BRITISH MYSTERIES - Fergus Hume Collection: 21 Thriller Novels in One Volume. Fergus Hume

with his inside. ‘Your destination is—’

      ‘Sydney,’ replied Gaston, promptly.

      ‘And then?’ queried the doctor.

      Gaston shrugged his shoulders.

      ‘Depends upon circumstances,’ he answered, lazily.

      ‘That’s a mistake,’ retorted Gollipeck, leaning forward; ‘it depends upon me.’

      Vandeloup smiled.

      ‘In that case, circumstances, as represented by you, will permit me to choose my own destinations.’

      ‘Depends entirely upon your being guided by circumstances, as represented by me,’ retorted the Doctor, grimly.

      ‘Pshaw!’ said the Frenchman, coolly, ‘let us have done with allegory, and come to common sense. What do you want?’

      ‘I want Octave Braulard,’ said Gollipeck, rising to his feet.

      Vandeloup quite expected this, and was too clever to waste time in denying his identity.

      ‘He stands before you,’ he answered, curtly, ‘what then?’

      ‘You acknowledge, then, that you are Octave Braulard, transported to New Caledonia for the murder of Adele Blondet?’ said the Doctor tapping the table with one hand.

      ‘To you—yes,’ answered Vandeloup, crossing to the door and locking it; ‘to others—no.’

      ‘Why do you lock the door?’ asked Gollipeck, gruffly.

      ‘I don’t want my private affairs all over Melbourne,’ retorted Gaston, smoothly, returning to his position in front of the fireplace; ‘are you afraid?’

      Something again went wrong with Dr Gollipeck’s inside, and he grated out a hard ironical laugh.

      ‘Do I look afraid?’ he asked, spreading out his hands.

      Vandeloup stooped down to the portmanteau lying open at his feet, and picked up a revolver, which he pointed straight at Gollipeck.

      ‘You make an excellent target,’ he observed, quickly, putting his finger on the trigger.

      Dr Gollipeck sat down, and arranged his handkerchief once more over his knees.

      ‘Very likely,’ he answered, coolly, ‘but a target you won’t practise on.’

      ‘Why not?’ asked Vandeloup, still keeping his finger on the trigger.

      ‘Because the pistol-shot would alarm the house,’ said Gollipeck, serenely, ‘and if I was found dead, you would be arrested for my murder. If I was only wounded I could tell a few facts about M. Octave Braulard that would have an unpleasant influence on the life of M. Gaston Vandeloup.’

      Vandeloup laid the pistol down on the mantelpiece with a laugh, lit a cigarette, and, sitting down in a chair opposite Gollipeck, began to talk.

      ‘You are a brave man,’ he said, coolly blowing a wreath of smoke, ‘I admire brave men.’

      ‘You are a clever man,’ retorted the doctor; ‘I admire clever men.’

      ‘Very good,’ said Vandeloup, crossing one leg over the other. ‘As we now understand one another, I await your explanation of this visit.’

      Dr Gollipeck, with admirable composure, placed his hands on his knees, and acceded to the request of M. Vandeloup.

      ‘I saw in the Ballarat and Melbourne newspapers,’ he said, quietly, ‘that Selina Sprotts, the servant of Mrs Villiers, was dead. The papers said foul play was suspected, and according to the evidence of Kitty Marchurst, whom, by the way, I remember very well, the deceased had been poisoned. An examination was made of the body, but no traces of poison were found. Knowing you were acquainted with Madame Midas, and recognising this case as a peculiar one—seeing that poison was asserted to have been given, and yet no appearances could be found—I came down to Melbourne, saw the doctor who had analysed the body, and heard what he had to say on the subject. The symptoms were described as apoplexy, similar to those of a woman who died in Paris called Adele Blondet, and whose case was reported in a book by Messrs Prevol and Lebrun. Becoming suspicious, I assisted at a chemical analysis of the body, and found that the woman Sprotts had been poisoned by an extract of hemlock, the same poison used in the case of Adele Blondet. The man who poisoned Adele Blondet was sent to New Caledonia, escaped from there, and came to Australia, and prepared this poison at Ballarat; and why I called here tonight was to know the reason M. Octave Braulard, better known as Gaston Vandeloup, poisoned Selina Sprotts in mistake for Madame Midas.’

      If Doctor Gollipeck had thought to upset Vandeloup by this recital, he was never more mistaken in his life, for that young gentleman heard him coolly to the end, and taking the cigarette out of his mouth, smiled quietly.

      ‘In the first place,’ he said, smoothly, ‘I acknowledge the truth of all your story except the latter part, and I must compliment you on the admirable way you have guessed the identity of Braulard with Vandeloup, as you have no proof to show that they are the same. But with regard to the death of Mademoiselle Sprotts, she died as you have said; but I, though the maker of the poison, did not administer it.’

      ‘Who did, then?’ asked Gollipeck, who was quite prepared for this denial.

      Vandeloup smoothed his moustache, and looked at the doctor with a keen glance.

      ‘Kitty Marchurst,’ he said, coolly.

      The rain was beating wildly against the windows and someone in the room below was playing the eternal waltz, ‘One summer’s night in Munich’, while Vandeloup, leaning back in his chair, stared at Dr Gollipeck, who looked at him disbelievingly.

      ‘It’s not true,’ he said, harshly; ‘what reason had she to poison the woman Sprotts?’

      ‘None at all,’ replied Vandeloup, blandly; ‘but she had to poison Mrs Villiers.’

      ‘Go on,’ said Gollipeck, gruffly; ‘I’ve no doubt you will make up an admirable story.’

      ‘So kind of you to compliment me,’ observed Vandeloup, lightly; ‘but in this instance I happen to tell the truth—Kitty Marchurst was my mistress.’

      ‘It was you that ruined her, then?’ cried Gollipeck, pushing back his chair.

      Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders.

      ‘If you put it that way—yes,’ he answered, simply; ‘but she fell into my mouth like ripe fruit. Surely,’ with a sneer, ‘at your age you don’t believe in virtue?’

      ‘Yes, I do,’ retorted Gollipeck, fiercely.

      ‘More fool you!’ replied Gaston, with a libertine look on his handsome face. ‘Balzac never said a truer word than that “a woman’s virtue is man’s greatest invention.” Well, we won’t discuss morality now. She came with me to Melbourne and lived as my mistress; then she wanted to marry me, and I refused. She had a bottle of the poison which I had made, and threatened to take it and kill herself. I prevented her, and then she left me, went on the stage, and afterwards meeting Madame Midas, went to live with her, and we renewed our acquaintance. On the night of this—well, murder, if you like to call it so—we were at a ball together. Mademoiselle Marchurst heard that I was going to marry Madame Midas. She asked me if it was true. I did not deny it; and she said she would sooner poison Mrs Villiers than see her married to me. She went home, and not knowing the dead woman was in bed with Madame Midas, poisoned the drink, and the consequences you know. As to this story of the hand, bah! it is a stage play, that is all!’

      Dr Gollipeck rose and walked to and fro in the little clear space left among the disorder.

      ‘What a devil you are!’ he said, looking at Vandeloup admiringly.

      ‘What, because I did not poison this woman?’ he said, in a mocking tone. ‘Bah!