Read Online The Case of the Dead Diplomat by Basil Thomson - Free Book Online Page B

person?” asked Cooper.
    â€œNot one. You can see them if you like.”
    â€œWe will take your word for it, M. Bigot,” replied Richardson.
    â€œWhat do you think of M. Chabrol?”
    â€œWe both thought that he was telling the truth, monsieur, and we were greatly struck with the skill which you showed in questioning him.”
    Bigot purred with satisfaction. “It is the result of long practice combined with a knowledge of human nature. Without that I should be lost. It will be useful to you to have seen how we manage these things in France. I have another witness to interrogate. She ought to be here in a few minutes. I think that you should be present while I question her.”
    â€œWho is the lady?”
    â€œMadame Blanchard—the lady whom the news-papers call Mademoiselle X.”
    He opened the door and crossed the passage to the waiting-room. “This way, madame,” the detectives heard him say with a great show of gallantry. He ushered into the room a young woman of striking beauty—of beauty rendered even more striking by the marks of sorrow in her features.
    â€œTake this seat, madame,” said Bigot, bringing the chair a little nearer to the table. “I want to ask you a few questions in the presence of these gentlemen.”
    The lady glanced at Richardson inquiringly.
    â€œWho are these gentlemen?” she asked.
    â€œPolice officers like myself. You can talk quite openly before them without any fear that what you say will find its way into a newspaper.”
    She seemed relieved and turned to Bigot, who began his examination.
    â€œYour name is Elise Blanchard, the wife of M. Edouard Blanchard, a civil servant at present in Algiers. You are living with your parents at 8 rue Chaptal. How long have you been married?”
    â€œWe married two years ago.”
    â€œAny children?”
    â€œNo, monsieur.”
    â€œThere has been no question between your husband and yourself about a separation?”
    The young woman flushed, but she replied quite calmly, “No, monsieur.”
    â€œHow long have you known Mr. Everett?”
    â€œI met him for the first time about three months ago. He was presented to me by a journalist friend. He made himself very agreeable.”
    â€œAnd you became attached to one another?”
    She flushed again. “We became attached, yes, but our friendship was quite honourable, on his side as well as mine.”
    â€œDid he know that you were married?”
    â€œNot, I think, until about ten days ago, or perhaps it was less. I did wrong in not telling him earlier; I see that now, but you must understand my fear that if I told him he would see me no more. He was not like a Frenchman in those matters, but when he asked me to marry him, of course I had to tell him.”
    â€œThe news of his death was a great shock to you, madame?”
    Her eyes filled with tears and she stifled a sob; not being able to trust her voice she bowed her head in acquiescence. Mastering her voice at last, she asked, “Tell me, monsieur. Is it possible that he killed himself after learning that I was married? The thought of that haunts me day and night.”
    â€œThen let me remove that fear, madame. The doctors are in agreement that he met his death at the hands of an assassin, and that he could not have killed himself.”
    â€œThank God for that, but who could have killed him?”
    â€œI was going to ask you if he had any enemy?”
    A look of terror came into her eyes. “He told me once that he had one enemy—a deputy, who afterwards became a Minister. The quarrel arose out of quite a trifling incident. Shall I tell you?”
    â€œPlease do.”
    â€œYou must know that M. Everett went out to the Place de la Concorde on February 6th, and was present when the Garde Republicaine fired on the demonstrators. He told me that he was only there as a private observer to see all that passed, and he was quite close