The Classic Mystery Collection - Arthur Conan Doyle [4310]
The strange Roussel-Stangerson mystery had now been laid bare. Who was this Jean Roussel? Rouletabille had traced him from Philadelphia to Cincinnati. In Cincinnati he became acquainted with the old aunt, and had found means to open her mouth. The story of Ballmeyer's arrest threw the right light on the whole story. He visited the "presbytery"--a small and pretty dwelling in the old colonial style --which had, indeed, "lost nothing of its charm." Then, abandoning his pursuit of traces of Mademoiselle Stangerson, he took up those of Ballmeyer. He followed them from prison to prison, from crime to crime. Finally, as he was about leaving for Europe, he learned in New York that Ballmeyer had, five years before, embarked for France with some valuable papers belonging to a merchant of New Orleans whom he had murdered.
And yet the whole of this mystery has not been revealed. Mademoiselle Stangerson had a child, by her husband,--a son. The infant was born in the old aunt's house. No one knew of it, so well had the aunt managed to conceal the event.
What became of that son?--That is another story which, so far, I am not permitted to relate.
About two months after these events, I came upon Rouletabille sitting on a bench in the Palais de Justice, looking very depressed.
"What's the matter, old man?" I asked. "You are looking very down. cast. How are your friends getting on?"
"Apart from you," he said, "I have no friends."
"I hope that Monsieur Darzac--"
"No doubt."
"And Mademoiselle Stangerson--How is she?"
"Better--much better."
"Then you ought not to be sad."
"I am sad," he said, "because I am thinking of the perfume of the lady in black--"
"The perfume of the lady in black!--I have heard you often refer to it. Tell me why it troubles you."
"Perhaps--some day; some day," said Rouletabille.
And he heaved a profound sigh.
________
Go to Start
The Lodger
by Marie Belloc Lowndes
-I- | -II- | -III- | -IV- | -V- | -VI- | -VII- | -VIII- | -IX- | -X- | -XI- | -XII- | -XIII- | -XIV- | -XV- | -XVI- | -XVII- | -XVIII- | -XIX- | -XX- | -XXI- | -XXII- | -XXIII- | -XXIV- | -XXV- | -XXVI- | -XXVII-
"Lover and friend hast thou put far from me, and mine acquaintance into darkness." PSALM lxxxviii. 18
CHAPTER I
Robert Bunting and Ellen his wife sat before their dully burning, carefully-banked-up fire.
The room, especially when it be known that it was part of a house standing in a grimy, if not exactly sordid, London thoroughfare, was exceptionally clean and well-cared-for. A casual stranger, more particularly one of a Superior class to their own, on suddenly opening the door of that sitting-room; would have thought that Mr. and Mrs. Bunting presented a very pleasant cosy picture of comfortable married life. Bunting, who was leaning back in a deep leather arm-chair, was clean-shaven and dapper, still in appearance what he had been for many years of his life--a self-respecting man-servant.
On his wife, now sitting up in an uncomfortable straight-backed chair, the marks of past servitude were less apparent; but they were there all the same--in her neat black stuff dress, and in her scrupulously clean, plain collar and cuffs. Mrs. Bunting, as a single woman, had been what is known as a useful maid.
But peculiarly true of average English life is the time-worn English proverb as to appearances being deceitful. Mr. and Mrs. Bunting were sitting in a very nice room and in their time--how long ago it now seemed!--both husband and wife had been proud of their carefully chosen belongings. Everything in the room was strong