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The Crime of the French Café and Other Stories by Nicholas Carter
The Crime of the French Café and Other Stories by Nicholas Carter
There is a well-known French restaurant in the "Tenderloin" district which provides its patrons with small but elegantly appointed private dining-rooms.
The restaurant occupies a corner house; and, though its reputation is not strictly first-class in some respects, its cook is an artist, and its wine cellar as good as the best.
It has two entrances, and the one on the side street is not well lighted at night.
At half-past seven o'clock one evening Nick Carter was standing about fifty yards from this side door.
The detective had shadowed a man to a house on the side street, and was waiting for him to come out.
The case was a robbery of no great importance, but Nick had taken it to oblige a personal friend, who wished to have the business managed quietly. This affair would not be worth mentioning, except that it led Nick to one of the most peculiar and interesting criminal puzzles that he had ever come across in all his varied experience.
While Nick waited for his man he saw a closed carriage stop before the side door of the restaurant.
Almost immediately a waiter, bare-headed and wearing his white apron, came hurriedly out of the side door and got into the carriage, which instantly moved away at a rapid rate.
This incident struck Nick as being very peculiar. The waiter had acted like a man who was running away.
As he crossed the sidewalk he glanced hastily from side to side, as if afraid of being seen, and perhaps stopped.
It looked as if the waiter might have robbed one of the restaurant's patrons, or possibly its proprietor. If Nick had had no business on his hands he would have followed that carriage.
As it happened, however, the man for whom the detective was watching appeared at that moment.
Nick was obliged to follow him, but he knew that he would not have to go far, for Chick was waiting on Sixth avenue, and it was in that direction that the thief turned.
So it happened that within ten minutes Nick was able to turn this case over to his famous assistant, and return to clear up the mystery of the queer incident which he had chanced to observe.
Nick would not have been surprised to find the restaurant in an uproar, but it was as quiet as usual. He entered by the side door, ascended a flight of stairs, and came to a sort of office with a desk and a register.
It was the custom of the place that guests should put down their names as in a hotel before being assigned to a private dining-room.
There was nobody in sight.
The hall led toward the front of the building, and there were three rooms on the side of it toward the street.
All the doors were open and the rooms were empty. Nick glanced into these rooms, and then turned toward the desk. As he did so he saw a waiter coming down the stairs from the floor above.
This man was known by the name of Gaspard. He was the head waiter, and was on duty in the lower hall.
"Ah, Gaspard," said Nick, "who's your waiter on this floor to-night?"
Gaspard looked at Nick anxiously. He did not, of course, know who the detective really was, but he remembered him as one who had assisted the police in a case in which that house had been concerned about two years before.
"Jean Corbut," replied Gaspard. "I hope nothing is wrong."
"That remains to be seen," said Nick. "What sort of a man is this Corbut?"
"A little man," answered Gaspard, "and very thin. He has long, black hair, and mustaches pointed like two needles."
"Have you sent him out for anything?"
"Oh, no; he is here."
"Where?"
"In one of the rooms at the front. We have parties in A and B."
"You go and find him," said Nick. "I want to see him right away."
Gaspard went to the front of the house. A hall branched off at right angles with that in which Nick was standing. On the second hall were three rooms, A, B and C.
Room C was next the avenue. The other two had windows on an open space between two wings of the building. Nick glanced at the register, and saw that "R.M. Clark and wife" had been assigned to room A, and "John Jones and wife" to room B. Room C was vacant.
The detective had barely time to note these entries on the book when Gaspard came running back.
His face was as white as paper, and his lips were working as if he were saying something, but not a sound came from them.
He was struck dumb with fright. Whatever it was that he had seen must have been horrible, to judge from the man's trembling limbs and distorted face.
Nick had seen people in that condition before, and he did not waste time trying to get any information out of Gaspard.
Instead, he seized the frightened fellow by the shoulder and pushed him along toward the front of the house.
