Sick at heart Gerald Burton turned away--not, however, before he had explained gravely that his wish in coming to the Morgue was not to gratify idle curiosity, but to seek a friend whose disappearance since the morning before was causing acute anxiety.
The man looked at him doubtfully--somehow this young gentleman did not look as people generally look who come to the Morgue on serious business. The janitor was only too familiar with the signs--the air of excitement, of dejection, of suspense, the reddened eyelids.... But, "In that case I am sure to see monsieur again within a few minutes," he said politely.
Nancy had stepped down from the carriage. "Well?" she said anxiously. "Well, won't he let you in?"
"We shall have to get an order. The office is only just over there, opposite Notre Dame. Shall we dismiss the cab?"
"Yes," she said. "I would far rather walk across." Still followed by a troop of ragged idlers, they hastened across the great space in front of Notre Dame and so to the office of the Morgue.
At first the tired official whose not always easy duty it is to discriminate between the morbid sightseer and the anxious relative or friend, did not believe the American's story. He, too, evidently thought that Gerald and the latter's charming, daintily dressed companion were simply desirous of seeing every sight, however horrible, that Paris has to offer. But when he heard the name "Dampier," his manner suddenly changed. There came over his face a sincere look of pity and concern.
"You made enquiries concerning this gentleman yesterday?" he observed, and Gerald Burton, rather surprised, though after all he need not have been, assented. Then the Commissary of Police had been to some trouble for him after all? He, Gerald, had done the man an injustice.
"We have had five bodies already brought in this morning," said the clerk thoughtfully. "But I'm sure that none of them answers to the description we have had of madame's husband. Let me see--Monsieur Dampier is aged thirty-four--he is tall, dressed in a grey suit, or possibly a brown suit of clothes, with a shock of fair hair?"
And again Gerald Burton was surprised how well the man remembered.
The other went into another room and came back with a number of grey cards in his hand. He began to mumble over the descriptions, and suddenly Gerald stopped him.
"That might be the person we are looking for!" he exclaimed. "I mean the description you've just read out--that of the Englishman?"
"Oh no, monsieur! I assure you that the body here described is that of a quite young man." And as the American looked at him doubtfully, he added, "But still, if you wish to make absolutely sure I will make out a permit; and madame can stay here while you go across to the Morgue." Again he looked pityingly at Mrs. Dampier.
Nancy shook her head. "Tell him I mean to go too," she said quietly.
The man looked at her with an odd expression. "I should not myself care to take my wife or my sister to the Morgue, monsieur. Believe me her husband is not there. Do try and dissuade the poor lady." As he spoke he averted his eyes from Nancy's flushed face.
Gerald Burton hesitated: it was really kind of this good fellow to feel so much for a stranger's distress.
"Won't you stay here and let me go alone to that place? I think you can trust me. You see there is only one body there which in any way answers to the description."
"Yes, I quite understand that, but I'd rather go too." Her lips quivered. "You see you've never seen Jack, Mr. Burton."
"I'm afraid this lady is quite determined to go too," said the young American in a low voice; and without making any further objection, the Frenchman filled in a form and silently handed it to Gerald Burton.
And then something happened which was perhaps more untoward and strange than Gerald realised.
He and Mrs. Dampier were already well started across the great sunny space in front of Notre Dame, when suddenly he felt himself tapped on the shoulder by the man from whom they had just parted.
"Monsieur, monsieur!" said the French official breathlessly, "I forgot a most important point. Visitors to the Morgue are not allowed to see all the bodies exposed in our mortuary. When the place was closed to the public we went from one extreme to the other. The man whose description you think approximates to that of the gentleman you are looking for is Number 4. Tell the guardian to show you Number 4."
Then he turned on his heel, without awaiting the other's thanks; and as he walked away, the Frenchman said aloud, not once but many times, "Pauvre petite dame!" And then again and again, "Paume petite dame!"
But his conscience was clear. He had done his very best to prevent that obstinate young American subjecting the "poor little lady" to the horrible ordeal she was about to go through. Once more he spoke aloud--"They have no imagination--none at all--these Yankees!" he muttered, shrugging his shoulders.
Chapter VI
The janitor of the Morgue, remembering Gerald Burton's five-franc piece, and perchance looking forward to another rond, was wreathed in smiles.
Eagerly he welcomed the two strangers into the passage, and carefully he closed the great doors behind them.
"A little minute," he said, smiling happily. "Only one little minute! The trifling formality of showing your permit to the gentleman in the office must be gone through, and then I myself will show monsieur and madame everything there is to be seen."
"We do not wish to see everything," said Gerald Burton sharply. "We simply wish to see--" he hesitated--"body Number 4--" he lowered his voice, but Nancy understood enough French to know what it was that he said.
With a blind, instinctive gesture she put out her hand, and Gerald Burton grasped it firmly, and for the first time a look of pity and of sympathy came across the janitor's face.
Tiens! tiens! Then it was true after all? These young people (he now took them for a brother and sister) were here on business, not, as he had supposed, on pleasure.
"Come in and wait here," he said gravely. "This is the doctors' room, but madame can sit here for a moment while the formalities are gone through."
He flung open a door, and showed them into a curious, old-fashioned looking sitting-room, strangely unlike the waiting-room which would have been found attached, say, to an American or British mortuary.
An ornate writing-table filled up one corner of the room, and, opposite the two windows, covering the whole of the blank wall, was a narrow glass case running from floor to ceiling.
From this case young Burton quickly averted his eyes, for it was filled with wax models of heads which might have been modelled from the denizens of Dante's Inferno.
"I'm afraid I must now leave you for a moment," he said gently; "sit over here, Mrs. Dampier, and look out on the river."
And Nancy obeyed with dull submission. She gazed on the bright, moving panorama before her, aware, in a misty, indifferent way, that the view was beautiful, that Jack would have thought it so.
This bend of the Seine is always laden with queer, picturesque craft, and just below the window by which she sat was moored a flat-bottomed barge which evidently served as dwelling place for a very happy little family. One end of the barge had been turned into a kind of garden, there was even a vine-covered arbour, under which two tiny children were now playing some absorbing game.
And this glimpse of ordinary normal life gradually brought a feeling of peace, almost of comfort, to Nancy's sore heart. She