Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1907-10-03
CHAPTER XVI.

More than a week had elapsed since
the departure of NJ Cassagne, during
which time his assistant in Paris, Charles
D'Auburon, had received no word of him.
One morning, however, he got laconic
message over the wire: Rue de Prov
ence, p. m. Tuesday," by which he
rightly sur1nised that his chief would
meet him at his lodgings at the hour
named. Almost on the stroke of the
clock, D'Auburon heard the detective
climbing the stairs leading to his apart
ments.
He is pretty tired" cogitated the
young Frenchman. He comes slowly"
He was right. Alfred Cassagne had no
sooner entered the room than he flung
himself heavily into a chair. His face
wore an expression of anxiety. His dress
was disorlered. He seemed dreadfully
fatigued and dispirited. D'Auburon
fastened to relieve him of his hat and
light overcoat, and to take the hot wig
from his head.
You look worn out, old fellow" he
exclaimed. Pull off your boots and
coat, and make yourself comfortable"
Thus invited, Alfred Cassagne Invested
himself of these articles of apparel, re-
marking as be pulled off his boots:
Il haven't had these off for the last
forty-eight hours-and they were too
tight for me anyhow.
Anything gone wrong?"
ITO be brief, all our work of the past
two weeks has to be done over again"
"What?" exclaimed D'Auburon. DO
you mean to say we are on the wrong
track?"
Il will tell you right .now,' replied
NJ. Cassagne. 1T is a peculiar story. l
soon settled the question as to where
Graham was"
You have found him, then? and it is
not he who committed the crime? All,
that is bad. Our theory at once falls to
the ground"
Not so fast Don't anticipate me.
However, l may tell you that Henry Ora
ham had no more to do with the murder
of Madame Roupell than you or l had"
1T is very extraordinary"
Not extraordinary at all. But let me
begin at the beginning. l left Paris hav-
ing in my possession certain facts upon
which I knew I could thoroughly rely.
One of them was that Graham had gone
to Belliers, taking his little son with
him. another that he had been in CORE
spondence with a woman there whose first
| name was Helene, and whom l firmly be-
lieved to be the mother of the child
Yes, recollect all that; go on, pray !;
| what next?"
arrived at Belliers, / instituted every
| possible inquiry as to whether such per-
| sons as Graham and his son were known
or had ever been known there. This
search occupied the greater portion of my
| time l was about to despair when l
| stumbled across an old priest who told me
that he had known the man | was in
search of.
Are you a friend OF his?' asked the
priest. 1 am l replied. Then YOU
| will be shocked when you hear what hap
| pened to him. Come with me, and l will
| tell you his story l followed the priest,
| expecting to hear that he was the inmate
of some charitable institution, or having
| lost his reason was confined in some pri-
! vate asylum. He led the way to his
| church, and there in the little burying
! ground he pointed me out grave. At it's
| head was stone on which | read:
"'HENRY GRAHAM,
Aged 60 years."
"What.' exclaimed D'Auburon. aston
ished beyond measure. WAS it our Hen
| ry Graham? 1t can't be possible
There is not the slightest doubt about
| it. When l saw that tombstone, you can
| imagine how l felt after all the time
and trouble I had given this case 1t
was as if the bottom had dropped out of
everything. The priest saw, no doubt,
that l was strangely affected. He attrib-
uted my agitation to grief.
Tell me something about my poor
old friend 1 said. L have heard that
he was in very bad circumstances. Did
he die poor?'
Very replied the priest. But he
was cared for by mother church. That
stone was erected by his son. All! he
| was sad scamp, a willful fellow who
| gave his poor father no end of trouble.
| But that was the old mans fault, partly.
| He did not somehow care to have the boy
with him. He lived up on the hill, him
| self, for years, in very good style-he
| had money from somewhere, though l
| don't know where he got it. But the
| child, he didn't seem to be bothered about
him.
bluu the Clllu i've WIN uIIu
| inquired-not that | cared to know but
l wanted to keep the old man talking.
1 thought he might possibly drop some
| thing worth having.
| No. he went on-he was a garrulous
| old fellow. No, he didn't seem to care
to have the child with him. Until he
was quite a big boy he remained in the
| care of young couple in the village The
woman, l think, grew to be quite fond
| of him. But he was an unruly little ras-
| call"
"All this is very serious. The result
| is that we are no further than when we
started. What do you propose to do
now? You're not going to give it up,
are you?"
Give it up. 1 wonder at your asking
| such a question. Certainly l shall not
| give it up
| Now tell me-" said the younger man.
what you propose doing? l am impa-
| tent to know"
VI. Cassagne did not Immediately reply.
| He closed his eyes like one who thinks
| deeply. At last he said:
Il have mapped out a plan of action.
| And we must either carry it out on that
ilucY VI dUdAuOu IL dIicSclHcl. VIC nav
| adopted from the start the theory that
| this crime was not committed for the
| purpose of robbery, but in the interest
| of some person who in some way would
| profit, either directly or indirectly, by
the death of Madame Roupell. If we
| abandon that theory we have no other to
work on. After the most careful exam
nation of all the facts and circumstances,
l fail to account for the murder upon
any other hypothesis. Henry Graham
| being dead disproves that theory so far as
he is concerned; but so far only.
Admitted: but whom have You to take
his place? You must substitute someone.
or your theory falls to the ground re-
marked D'Auburon.
Not necessarily replied the detec-
| tive. I'VE may substitute an entirely IN
known person and call him y.
Yes, that's all very we'll; but how to
| find him is the question"
ITO which 7 certainly give YOU an