Gaspard made a feeble resistance. Evidently he did not want to see again the sight which had so terrified him.
But he was powerless in Nick's grasp. In five seconds they stood before the open door of room B.
The door was open, and there was a bright glare of gas within.
It shone upon the table, where a rich repast lay untasted. It illumined the gaudy furnishings of the room and the costly pictures upon the walls.
It shone, too, upon a beautiful face, rigid and perfectly white, except for a horrible stain of black and red upon the temple.
The face was that of a woman of twenty-five years. She had very abundant hair of a light corn color, which clustered in little curls around her forehead, and was gathered behind in a great mass of plaited braids.
She reclined in a large easy-chair, in a natural attitude, but the pallid face, the fixed and glassy eyes, and the grim wound upon the temple announced, in unmistakable terms, the presence of death.
Nick drew a long breath and set his lips together firmly. He had felt that something was wrong in that house. The waiter who had run across the sidewalk and got into that carriage had borne a guilty secret with him, as the detective's experienced eye had instantly perceived.
But this was a good deal worse than Nick had expected. He had looked for a robbery, or, perhaps, a secret and bloody quarrel between two of the waiters, but not for a murder such as this.
One glance at the woman showed her to be elegant in dress and of a refined appearance.
She could have had nothing in common with the missing Corbut, unless, indeed, he was other than he seemed.
Certainly, whatever was Corbut's connection with the crime, there was another person, at least, as intimately concerned in it. And he, too, had fled.
Where was the man who had brought this woman to this house? How was it possible to account for his absence except by the conclusion that he was the murderer?
That was the first and most natural explanation. Whether it was the true one or not, the man must be found.
Nick turned to Gaspard. The head waiter had sunk down on a chair by the table and seemed prostrated.
From previous experience Nick knew Gaspard to be a man without nerve, and he was not surprised to find him prostrated by this sudden shock.
There was a bottle of champagne standing in ice beside the table. The detective opened it and made Gaspard drink a glass of the sparkling liquor.
It put a little heart into the man, and he was able to answer questions.
Nick, meanwhile, closed the door of the room. Apparently the tragedy was known only to Gaspard and himself and to the guilty authors of it.
"Did you see this woman when she came in?" asked Nick.
"No."
"Who showed her and the man with her to this room?"
"Corbut."
"Who waited on them?"
"Corbut."
"Who waited on the people in room A?"
"Corbut."
"They are gone, I suppose?"
"Yes; I looked in there before I came in here."
"Did you see any of these people?"
"I saw the two men."
"How did that happen?"
"One of them came out into the hall to call Corbut, who had not answered the bell quick enough."
"Which one was that?"
"The man in room A."
"How do you know?"
"Because I saw the other man, later, coming out of room B."
"This room?"
"Yes."
"You are sure of that?"
"Perfectly."
"Did he see you?"'
"I think not. I was standing right at the corner of the two halls. The man came out and glanced around, but I stepped back quickly, because we do not like to appear to spy upon our guests. He did not see me."
"What did he do?"
"He went out the front way. I supposed the lady went with him, for I was sure that I heard the rustling of her dress."
"Where was Corbut then?"
"In room A."
"How long did he stay there?"
"Only a minute. I went back to the desk, and then was called by a waiter upstairs. Just as I turned to go I saw Corbut coming through the hall."
"Did you speak to him?"
"Yes; I called to him to stay by the desk while I went upstairs."
"Did he answer?"
"Yes; he said 'very well.'"
"And that's the last you saw of him?"
"Yes."
"All right; so much for Corbut. Now for the two men. Would you know them?"
"Not the man in room A. I didn't notice him particularly."
"But how about the man who came out of this room? He's the one we're after."
"I would know him," said Gaspard, slowly. "Yes; I feel sure that I could identify him."
"That's good. Now for the crime itself. Go back to the desk and ring for a messenger. When he comes, send him here. Don't let anybody else come, and don't say a word to anybody about this affair."
