The Mystery of the Boule Cabinet 19 – Stevenson · Verses Across
Literature · Detective Fiction
The Mystery of the Boule Cabinet 19"La Mort!"
18
Literature · Detective Fiction
The Mystery of the Boule Cabinet 19
"La Mort!"
StevensonEnglish
That my legs, without conscious effort of my own, should carry me up the Avenue and around the corner after the cab in which I had seen Godfrey was a foregone conclusion, and yet it was with a certain vexation of spirit that I found myself racing along, for I realised that Godfrey had not been entirely frank with me. Certainly he had dropped no hint of his intention to follow Armand; but, I told myself, that might very well have been because he deemed such a hint unnecessary. I might have guessed, in spite of his seeming unconcern, that he would not allow the cabinet to pass from his sight; if he had been willing for me to turn it over to Armand, it was only because he expected developments of some sort to follow that transfer.
And it suddenly dawned upon me that even I did not know the cabinet's destination! It had not occurred to me to inquire where M. Armand proposed to take it, and he had volunteered no information.
So, after a moment, I took up the chase more contentedly, telling myself that Godfrey would not have waved to me if he had not wanted me along, and I reached the corner in time to see the van turn northward into Sixth Avenue. As soon as it and the cabs which followed it were out of sight, I sprinted along the sidewalk at top speed, and, on arriving at the corner, had the satisfaction of seeing them only a little way ahead. Here the congestion of traffic was such that the van could proceed but slowly, and I had no difficulty in keeping pace with it, without the necessity of making myself conspicuous by running. Indeed, I rather hung back, burying myself in the crowds on the sidewalk, for fear that Armand might chance to glance around and see me in pursuit.
I saw that Godfrey and Simmonds had the same fear, for the cab in which they were drew up at the curb and waited there until the van had got some distance ahead. At Sixteenth Street, it turned westward again, and then northward into Seventh Avenue.
What could Armand be doing in this part of the town, I asked myself? Did he propose to leave that priceless cabinet in this dingy quarter? And then I paused abruptly and slipped into an area-way, for the van had stopped some distance ahead and was backing up to the curb.
Looking out discreetly, I saw the cab containing Armand stop also, and that gentleman alighted and paid the driver. The other cab rattled on at a good pace and disappeared up the Avenue. Then the two porters lifted out the cabinet, and, with Armand showing them the way, carried it into the building before which the van had stopped.
They were gone perhaps five minutes, from which I argued that they were carrying it upstairs; then they reappeared, with Armand accompanying them. He tipped them and went out also to tip the driver of the van. Then the porters climbed aboard and it rattled away out of sight. Armand stood for a moment on the step, looking up and down the Avenue, then disappeared indoors.
An instant later, I saw Godfrey and another man whom I recognised as Simmonds, come out of a shop across the street and dash over to the house into which the cabinet had been taken. They were standing on the door-step when I joined them.
It was a dingy building, entirely typical of the dingy neighbourhood. The ground floor was occupied by a laundry which the sign on the front window declared to be French; and the room which the window lighted extended the whole width of the building except for a door which opened presumably on the stairway leading to the upper stories.
Godfrey's face was flaming with excitement as he turned the knob of this door gently--gently. The door was locked. He stooped and applied an eye to the key-hole.
"The key is in the lock," he whispered.
Simmonds took from his pocket a pair of slender pliers and passed them over.
Godfrey looked up and down the street, saw that for the moment there was no one near, inserted the pliers in the key-hole, grasped the end of the key, and turned it slowly.
"Now!" he said, softly opened the door and slipped inside. I followed, and Simmonds came after me like a shadow, closing the door carefully behind him.
Then we all stopped, and my heart, at least, was in my mouth, for, from somewhere overhead, came the sound of a man's voice talking excitedly.
Even in the semi-darkness, I could see the look of astonishment and alarm on Godfrey's face, as he stood for a moment motionless, listening to that voice. I also stood with ears a-strain, but I could make nothing of what it was saying; then suddenly I realised that it was speaking in French. And yet it was not Armand's voice--of that I was certain.
Fronting us was a narrow stair mounting steeply to the story overhead, and, after that moment's amazed hesitation, Godfrey sat down on the bottom step and removed his shoes, motioning us to do the same. Simmonds obeyed phlegmatically, but my hands were trembling so with excitement that I was in mortal terror lest I drop one of my shoes; but I managed to get them both off without mishap, and to set them softly on the floor at the stair-foot.
When at last I looked up with a sigh of relief, Godfrey and Simmonds were stealing slowly up the stair, revolver in hand. I followed them, but I confess my knees were knocking together, for there was something weird and chilling in that voice going on and on. It sounded like the voice of a madman; there was something about it at once ferocious and triumphant....
Godfrey paused an instant at the stairhead, listening intently; then he moved cautiously forward toward an open door from which the voice seemed to come, motioning us at the same time to stay where we were. And as I knelt, bathed in perspiration, I caught one word, repeated over and over:
"Revanche!--Revanche!--Revanche!"
Then the voice fell to a sort of low growling, as of a dog which worries its prey, and I caught a sound as of ripping cloth.
Godfrey, on hands and knees, was peering into the room. Then he drew back and motioned us forward.
I shall never forget the sight which met my eyes as I peeped cautiously around the corner of the door.
The room into which I was looking was lighted only by the rays which filtered between the slats of a closed shutter. In the middle of the floor stood the Boule cabinet, and before it, with his back to the door, stood a man ripping savagely away the strips of burlap in which it had been wrapped, talking to himself the while in a sort of savage sing-song, and pausing from moment to moment to glance at a huddled bundle lying on the floor against the opposite wall. For a time, I could not make out what this bundle was, then, straining my eyes, I saw that it was the body of a man, wrapped round and round in some web-like fabric.
And as I stared at him, I caught the glitter of his eyes as he watched the man working at the cabinet--a glitter not to be mistaken --the same glitter which had so frightened me once before....
Godfrey drew me back with a firm hand and took my place. As for me, I retreated to the stair, and sat there feverishly mopping my face and trying to understand. Who was this man? What was he doing there against the wall? What was the meaning of this ferocious scene....
Then my heart leaped into my throat, for Godfrey, with a sharp cry of "Halte-là!" sprang to his feet and dashed into the room, Simmonds at his heels.
I suppose two seconds elapsed before I reached the threshold, and I stopped there, staring, clutching at the wall to steady myself.
That scene is so photographed upon my brain that I have only to close my eyes to see it again in every detail.
There was the cabinet with its wrappings torn away; but the figure on the floor had disappeared, and before an open doorway into another room stood a man, a giant of a man, his hands above his head, his face working with fear and rage, while Godfrey, his lips curling into a mocking smile, pressed a pistol against his breast.
Then, as I stood there staring, it seemed to me that there was a sort of flicker in the air above the man's head, and he screamed shrilly.
"La mort!" he shrieked. "La mort!"
For one dreadful instant longer he stood there motionless, his hands still held aloft, his eyes staring horribly; then, with a strangled cry, he pitched forward heavily at Godfrey's feet.
