"I didn't know you could feel such emotion for a ruined building, Maillard," said Gramont, lightly. The banker shrugged a trifle.

"Emotion? No. Regret! None of us, who has been brought up in the traditions of the city but regarded the French Opera House as the centre of all our storied life. You can't understand it, Gramont; no outsider can. By the way, you haven't seen Bob? He's in costume, but he might have spoken to you----"

Gramont answered in the negative, with a slight surprise at the question.

It was not long before he came to comprehend more fully just what the loss of the old French Opera House meant to the a.s.sembly. He heard comparisons made on every hand, regretful allusions, sighs for the days that were no more.

This present building, to be sure, was one of the city's finest, up to date in every way, with an abundance of room--and yet everyone said that Comus would never be the same. About the Opera House had clung the romance of many generations. About it, too, had clung the affections of the people with a fierceness beyond reason. More famous buildings had been allowed to go to ruin, like the Hotel Royale, but the Opera House had been kept in repair for Mardi Gras. It was itself--a landmark. Nothing else would ever be like it.

From his seat in the Lavergne box Gramont contented himself during the early evening with the common role of all the "blackcoats"--that of looking on idly. More than once he saw Lucie Ledanois called out, among others of the fair s.e.x, as a dancing partner for some member of the Krewe. None of the male guests, however, was allowed to partic.i.p.ate in the festivity until Rex and his queen should arrive--at midnight; thus, Gramont saw almost nothing of Lucie during the evening.

There was, inevitably, more or less visiting in boxes and foyers, and not a little lounging in the smoking room. The building was a huge structure, and richly furnished. Only a portion of it was in use by the Krewe; the remainder was, of course, deserted for the time being.

While in search of smoking companions, Gramont encountered many of his acquaintances, and among them Doctor Ansley and Jachin Fell. In order to enjoy Fell's proffered El Reys in a somewhat clearer atmosphere these three strolled off together into one of the unused pa.s.sages leading to other parts of the building. They opened a window and stood watching the crowd that surged in the street below, constantly increasing as the hour grew later, for the procession of Rex would be well worth seeing and n.o.body meant to miss anything upon this night of nights.

Suddenly, at the sound of an approaching footstep, the three men turned. The electric lights were going in all of the hallways, and they perceived that the individual approaching them was a member of the Krewe of Comus. He was also, it became evident, giving a share of his allegiance to Bacchus, for his feet were obviously unsteady. He was clad in a parti-coloured costume, which was crowned by an exaggerated head of Mephisto.

"Good evening to you, worthy gentlemen!" He came to a fuddled halt and stood there, laughing at the stares of the three. "Evening, I say."

They responded to his liquor-tinged words with a laughing reply.

"Wonderin' who I am, aren't you!" he hiccuped. "Well, don't wonder; 'sall between ol' friends to-night! Tell you what, m' friends--come with me and I'll find you a li'l drink, eh? No prohibition booze, upon m' honour; real old Boone pinchneck--got it from some boys in Louisville, been savin' it up for to-night."

He wagged his head at them, and pursued his subject in a half-maudlin burst of confidential a.s.surance. An unsteady hand waved down the hallway.

"Havin' a little party in one of the rooms," he continued. "All of us friends--lots more fun than dancin'! And say! I'm going pull something great, positively great; you don't want to miss it, gentlemen! You come along with me and I'll fix it for you. Come on, Gramont, that's a good fellow! You'n I had a dis'greement to-day--don't matter to-night, nothin' matters to-night, nothin' at all. Mardi Gras only comes once a year, eh? Come along, now."

Jachin Fell very civilly refused the invitation, as did the others. Gramont, who now recognized their accoster, was less civil in his refusal. Mephisto sadly wagged his huge headpiece and regarded them with vinous regret.

"No 'joyment in you any more? Better come along. Tell you, I've got the biggest joke of the season ready to pull off--something rich! Gramont, come on!"

"Thanks, no," responded Gramont, curtly.

The masquer gave up the struggle and moved on down the empty hallway. The three "blackcoats" watched in silence until the grotesque figure had vanished.

"I wonder who that was, now?" mused Doctor Ansley, frowning. "Evidently, someone who knew us; at least, he recognized you, Gramont."

"So it seemed," put in Jachin Fell. His tone, like his eyes, held a sombre fire. "A party of them drinking, eh? that will make trouble. The Krewe won't like it. Ten to one, that young man and his friends will start the makings of a fine scandal and the Krewe will come down hard on them--mighty hard. Who was he, Gramont? Sounded like----"

"Young Maillard." At Gramont's response a whistle broke from Doctor Ansley. Jachin Fell nodded a.s.sent.

