Following the directions, which I had taken from the hotel-porter, I
kept down Saint Charles Street, and crossing the Canal, I entered the
Rue Royale into the French _quarter_ or "municipality."
I was informed that by keeping along the Rue Royale for a half-mile or
so, I should find the Rue Dauphin leading out of it; and I had,
therefore, nothing more to do than to walk directly onward, and look out
for the names upon the corners of the streets.
Though it was daylight, the lamps were still faintly glimmering, their
nightly allowance of oil not being quite exhausted. The shops and
warehouses were yet closed; though here and there might be seen a
cabaret or cafe, that had opened its trap-like doors to catch the early
birds--small traders on their way to the great vegetable market--
cotton-rollers in sky-blue linen inexpressibles, with their shining
steel hooks laid jauntily along their hips; now and then a citizen--
clerk or shopkeeper--hurrying along to his place of business. Only
those of very early habits were abroad.
I had proceeded down the Rue Royale about a quarter of a mile, and was
beginning to look out for the lettering on the corners of the cross
streets, when my attention was drawn to an individual coming in the
opposite direction. Though he was still at a considerable distance, and
we were on different sides of the street, I fancied I recognised him.
Each moment brought us nearer to one another; and as I had kept my eyes
upon him from the first, I at length became satisfied of the identity of
Monsieur Jacques Despard.
"A fortunate encounter," thought I. "It will save me the trouble of
searching for Number 9, Rue Dauphin."
The dress was different: it was a blue coat instead of a claret, and the
ruffles were less conspicuously displayed; but the size, shape, and
countenance were the same--as also the hair, moustache, and complexion.
It must be my man.
Crossing diagonally, I placed myself on the banquette to await the
gentleman's approach. My position would have hindered him from passing;
and the next moment he halted, and we stood face to face.
"_Bon jour, Monsieur_!" I began.
He made no answer, but stood with his eyes staring widely upon me, in
which the expression was simply that of innocent surprise.
"Well counterfeited," thought I.
"You are early abroad," I continued. "May I ask Monsieur, what business
has brought him into the streets at such an hour of the morning?"
The thought had struck me that he might be on his way to the Saint
Charles, to make some inquiry; and I recalled my conjecture about his
having mislaid Casey's card.
"What business, Monsieur, but that of my profession?" and as he made
this reply, his dark eye flashed with a kindling indignation--which, of
course, I regarded as counterfeit.
"Oh!" said I, in a sneering tone, "it appears that you pursue your
profession at all hours. I thought the night was your favourite time.
I should have fancied that at this hour you would scarcely have found
victims."
"Fool! Who are you? What are you talking of? What means this
rudeness?"
"Pooh--pooh! Monsieur Despard; you are not going to get off in that
way. Your memory appears short. Perhaps this card will refresh it; or
do you repudiate that also?"
"Card!--what card?"
"Look there!--perhaps you will deny having given it?"
"I know nothing of it, Monsieur; but you shall have _my card_; and for
this insult I demand yours in return."
"It seems idle to make the exchange, after what has already passed."
Curiosity, however, prompted me. I was desirous of ascertaining whether
his first address had been a false one, as Casey had suggested. Hastily
scratching the address of the hotel, I handed him my card, taking his in
return. To my astonishment I read:--
"_Luis De Hauteroche_,
_16, Rue Royale_."
I should have been puzzled, but the solution was evident. The fellow
was no doubt well provided with cards--kept a varied "pack" of them, and
this was only another sham one.
I was determined, however, that I should not lose sight of him till I
had fairly "treed" him.
"Is this your _real_ address?" I inquired, with an incredulous
expression.
"_Peste! Monsieur_, do you still continue your insults? But you shall
give me full satisfaction. It is my professional address. See for
yourself."
And as he said this he pointed to the door of a house, only a few yards
from the spot where we were standing.
Among other names painted upon the panel I read:
"_Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche_,
_Avocat_."
"I can be found here at all hours," said he, passing me and stepping
inside the doorway. "But you will not need to seek me, Monsieur. I
promise it, my friend shall call upon you without delay."