The Studied Financier (17)

 17

“I mean to say,” I interrupted excitedly, “that it was not Nuaban Nuavy who was seen entering this suite. I say that it was another man, perhaps a several inches shorter, who came here in Nuavy’s clothes and let himself in with Nuavy’s latchkey. Oh, he was a bold, cunning devil. He had on Nuavy’s boots, and every stitch of Nuavy’s clothing down to the skin. He had rubber gloves on his hands which he never took off, and he did everything he could to make us think that Nuavy slept here. He took his chances and won. He walked into his room, undressed, and he even brushed his teeth, though he didn’t use the hairbrush for fear of leaving red hairs in it. He had to guess what Nuavy did with boots and clothes. He happened to get one guess wrong and the other right. The bed needed to look as if it had been slept in, so he got into it, and lies there—probably in the victim’s pajamas. Then, in the morning sometime, probably in the deadest hour between 02:00 and 03:00, he gets up, dresses himself in his own clothes that he brought with him, and creeps downstairs. If anybody wakes, he is lost, but he is a bold man. He takes his chance. He knows that people do not wake as a rule—and as he expects, they don’t wake. He opens the door—he listens for the stray passer-by. He slips out. He pulls the door quietly shut. He walks briskly away in rubber-soled shoes—he’s the kind of criminal who isn’t complete without rubber-soled shoes.”

I paused for a moment then added, “He did all that, and he had everything at stake. Either Nuaban Nuavy has been spirited away for some silly practical joke, or the man with the auburn hair has the guilt of murder upon his soul.”

“Dear me!” ejaculated the gendarme. “You’re very dramatic about it.”

I ran my fingers through my hair distractedly. The personal assistant looked horribly disturbed.

“But what happened to Mr. Nuavy?” he asked, his voice cracking. 

“Well, he was spirited away—which seems to be such a joke because I don’t believe he’d hurt a fly himself. I’m sorry, but I don’t have all the answers, yet. It could be he is just being held captive somewhere.” That helped the man regain some of his hope. “Thank you for your time. I’ve finished what I needed to do here,” I said.

“Yeah, I got everything I was supposed to get and then some,” the gendarme confirmed. 

“We’ll let ourselves out. Thank you for helping us.”

The personal assistant gave a grim smile and went to do continue his work. I had little hope of finding Nuavy alive—people who kidnap others generally want to be found so they can get a ransom—but I hoped I was wrong for the servants’ sake.