"You took the words out of my mouth. So Bob is drinking again, eh? And they've occupied one of the rooms somewhere, and are enjoying a bit of liquor and a card game by themselves. Cursed slippery going, as Eliza said when she crossed the ice! The Krewe will expel them. h.e.l.lo, Gramont--where to?"

Gramont tossed his cigar through the open window.

"I think I'll make my adieux, Fell. I intend to be up early in the morning and get off to work----"

"What?" protested Ansley in astonishment. "You must stay until Rex comes, at least! Why, that's the event of the carnival! The evening hasn't started yet."

"I'm growing old and sober, doctor," and Gramont chuckled. "To tell the truth," and he gave Fell a whimsical glance, "I am head over ears in some new business matters which have actually fired me with the divine afflatus of enthusiasm. What's more, I was drifting with the crowds all afternoon, and I've just begun to realize that I'm dead tired. Rex or no Rex, I'm afraid that I'd best say good-night, gentlemen."

Gramont persisted in his intention, and bade the other two good-night. In truth, he cared very little about Rex, and a very great deal about getting off to Bayou Terrebonne early in the morning. The oil matter filled his mind. He had formed a thousand plans, he was fired with enthusiasm, and was anxious to make his preliminary investigation.

Returning to the auditorium, Gramont sought out his hosts and made his farewells, although not without encountering some opposition. At length he was free, he had obtained his hat and coat, and as he pa.s.sed out of the building he again met Fell and Ansley, who were finishing their cigars at the entrance. He bade them a final adieu and plunged into the crowd.

It lacked half an hour of midnight. The streets were filled with merrymakers, who were making the night riotous with songs, yells, and noise-producing apparatus, antic.i.p.ating the arrival of Rex. For a little Fell and Doctor Ansley stood talking, then tossed away their cigars and turned into the building.

They halted in the foyer before the appearance of two men--Joseph Maillard, looking extremely agitated, and behind him old Judge Forester, who wore a distinctly worried expression.

"Ah, here are Fell and Ansley!" exclaimed Maillard, almost with relief. "I--ah--my friends, I don't suppose you've seen Bob recently?"

Ansley was silent. Jachin Fell, however, responded with a cold nod of a.s.sent.

"Yes," he said in his peculiarly toneless manner. "Yes, we have. At least, I believe it was he----"

"I'm worried," said Maillard, anxiously, hurriedly. He made an expressive gesture of despair. "He's in costume, of course. I've been given to understand that--well, that he has been--well, drinking."

"He has," said Jachin Fell, without any trace of compa.s.sion. "A number of the Krewe are occupying one of the rooms in the building, and they must have been visiting it frequently. I trust for your sake that the fact hasn't become generally known inside?"

Maillard nodded. Shame and anger lay heavily in his eyes.

"Yes, Jachin. I--I was asked to exert my influence over Bob. The request came to me from the floor. This--this is a disgraceful thing to admit, my friends----"

Judge Forester, in his kindly way, laid his hand on the banker's arm.

"Tut, tut, Joseph," he said, gently, a fund of sympathy in his voice. "Boys will be boys, you know; really, this is no great matter! Don't let it hit you so hard. I'll go with you to find the room, of course. Where is it, Jachin?"

"We'll all go," put in Ansley. "We'll have a little party of our own, gentlemen. Come on, I believe we'll be able to discover the place."

The four men left the foyer and started through the corridors. Among them was a tacit understanding, a deep feeling of sympathy for Joseph Maillard, a bond which held them to his aid in this disgrace which had befallen him. Jachin Fell, who felt the least compa.s.sion or pity, cursed Bob Maillard--but under his breath.

They walked through the empty, lighted corridors, following the direction in which Fell and Ansley had seen young Maillard disappear.

"I hear," said Judge Forester to Doctor Ansley, as they followed the other two, "that there has been astonishing news to-day from the Midnight Masquer. It seems that a number of people have received back property this afternoon--loot the bandit had taken. It came by mail, special delivery. One of the Lavergne boys tells me that they received a box containing everything that was taken at their home, even to cash, with a note asking them to return the things to their guests. It appears to have been some sort of a carnival joke, after all."

"A poor one, then," responded Ansley, "and in doubtful taste. I've heard nothing of it. I wouldn't mind getting back the little cash I lost, though I must say I'll believe the story when I see the money----"

He broke off quickly.

As they turned a corner of the corridor to the four men came realization that they had attained their goal. From one of the rooms ahead there sounded s.n.a.t.c.hes of a boisterous chorus being roared forth l.u.s.tily. As they halted, to distinguish from which door the singing proceeded, the chorus was broken off by an abrupt and sudden silence. This silence was accentuated by the preceding noise, as though the singers had checked their maudlin song in mid-career.

