The Tears of Buddha by E. A. Allen

Author:E. A. Allen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction & Literature
Publisher: Histria Books
Published: 2022-06-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Elsie Boudreau

Montclaire remained what I can only call inert for several days, showing almost no interest in the investigation. Notably a man of action, he could at times adopt an oyster-like reserve. Most days, he retreated to his study and there resumed his one enthusiasm outside of crime — the study of the remotest origins of the French language. I began to suspect that he was at a complete impasse and had no choice but to wait for something to happen — something that would provide a springboard for action. That came quickly, in the visit of a beautiful young woman was that springboard, who served to draw Montclaire once more away from his linguistic researches and to the matter of Marie-Claire’s awful murder.

It was a rainy morning in Paris — the sort of day you suppose no callers would come. And yet, just after breakfast, Petrovsky entered the library to announce a visitor.

“A young woman wishes to see you, Monsieur,” he said with a doubtful look. “She says she is a relation of Madame Bernard.”

Montclaire’s eyebrows raised a little, as he gave me a questioning glance.

“By all means, Petrovsky. Show the young lady in.”

In almost the next instant there appeared at our door an extraordinarily handsome woman, tall and willowy with long black hair, finely made features, and a dress that emphasized her exceptional figure. She smiled faintly, as she extended her hand, first to Montclaire and then to me.

“I am Elsie Boudreau, Monsieur. Marie-Claire Bernard was not only my cousin but also my good friend,” she said, with a tearful voice. “I have learned from my uncle — Marie-Claire’s father — that you are investigating her….”

She paused to gather her courage to say the word.

“--- her murder. Of course, I wish to do all I can to help and so I’ve come to tell you one thing that might assist you.”

“And what is that one thing, Mademoiselle?” Montclaire asked, at the same time gesturing to offer her a seat.

“I am not sure I can be precise,” she said, taking a chair, “but it seemed to me that something was troubling Marie-Claire in the week or so before her death. She did not say so at first, but I could tell by her demeanor. She was usually so happy and outgoing, but of late she was troubled by something.”

“And?” Montclaire encouraged.

“And so, I finally asked her what it was that so obviously troubled her. At first, she did not wish to confide it to me, but then she decided to unburden. Even then, however, she was not specific.”

“How do you mean?”

“She would only say that she was troubled by ‘a friend.’ That something had strained her relations with a good friend. Well, that’s just the sort of thing that would dampen the spirits, and so I was sympathetic, but I did not press Marie-Claire to tell me more. I assumed things would resolve themselves in the long run and so I did not think much more of it. Until that is.

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