole danger-point—he had never dreamed that this gray-eyed Athene could be tracing down the Masquer! He tried to visualize the situation more clearly and his brain whirled. He knew, of course, that she was fairly intimate with Fell, but he was not aware of any particular connection
He glanced up at her suddenly, and surprised a glint of laughter in her eyes as she watched him.
"You seem to be rather astonished," she observed.
"I am." Gramont drew a deep breath. "You—do you know that those boxes were taken from my car?"
She nodded again. "Certainly. They were brought to me."
"Then you had someone on my trail?" Gramont flushed a little as he put the question to her.
"No. I have been chosen to settle affairs with you, that is all. It has been learned from the note in the opened box that you were not criminal in what you did."
She leaned forward, her deep eyes searching him with a steady scrutiny.
"Tell me, Henry Gramont, what mad impulse brought you to all this? Was it a silly, boyish effort to be romantic—was it a mere outburst of bravado? It was not for the sake of robbery, as the note explained very clearly. But why, then? Why? There must have been a definite reason in your mind. You would not have taken such dangerous chances unless you had something to gain!"
Gramont nodded slightly, then flushed again and bit his lip. For a moment he made no response to her query.
He might, of course, say that he had been the Midnight Masquer because of her alone; which would be decidedly untrue. He might tell her, as he had told Hammond, that all his efforts had led up to that scene in the Maillard library, when without suspicion by any concerned he might verify his own surmise as to who had been defrauding Lucie Ledanois. It would sound very well—but it would be a lie. That had been far from his only reason for playing the Midnight Masquer's game.
But why tell her anything?
A slight smile touched his lips. "You're not going to send me to prison, I trust?"
"I ought to!" The girl broke into a laugh. "Why, I can hardly yet believe that it was really you who were guilty of those things! It mortified me, it stunned me—until I realized the truth from the note. Even the fact that you did not do it for criminal ends does not relieve the sheer folly of the act. Why did you do it? Come, tell me the truth!"
Gramont shrugged. "The truth? Well, my chauffeur, Hammond, was the original Masquer. I caught him in the act—you remember I told you about him? After taking him into my employ, I became the Masquer. Poor Hammond was some time in realizing that my motives were altruistic and not criminal. He was quite distressed about it until he found that I meant to return all the loot intact."
"Why did you do it, then?" persisted the girl.
"Call it bravado, my dear Lucie. Call it anything you like—I can't lie to you! I had a motive, and I refuse to admit what it was; that's all."
"Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"
"Not particularly." He smiled. "I had a good end in view, and I accomplished it. Also, I flatter myself that I accomplished it very decently; there's nothing like being a good workman, you know. Now that I'm all through, now that I've finished playing my little game, you happened to discover it. I am ashamed on that point, Lucie—ashamed because the discovery has very naturally made you think harshly of me"
"I think you've been very silly," she said with a disconcerting calmness. He regarded her for a moment, steadily. "And you have displayed a fearful lack of judgment!"
"Silly? Well—perhaps. What are you going to do with those boxes?"
"I'll put them in the mail. I'm going downtown for luncheon, and will do it then. They'll be delivered this afternoon."
He nodded. "I had meant to have them delivered to-morrow; it makes no difference. You're the boss. It will give the good people a little more reason for jubilation to-night, eh?"
A sudden laugh broke upon his lips. "I'm beginning to see the humour of it, Lucie—and I know who put you next to me. It was Jachin Fell, the old fox! I suspected that he was on my trail, and I thought that he had managed the theft of those boxes. In fact, I was preparing to give him a big surprise this afternoon. But tell me, Lucie—are you angry?"
She looked at him steadily for a space, then a swift smile leaped to her lips and she extended a pardoning hand. Her gesture and words were impulsive, sincere.
"Angry? No. I think you've some good reason behind it all, which you won't confide to me. I can read you pretty clearly, Henry Gramont; I think I can understand some things in you. You're no weakling, no romantic, filibustering crackbrain! And I like you because you won't lie to me. You've a motive and you refuse to tell it—very well! I'll be just as frank and say that I'm not a bit angry. So, that's settled!
"Now what was the big surprise that you just mentioned you were going to give poor Mr. Fell this afternoon?"
Gramont's eyes twinkled. "You remember that I thought he suspected me of being the Masquer? Well, I was going to him and propose that we enter business together."
"Oh! As bandits?"
"No, as oil promotors. I'm out of Maillard's company, or shall be out of it soon. The minute I'm out, I'll be free to go into business for myself. It occurred to me that if Jachin Fell had brains enough to run down the Midnight Masquer, he would be a mighty good business partner; because I'm poor on business detail. Also, I think Fell is to be trusted. The things you've told me and written me about him prove that much. He's very strong politically, I have found—although few people know it."
"But he's not interested in oil is he?"
"I don't know; I take for granted that he's interested in making money. Most men are. The only way to make money in oil is to have money—and he has some! I have a little. I can put in twenty-five thousand. With an equal amount from him, we can sink a couple of wells, perhaps three. If we go broke, all right. If we find oil, we're rich!"