"d.a.m.n it!" muttered Maillard. "Did they hear us coming? No, that wouldn't matter a hang to them--but what checked them so quickly?"

"This door," said Fell, indicating one to their right. He paused at it, listening, and over his features came a singular expression. As the others joined him, they caught a low murmur of voices, a hushed sound of talk, a rattle as a number of chips fell from a table.

"Cursed queer!" observed Jachin Fell, frowning. "I wonder what happened to them so abruptly? Perhaps the deal was finished--they're having a game. Well, go ahead, Joseph! We'll back you up as a deputation from the blackcoats, and if you need any moral support, call on Judge Forester."

"Correct!" a.s.sented that gentleman with dignity. "I'll give these jackanapes a little advice! It's going a bit far, this sort of thing; we can't have Comus turned into a common drinking bout. Ready, Joseph?"

He flung open the door, and Maillard entered at his side. They then came to a startled halt, at view of the scene which greeted them.

The room was large and well lighted, windows and transom darkened for the occasion. Tobacco smoke made a bluish haze in the air. In the centre of the room stood a large table, littered with gla.s.ses and bottles, with scattered cards, with chips and money.

About this table had been sitting half a dozen members of the Krewe of Comus. Now, however, they were standing, their various ident.i.ties completely concealed by the grotesque costumes which cloaked them. Their hands were in the air.

Standing at another doorway, midway between their group and that of the four unexpected intruders, was the Midnight Masquer--holding them up at the point of his automatic!

There was a moment of tense and strained silence, as every eye went to the four men in evening attire. It was plain what had cut short the boisterous song--the Masquer must have made his appearance only a moment or two previously. From head to foot he was hidden under his leathern attire. His unrecognizable features, at this instant, were turned slightly toward the four new arrivals. It was obvious that he, no less than the others, was startled by this entry.

Maillard was the first to break that silence of stupefaction.

"By heavens!" he cried, furiously. "Here's that d.a.m.ned villain again--hold him, you! at him, everybody!"

In a blind rage, transported out of himself by his sudden access of pa.s.sion, the banker hurled himself forward. From the bandit burst a cry of futile warning; the pistol in his hand veered toward his a.s.sailant.

This action precipitated the event. Perhaps because the Masquer did not fire instantly, and perhaps because Maillard's mad action shamed them, the nearer members of the drinking party hurled themselves at the bandit. The threat of the weapon was forgotten, unheeded in the sweeping l.u.s.t of the man-hunt. It seemed that the fellow feared to fire; and about him closed the party in a surging ma.s.s, with a burst of sudden shouts, striking and clutching to pull him down and put him under foot.

Then, when it seemed that they had him without a struggle, the Masquer broke from them, swept them apart and threw them off, hurled them clear away. He moved as though to leap through the side doorway whence he had come.

With an oath, Maillard hurled himself forward, struck blindly and furiously at the bandit, and fastened upon him about the waist. There was a surge forward of bodies as the others crowded in to pull down the Masquer before he could escape. It looked then as though he were indeed lost--until the automatic flamed and roared in his hand, its choking fumes bursting at them. The report thundered in the room; a second report thundered, deafeningly, as a second bullet sought its mark.

Like a faint echo to those shots came the slam of a door. The Masquer was gone!

After him, into the farther room, rushed some of the party; but he had vanished utterly. There was no trace of him. Of course, he might have ducked into any of the dark rooms, or have run down the corridor, yet his complete disappearance confused the searchers. After a moment, however, they returned to the lighted room. The Masquer had gone, but behind him had remained a more grim and terrible masquer.

In the room which he had just left, however, there had fallen a dread silence and consternation. One of the masqued drinkers held an arm that hung helpless, dripping blood; but his hurt pa.s.sed unseen and uncared for, even by himself.

Doctor Ansley was kneeling above a motionless figure, p.r.o.ne on the dirty floor; and it was the figure of Joseph Maillard. The physician glanced up, then rose slowly to his feet. He made a terribly significant gesture, and his crisp voice broke in upon the appalled silence.

"Dead," he said, curtly. "Shot twice--each bullet through the heart. Judge Forester, I'm afraid there is no alternative but to call in the police. Gentlemen, you will kindly unmask--which one of you is Robert Maillard?"

Amid a stunned and horrified silence the members of the Krewe one by one removed their grotesque headgear, staring at the dead man whose white face looked up at them with an air of grim accusation. But none of them came forward to claim kinship with the dead man. Bob Maillard was not in the room.

"I think," said the toneless, even voice of Jachin Fell, "that all of you gentlemen had better be very careful to say only what you have seen--and know. You will kindly remain here until I have summoned the police."

He left the room, and if there were any dark implication hidden in his words, no one seemed to observe it.

CHAPTER IX.

On The Bayou.

