proceed from the same cause.”
Two days later, the following foreign news item was received and published:
“It is said that the plans of the new sub-marine `Seven-of-Hearts’ were prepared by French engineers, who, having sought, in vain, the support of their compatriots, subsequently entered into negotiations with the British Admiralty, without success.”
I do not wish to give undue publicity to certain delicate matters which once provoked considerable excitement. Yet, since all danger of injury therefrom has now come to an end, I must speak of the article that appeared in the `Echo de France,’ which aroused so much comment at that time, and which threw considerable light upon the mystery of the Seven-of-Hearts. This is the article as it was published over the signature of Salvator:
“THE AFFAIR OF THE SEVEN-OF-HEARTS.
“A CORNER OF THE VEIL RAISED.
“We will be brief. Ten years ago, a young mining engineer, Louis Lacombe, wishing to devote his time and fortune to certain studies, resigned his position he then held, and rented number 102 boulevard Maillot, a small house that had been recently built and decorated for an Italian count. Through the agency of the Varin brothers of Lausanne, one of whom assisted in the preliminary experiments and the other acted as financial agent, the young engineer was introduced to Georges Andermatt, the founder of the Metal Exchange.
“After several interviews, he succeeded in interesting the banker in a sub-marine boat on which he was working, and it was agreed that as soon as the invention was perfected, Mon. Andermatt would use his influence with the Minister of Marine to obtain a series of trials under the direction of the government. For two years, Louis Lacombe was a frequent visitor at Andermatt’s house, and he submitted to the banker the various improvements he made upon his original plans, until one day, being satisfied with the perfection of his work, he asked Mon. Andermatt to communicate with the Minister of Marine. That day, Louis Lacombe dined at Mon. Andermatt’s house. He left there about half-past eleven at night. He has not been seen since.
“A perusal of the newspapers of that date will show that the young man’s family caused every possible inquiry to be made, but without success; and it was the general opinion that Louis Lacombe—who was known as an original and visionary youth—had quietly left for parts unknown.
“Let us accept that theory—improbable, though it be,—and let us consider another question, which is a most important one for our country: What has become of the plans of the sub-marine? Did Louis Lacombe carry them away? Are they destroyed?
“After making a thorough investigation, we are able to assert, positively, that the plans are in existence, and are now in the possession of the two brothers Varin. How did they acquire such a possession? That is a question not yet determined; nor do we know why they have not tried to sell them at an earlier date. Did they fear that their title to them would be called in question? If so, they have lost that fear, and we can announce definitely, that the plans of Louis Lacombe are now the property of foreign power, and we are in a position to publish the correspondence that passed between the Varin brothers and the representative of that power. The `Seven-of-Hearts’ invented by Louis Lacombe has been actually constructed by our neighbor.
“Will the invention fulfill the optimistic expectations of those who were concerned in that treacherous act?”
And a post-script adds: “Later.—Our special correspondent informs us that the preliminary trial of the `Seven-of-Hearts’ has not been satisfactory. It is quite likely that the plans sold and delivered by the Varin brothers did not include the final document carried by Louis Lacombe to Mon. Andermatt on the day of his disappearance, a document that was indispensable to a thorough understanding of theinvention. It contained a summary of the final conclusions of the inventor, and estimates and figures not contained in the other papers. Without this document, the plans are incomplete; on the other hand, without the plans, the document is worthless.
“Now is the time to act and recover what belongs to us. It may be a difficult matter, but we rely upon the assistance of Mon. Andermatt. It will be to his interest to explain his conduct which has hitherto been so strange and inscrutable. He will explain not only why he concealed these facts at the time of the suicide of Etienne Varin, but also why he has never revealed the disappearance of the paper—a fact well known to him. He will tell why, during the last six years, he paid spies to watch the movements of the Varin brothers. We expect from him, not only words, but acts. And at once. Otherwise—”
The threat was plainly expressed. But of what did it consist? What whip was Salvator, the anonymous writer of the article, holding over the head of Mon. Andermatt?
An army of reporters attacked the banker, and ten interviewers announced the scornful manner in which they were treated. Thereupon, the `Echo de France’ announced its position in these words:
“Whether Mon. Andermatt is willing or not, he will be, henceforth, our collaborator in the work we have undertaken.”
* * * *
Daspry and I were dining together on the day on which that announcement appeared. That evening, with the newspapers spread over my table, we discussed the affair and examined it from every point of view with that exasperation that a person feels when walking in the dark and finding himself constantly falling over the same obstacles. Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, the door opened and a lady entered. Her face was hidden behind a thick veil. I rose at once and approached her.
“Is it you, monsieur, who lives here?” she asked.
“Yes, madame, but I do not understand—”
“The gate was not locked,” she explained.
“But the vestibule door?”
She did not reply, and it occurred to me that she had used the servants’ entrance. How did she know the way? Then there was a silence that was quite embarrassing. She looked at Daspry, and I was obliged to introduce him. I asked her to be seated and explain the object of her visit. She raised her veil, and I saw that she was a brunette with regular features and, though not handsome, she was attractive—principally, on account of her sad, dark eyes.
“I am Madame Andermatt,” she said.
“Madame Andermatt!” I repeated, with astonishment.
After a brief pause, she continued with a voice and manner that were quite easy and natural:
“I have come to see you about that affair—you know. I thought I might be able to obtain some information—”
“Mon Dieu, madame, I know nothing but what has already appeared in the papers. But if you will point out in what way I can help you.…”
“I do not know.… I do not know.”
Not until then did I suspect that her calm demeanor was assumed, and that some poignant grief was concealed beneath that air of tranquility. For a moment, we were silent and embarrassed. Then Daspry stepped forward, and said:
“Will you permit me to ask you a few questions?”
“Yes, yes,” she cried. “I will answer.”
“You will answer…whatever those questions may be?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know Louis Lacombe?” he asked.
“Yes, through my husband.”
“When did you see him for the last time?”
“The evening he dined with us.”
“At that time, was there anything to lead you to believe that you would never see him again?”
“No. But he had spoken of a trip to Russia—in a vague way.”
“Then you expected to see him again?”
“Yes. He was to dine with us, two days later.”
“How do you explain his disappearance?”
“I