I acquiesced in all these arrangements, but I was feeling decidedly blue when I started back to the office. Vantine's collection had always seemed to me somehow a part of himself; more especially a part of the house in which it had been a.s.sembled. It would lose much of its beauty and significance ticketed and arranged stiffly along the walls of the museum, and the thought came to me that it would be a splendid thing for New York if this old house and its contents could be kept intact as an object lesson to the nervous and hurrying younger generation of the easier and more finished manner of life of the older one; something after the fashion that the beautiful old Plantin-Moretus mansion at Antwerp is a rebuke to those present-day publishers who reckon literature a commodity, along with soap and cheese.

That, of course, it would be impossible to do; the last barrier to the commercial invasion of the Avenue would be removed; that heroic rear-guard of the old order of things would be destroyed; in a year or two, a monster of steel and stone would rise on the spot where three generations of Vantines had lived their lives; and the collection, so unified and coherent, to which the last Vantine had devoted his life, would be merged and lost in the vast collections of the museum. It was a sad ending.

"Gentleman to see you, sir," said the office-boy, as I sat down at my desk, and a moment later, M. Felix Armand was shown in to me.

I have only to close my eyes to call again before me that striking personality, for Felix Armand was one of the most extraordinary men I ever had the pleasure of meeting. Ruddy-faced, bright-eyed, with dark full beard and waving hair almost jet black--hair that crinkled about his ears in a way that I can describe by no other word than fascinating--he gave the impression of tremendous strength and virility. There was about him, too, an air of culture not to be mistaken; the air of a man who had travelled much, seen much, and mixed with many people, high and low; the air of a man at home anywhere, in any society. It is impossible for me, by mere words, to convey any adequate idea of his vivid personality; but I confess that, from the first moment, I was both impressed and charmed by him.

And I am still impressed; more, perhaps, than at first, now that I know the whole story--but you shall hear.

"I speak English very badly, sir," he said, as he sat down. "If you speak French...."

"Not half so well as you speak English," I laughed. "I can tell that from your first sentence."

"In that event, I will do the best that I can," he said, smiling, "and you must pardon my blunders. First, Mr. Lester, on behalf of Armand et Fils, I must ask your pardon for this mistake, so inexcusable."

"It _was_ a mistake, then?" I asked.

"One most embarra.s.sing to us. We can not find for it an explanation.

Believe me, Mr. Lester, it is not our habit to make mistakes; we have a reputation of which we are very proud; but the cabinet which was purchased by Mr. Vantine remained in our warehouse, and this other one was boxed and shipped to him. We are investigating most rigidly."

"Then Mr. Vantine's cabinet is still in Paris?"

"No, Mr. Lester; the error was discovered some days ago and the cabinet belonging to Mr. Vantine was shipped to me here. It should arrive next Wednesday on _La Provence_. I shall myself receive it, and deliver it to Mr. Vantine."

"Mr. Vantine is dead," I said. "You did not know?"

He sat staring at me for a moment, as though unable to comprehend.

"Did I understand that you said Mr. Vantine is dead?" he stammered.

I told him briefly as much as I knew of the tragedy, while he sat regarding me with an air of stupefaction.

"It is curious you saw nothing of it in the papers," I added. "They were full of it."

"I have been visiting friends at Quebec," he explained, "It was there that the message from our house found me, commanding me to hasten here. I started at once, and reached this city Sat.u.r.day. I drove here directly from the station, but was so unfortunate as to miss you."

"I am sorry to have caused you so much trouble," I said.

"But, my dear Mr. Lester," he protested, "it is for us to take trouble. A blunder of this sort we feel as a disgrace. My father, who is of the old school, is most upset concerning it. But this death of Mr. Vantine--it is a great blow to me. I have met him many times. He was a real connoisseur--we have lost one of our most valued patrons.

You say that he was found dead in a room at his house?"

"Yes, and death resulted from a small wound on the hand, into which some very powerful poison had been injected."

"That is most curious. In what manner was such a wound made?"

"That we don't know. I had a theory...."

"Yes?" he questioned, his eyes gleaming with interest.

"A few hours previously, another man had been found in the same room, killed in the same way."

"Another man?"

"A stranger who had called to see Mr. Vantine. My theory was that both this stranger and Mr. Vantine had been killed while trying to open a secret drawer in the Boule cabinet. Do you know anything of the history of that cabinet, Monsieur Armand?"

"We believe it to have been made for Madame de Montespan by Monsieur Boule himself," he answered. "It is the original of one now in the Louvre which is known to have belonged to the Grand Louis."

"That was Mr. Vantine's belief," I said. "Why he should have arrived at that conclusion, I don't know--"

"Mr. Vantine was a connoisseur," said M. Armand, quietly. "There are certain indications which no connoisseur could mistake."

"It was his guess at the history of the cabinet," I explained, "which gave me the basis for my theory. A cabinet belonging to Madame de Montespan would, of course, have a secret drawer; and, since it was made in the days of de Brinvilliers and La Voisin, what more natural than that it should be guarded by a poisoned mechanism?"

"What more natural, indeed!" breathed my companion, and I fancied that he looked at me with a new interest in his eyes. "It is good reasoning, Mr. Lester."

"It seemed to explain a situation for which no other explanation has been found," I said. "And it had also the merit of picturesqueness."

"It is unique," he agreed eagerly, his eyes burning like two coals of fire, so intense was his interest. "I have been from boyhood," he added, noticing my glance, "a lover of tales of mystery. They have for me a fascination I cannot explain; there is in my blood something that responds to them. I feel sometimes that I would have made a great detective--or a great criminal. Instead of which, I am merely a dealer in curios. You can understand how I am fascinated by a story so outre as this."

"Perhaps you can a.s.sist us," I suggested, "for that theory of mine has been completely disproved."

"Disproved? In what way?" he demanded.

"The secret drawer has been found...."

"_Comment?_" he cried, his voice sharp with surprise. "Found? The secret drawer has been found?"

"Yes, and there was no poisoned mechanism guarding it."

He breathed deeply for an instant; then he pulled himself together with a little laugh.

"Really," he said, "I must not indulge myself in this way. It is a kind of intoxication. But you say that the drawer was found and that there was no poison? Was the drawer empty?"

"No, there was a packet of letters in it."

"Delicious! Love letters, of a certainty! _Billets-doux_ from the great Louis to the Montespan, perhaps?"

"No, unfortunately they were of a much more recent date. They have been restored to their owner. I hope that you agree with me that that was the right thing to do?"

He sat for a moment regarding me narrowly, and I had an uneasy feeling that, since he undoubtedly knew of whom the cabinet had been purchased, he was reconstructing the story more completely than I would have wished him to do.

"Since the letters have been returned," he said, at last, a little drily, "it is useless to discuss the matter. But no doubt I should approve if all the circ.u.mstances were known to me. Especially if it was to a.s.sist a lady."

"It was," I said, and I saw from his face that he understood.

"Then you did well," he said. "Has no other explanation been found for the death of Mr. Vantine and of this stranger?"

"I think not. The coroner will hold his inquest to-morrow. He has deferred it in the hope that some new evidence would be discovered."

"And none has been discovered?"