At three o'clock in the morning a great office building is not the most desolate place on earth, perhaps; but it approaches very closely to that definition.

At three o'clock on the morning of Ash Wednesday the great white Maison Blanche building was deserted and desolate, so far as its offices were concerned. The cleaners and scrub-women had long since finished their tasks and departed. Out in the streets the tag-ends of carnival were running on a swiftly ebbing tide. A single elevator in the building was, however, in use. A single suite of offices, with carefully drawn blinds, was lighted and occupied.

They were not ornate, these offices. They consisted of two rooms, a small reception room and a large private office, both lined to the ceiling with books, chiefly law books. In the large inner room were sitting three men. One of the three, Ben Chacherre, sat in a chair tipped back against the wall, his eyes closed. From time to time he opened those sparkling black eyes of his, and through narrow-slitted lids directed keen glances at the other two men.

One of the men was the chief of police. The second was Jachin Fell, whose offices these were.

"Even if things are as you say, which I don't doubt at all," said the chief, slowly, "I can't believe the boy did it! And darn it all, if I pinch him there's goin' to be a h.e.l.l of a scandal!"

Fell shrugged his shoulders, and made response in his toneless voice: "Chief, you're up against facts. Those facts are bound to come out and the newspapers will nail your hide to the wall in a minute. You've a bare chance to save yourself by taking in young Maillard at once."

The chief chewed hard on his cigar. "I don't want to save myself by putting the wrong man behind the bars," he returned. "It sure looks like he was the Masquer all the while, but you say that he wasn't. You say this was his only job--a joke that turned out bad."

"Those are the facts," said Fell. "I don't want to accuse a man of crimes I know he did not commit. We have the best of evidence that he did commit this crime. If the newspapers fasten the entire Midnight Masquer business on him, as they're sure to do, we can't very well help it. I have no sympathy for the boy."

"Of course he did it," put in Ben Chacherre, sleepily. "Wasn't he caught with the goods?"

The others paid no heed. The chief indicated two early editions of the morning papers, which lay on the desk in front of Fell. These papers carried full accounts of the return of the Midnight Masquer's loot, explaining his robberies as part of a carnival jest.

"The later editions, comin' out now," said the chief, "will crowd all that stuff off the front page with the Maillard murder. Darn it, Fell! Whether I believe it or not, I'll have to arrest the young fool."

Chacherre chuckled. Jachin Fell smiled faintly.

"Nothing could be plainer, chief," he responded. "First, Bob Maillard comes to us in front of the opera house, and talks about a great joke that he's going to spring on his friends across the way----"

"How'd you know who he was?" interjected the chief, shrewdly.

"Gramont recognized him; Ansley and I confirmed the recognition. He was more or less intoxicated--chiefly more. Now, young Maillard was not in the room at the moment of the murder--unless he was the Masquer. Five minutes afterward he was found in a near-by room, hastily changing out of an aviator's uniform into his masquerade costume. Obviously, he had a.s.sumed the guise of the Masquer as a joke on his friends, and the joke had a tragic ending. Further, he was in the aviation service during the war, and so had the uniform ready to hand. You couldn't make anybody believe that he hasn't been the Masquer all the time!"

"Of course," and the chief nodded perplexedly. "It'd be a clear case--only you call me in and say that he wasn't the Masquer! d.a.m.n it, Fell, this thing has my goat!"

"What's Maillard's story?" struck in Ben Chacherre.

"He denies the whole thing," said the worried chief. "According to his story, which sounded straight the way he tells it, he meant to pull off the joke on his friends and was dressing in the Masquer's costume when he heard the shots. He claims that the shots startled him and made him change back. He swears that he had not entered the other room at all, except in his masquerade clothes. He says the murderer must have been the real Masquer. It's likely enough, because all young Maillard's crowd knew about the party that was to be held in that room during the Comus ball----"

"No matter," said Fell, coldly. "Chief, this is an open and shut case; the boy was bound to lie. That he killed his father was an accident, of course, but none the less it did take place."

"The boy's a wreck this minute." The chief held a match to his unlighted cigar. "But you say that he ain't the original Masquer?"

"No!" Fell spoke quickly. "The original Masquer was another person, and had nothing to do with the present case. This information is confidential and between ourselves."

"Oh, of course," a.s.sented the chief. "Well, I suppose I got to pull Maillard, but I hate to do it. I got a hunch that he ain't the right party."

"Virtuous man!" Fell smiled thinly. "According to all the books, the chief of police is only too glad to fasten the crime on anybody----"

"Books be d.a.m.ned!" snorted the chief, and leaned forward earnestly. "Look here, Fell! Do you believe in your heart that Maillard killed his father?"

Fell was silent a moment under that intent scrutiny.