"But, my dear Henry, if he knew you to be the Midnight Masquer, do you think he'd want to go into business with you?" Her gray eyes were dancing with amusement as she put the query.
"Why not?" Gramont laughed. "If he knew that I had brains enough to pull off that stunt and keep all New Orleans up in the air—wouldn't I make a good partner? Besides, I believe that I have some notion where to go after oil; I'm going to examine your land first"
"My good prince, you surely have no lack of audacity!" She broke into a peal of laughter. "Your argument about inducing Mr. Fell to go into business with you is naïve"
"But, as an argument, isn't it quite sound?"
"Possibly. Since it is Lucie Ledanois and not Jachin Fell who has brought you to a confession of your crimes against society—aren't you going to propose that she go into business with you? Doesn't the argument hold good with her?"
Although Gramont was taken aback, he met her gaze squarely.
"No. Oil is no woman's game, unless she can well afford to lose. I imagine that you cannot, Lucie. Once I get my company formed, however"
"You're right, I can't put in any money. I'm land poor. Unless I were to sell that Bayou Terrebonne land—it's an old farm, abandoned since before father died"
"Don't sell it!" he exclaimed, quickly. "Don't consider any dealings with it until I have looked it over, will you?"
"Since you ask it, no. If there's gas near by, there must be oil."
"Who knows?" he shrugged. "No one can predict oil."
"Then you still mean to go to Jachin Fell with your scheme?"
Gramont nodded. "Yes. See here, Lucie—it's about noon! Suppose you come along and lunch with me at the Louisiane, if you've no engagement. We can put those boxes in the mail en route, and after luncheon I'll try and get hold of Fell."
She put her head on one side and studied him reflectively.
"You're sure you'll not kidnap me or anything like that? It's risky to become a friend of hardened criminals, even if one is trying to uplift them."
"Good! You'll come?"
"If you can give me ten minutes"
"My dear Lucie, you are the most charming object in New Orleans at this minute! Why attempt to make yourself still more attractive? Gilding the lily is an impossible task."
"Well, wait for me. Is your car here? Good! I want to see Hammond's face when he sees us carrying out those boxes."
Laughing, the girl started toward the stairs. At the doorway she paused.
"One thing, M. le prince! Do you solemnly promise, upon your honour, that the Midnight Masquer is dead for ever?"
"Upon my honour!" said Gramont, seriously. "The farce is ended, Lucie."
"All right. I'll be right down. Smoke if you like"
In her own room upstairs Lucie closed the door and sat down before her dressing table. She made no move toward the array of toilet articles, however. Instead, she took a desk telephone from the table, and called a number. In a moment she received a response.
"Uncle Jachin!" she exclaimed. "Yes—it's just as we thought; it's all a joke. No, it was not a joke, either, because he had some motive behind it, but he won't tell me what it was. I'm terribly glad that you opened one of those boxes and found the letter—if you had gone to the police it would have been perfectly dreadful"
"I never go to the police," said Jachin Fell with his dry chuckle. "You are quite satisfied that there is nothing serious in the affair, then?"
"Absolutely! He told me that he had accomplished his purpose, whatever it was, and that it's all ended. He just gave me his word that the Masquer was dead for ever. Now, aren't you glad that you confided in me?"
"Very," said Jachin Fell. "Very glad, indeed!"
"Now you're laughing at me—never mind! We're going to lunch downtown, and we'll mail those boxes on the way, by parcels post. Is that all right?"
"Quite all right, my dear. It is the method adopted by the most exclusive and elusive criminals in the country, I assure you. Every handbag snatcher gets rid of his empty bags by mailing them back to the owner—unless first caught. It pays to follow professional examples, as Eliza said when she crossed the ice. Did your gown come for to-night?"
"It's to come this afternoon."
"Very well. Do not plan to wear any jewels, Lucie. I have a set to lend you for the occasion—no, not a gift, merely a loan for the sake of Comus. They are very nice pearls; a little old fashioned, because they were mounted for the Princesses de Lamballe, but you will find that they fit in excellently with your gown. I'll bring them with me when I call for you"
"And I'll tender fitting thanks then. One thing more: Henry Gramont is going to see you after luncheon, I think—on business. And I want you to be nice to him, Uncle Jachin."
"Most assuredly," said the other, drily. "I should like to be associated in business with that young man. The firm would prosper."
"Will you stop laughing at me? Then I'll ring off—good-bye!"
And, smiling, she hung up the receiver.
Ten minutes later, when Gramont and Miss Ledanois entered the waiting car, Hammond saw the boxes that they carried. He stood beside the open door, paralyzed, his eyes fastened on the boxes, his mouth agape.
"To the postoffice, sergeant," said Gramont, then affected to observe his stupefaction. "Why, what's the matter?"
Hammond met his twinkling eyes, saw the laughter of Lucie, and swallowed hard.
"I—er—nothing at all, cap'n," he answered, hoarsely. "A—a little chokin' spell, that's all. Postoffice? Yes, sir."