Gaspard, with a very pale face, went back to his desk.
Nick remained alone with the beautiful dead.
"Mr. Venner, sir?" "Mr. Venner-yes, certainly. You will find him in his private office-that way, sir. The door to the right. Venner is in his private office, Joseph, is he not?" "I don't think so, Mr. Garside, unless he has just returned. I saw him go out some time ago." "Is that so? Wait a moment, young man." The young man halted, and then turned back to face Mr. Garside, with an inquiring look in his frank, brown eyes. "Not here, sir, do I understand?" he asked, politely.
Everyone was shocked to the bones when the news of Rupert Benton's engagement broke out. It was surprising because the lucky girl was said to be a plain Jane, who grew up in the countryside and had nothing to her name. One evening, she showed up at a banquet, stunning everyone present. "Wow, she's so beautiful!" All the men drooled, and the women got so jealous. What they didn't know was that this so-called country girl was actually an heiress to a billion-dollar empire. It wasn't long before her secrets came to light one after the other. The elites couldn't stop talking about her. "Holy smokes! So, her father is the richest man in the world?" "She's also that excellent, but mysterious designer who many people adore! Who would have guessed?" Nonetheless, people thought that Rupert didn't love her. But they were in for another surprise. Rupert released a statement, silencing all the naysayers. "I'm very much in love with my beautiful fiancee. We will be getting married soon." Two questions were on everyone's minds: "Why did she hide her identity? And why was Rupert in love with her all of a sudden?"
To most, Verena passed for a small-town clinic doctor; in truth, she worked quiet miracles. Three years after Isaac fell hopelessly for her and kept vigil through lonely nights, a crash left him in a wheelchair and stripped his memory. To keep him alive, Verena married him, only to hear, "I will never love you." She just smiled. "That works out-I'm not in love with you, either." Entangled in doubt, he recoiled from hope, yet her patience held him fast-kneeling to meet his eyes, palm warm on his hair, steadying him-until her glowing smile rekindled feelings he believed gone forever.
Isabelle Everett's perfect life crumbles when her billionaire husband, Damion Ryder, serves her divorce papers on their anniversary. Betrayal, heartbreak, and deceit propel her into a six-year journey of self-discovery. Now, with secrets exposed and old flames rekindled, Isabelle must choose between the man who broke her heart or her high school sweetheart, the one who's always loved her but has an ulterior motive. Will forgiveness transform their lives, or will the past destroy their future?
Years ago, Cathy's husband threw himself into danger to save her. Then fate cut the cord-after the accident, he remembered everyone but the woman he'd once died for. On their third anniversary, he betrayed her, and that night she signed the divorce. Freed, she dusted off her hidden brilliance: miracle healer, racing legend, elite hacker, visionary designer. When his memories roared back, regret did, too. He stormed her wedding, pleading, "Cathy, please, one more chance!" But a certain trillionaire held her close and huffed, "Honey, someone's asking for trouble."
It was supposed to be a marriage of convenience, but Carrie made the mistake of falling in love with Kristopher. When the time came that she needed him the most, her husband was in the company of another woman. Enough was enough. Carrie chose to divorce Kristopher and move on with her life. Only when she left did Kristopher realize how important she was to him. In the face of his ex-wife’s countless admirers, Kristopher offered her 20 million dollars and proposed a new deal. “Let’s get married again.”
Kaelyn devoted three years tending to her husband after a terrible accident. But once he was fully recovered, he cast her aside and brought his first love back from abroad. Devastated, Kaelyn decided on a divorce as people mocked her for being discarded. She went on to reinvent herself, becoming a highly sought-after doctor, a champion racer, and an internationally renowned architectural designer. Even then, the traitors sneered in disdain, believing Kaelyn would never find someone. But then the ex-husband’s uncle, a powerful warlord, returned with his army to ask for Kaelyn’s hand in marriage.
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