The San Juan islander. [volume] (Friday Harbor, Wash.) 1898-1914, 1908-01-04
CHAPTER XVI.


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 surmised 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 he pulled off his boots:
II 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. ct is 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 I had"
ut 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 | knew / 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 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 ! was about to despair when l
| stumbled across an old priest who told me
| that he had known the man l was in
search of.
| "'Are you friend of hisY asked the
| priest. L am replied. Then you
will be shocked when you hear what hap
tell you his story 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 its
head was stone on which read:
| "'HENRY GRAHAM,
| Aged 60 years."
| 'Whatw exclaimed D'Auburon, aston
ished beyond measure. WAS 1t our Hen
~ Graham? 1t can't be possible r
There is not the slightest doubt about
it. When / saw that tombstone, you can
imagine how felt after all the time
and trouble had given this case. 1t
was as If the bottom had dropped out OF
everything. The priest saw, no doubt,
that was strangely affected. He attrib-
uted my agitation to grief.
Tell me something about my poor
old friend I said. I have heard that
he was in very bad circumstances. Did
he die poorr
VERY replied the priest. But he
was cared for By mother church. That
stone was erected BY his ron. Ali he
was I sd scamp, willful fellow, who
gave his poor father no end Of trouble.
But that was the old man's fault, partly.
BE did not somehow carr to have ths boy