R. JOHN SMITH spent the next four days behind prison bars—just like the prison bars in dear old Passaic. He was irritatingly cheerful about it, and met new avalanches of questions from M. Baudet with a pleasant smile and—silence. Twice M. Baudet called, and twice he stormed about the cell, only to be beaten back, defeated, angered, by the unholy calm of his prisoner. Mr. Smith stood broadly upon the general principle that the less he said the less he might have to explain, and this policy, combined with the fact that he was locked up, seemed to insure him at least temporarily from further trouble.
Meanwhile, M. le Marquis d’Aubigny buzzed about with a bewildered expression on the pasty face of him, seeking the true inwardness of it all. It had a true inwardness somewhere, else why all this maze of contradictions and untoward happenings? But he couldn’t lay his delicate fingers to it. There was one thing he could do, keep the police constantly on the search for the missing bonds, and he did that. They needed no urging. There were bonds, because M. Clarke had intended to use them in a great business deal. He had even signed the preliminary papers, and had opened the leather bag to produce the bonds, only to find it was empty. There were bonds—certainement! Mr. Smith had said to the contrary; but he was—what you call him?—the big bluffer.
M. Baudet and his satellites were singularly receptive to the suggestion that Mr. Smith was a big bluffer. On two separate occasions he had compelled them to shove their cards in the pack and ask for a new deal. They had him in their hands just at that psychological moment when he must have been maturing plans for the theft of seven and a half million francs—and they had released him! M. Baudet had swallowed hook and line the idea that Mr. Smith was a detective. He couldn’t remember that Mr. Smith had ever said he was a detective; but— Oh. la la! It made his head ache! Now the only thing to do was to wait until Clarke recovered sufficiently to give the facts in the case.
N the morning of the fifth day M. Baudet called upon Mr. Smith in his cell, with the information that the physicians would permit a very short interview with Mr. Clarke. Mr. Smith rose and put on his hat.
“It is most irregular, this thing of allowing you to be present at the interview,” M. Baudet explained; “but M. Clarke has refused to talk at all unless you are present. Besides, the circumstances are unusual, and I have consented.”
“Good!” remarked Mr. Smith. “Has Clarke been allowed to see anybody yet?”
“Only his daughter. She was with him last night for half an hour.”
Looking straight into the inquisitive eyes of M. Baudet, Mr. John Smith of Passaic New Jersey, laughed. “Cap,” he queried enigmatically, “what is French for lemon?”
“Citron,” M. Baudet informed him after a puzzled pause. “Why?”
“Well, that’s what you’re going to get—a citron,” remarked Mr. Smith.
M. Baudet pondered it all the way to the little apartment in the Rue St. Honore where M. le Marquis was waiting. Citron! What had that to do with this most mysterious case? He doesn’t know yet.
Worn, haggard, white, feeble as a child, helpless in bed, yet with that same old commanding glitter in his eyes that Mr. Smith knew so well, Mr. Clarke received the three of them, M. Baudet, M. le Marquis d’Aubigny, and plain John Smith of Passaic. The physician had withdrawn; Edna stood beside the bed watchfully. Her eyes met Mr. Smith’s as he entered and she smiled bravely.
“Father,” she said softly, “here is Mr. Smith.”
The gaze of the sick man lingered for an instant upon the keen, inquiring face of M. Baudet, thence shifted to the Marquis, and finally was halted by the straight staring eyes of Mr. Smith. For a second, perhaps, they stared each at the other, and Clarke lifted a wasted hand.
“Hello, Smith,” he said. “I’m glad to see you.”
“Same to you, Mr. Clarke.” and Mr. Smith shook the proffered hand. “I’m sorry you’ve been ill, sir.”
Again Clarke looked at M. Baudet. “Well,” he questioned abruptly, “what is it? My physician has given me only ten minutes to talk to you.”