THE AGENT OF SAFETY.
The reader already knows the Bleeding Heart in the Champs Elysees, near
the Court de la Reine, in one of the deep ditches which, a few years
since, were close to this promenade. The inhabitants of the Isle du
Ravageur had not yet arrived.
After the departure of Bradamanti, who had, as we know, accompanied
Madame d'Harville's stepmother into Normandy, Tortillard had returned to
his father. Placed as a sentinel at the top of the staircase, the little
cripple was to announce the arrival of the Martials by a certain cry,
Bras-Rouge being at this moment in secret conference with an
_agent-de-surete_ named Narcisse Borel, whom the reader may perchance
remember to have seen at the _tapis-franc_ of the ogress, when he came
there to arrest two miscreants accused of murder.
This agent, a man about forty years of age, was thickset and powerful,
with a high colour, a keen, quick eye, his face entirely shaven, in
order that he might better assume the various disguises necessary for
his dangerous expeditions; for it was frequently necessary for him to
unite the transformations of the actor to the courage and energy of the
soldier, in order to seize on certain ruffians with whom he had to
contend in cunning and determination. Narcisse Borel was, in a word, one
of the most useful and most active instruments of that providence on a
small scale which is modestly and commonly termed the police.
* * * * *
We will return to the conversation between Narcisse Borel and
Bras-Rouge, which appeared to be very animated.
"Yes," said the agent of safety; "you are accused of profiting by your
double-faced position, and of taking with impunity a share in the booty
of a band of most dangerous malefactors, and then giving false
information respecting them to the protective police. Take care,
Bras-Rouge; for if you are detected no mercy will be shown you!"
"Alas! I know I am accused of this; and it is very distressing for me,
my good M. Narcisse," replied Bras-Rouge, whilst his weasel's face
assumed a hypocritical air of vexation. "But I hope that this day will
at last do me justice, and my good faith will be recognised."
"That remains to be proved."
"How can I be distrusted--have I not given proofs? Was it I or was it
not who, at the time, enabled you to apprehend Ambroise Martial, one of
the most dangerous malefactors in Paris, in the very fact?"
"All this is very fine and good; but Ambroise was warned they were going
to arrest him, and if I had not been earlier than the hour you told me
of, he would have escaped."
"Do you think me capable, M. Narcisse, of having secretly told him of
your coming?"
"I only know that I received from the scoundrel a pistol-shot aimed full
at me, but which, fortunately, only grazed my arm."
"Why, to be sure, M. Narcisse, in your profession you must be
occasionally exposed to such mistakes!"
"Ah, you call these mistakes, eh?"
"Certainly; for, no doubt, the wicked fellow intended to lodge the ball
in your body."
"In the arm, body, or head, no matter, I don't complain of that; every
profession has its disagreeables."
"And its pleasures, too, M. Narcisse, and its pleasures. For instance,
when a man as cunning, as skilful, and as courageous as you, has been
for a long time on the track of a gang of villains, whom he follows from
quarter to quarter, from lurking-place to lurking-place, with a good
bloodhound like your poor servant to command, Bras-Rouge, and, finally,
marks them down and comes upon them in a trap from which not one of them
can escape, why, then, you must say, M. Narcisse, that there is great
pleasure in it,--the joy of a sportsman,--not including the service he
renders to justice!" added the host of the Bleeding Heart, with a grave
air.
"I should fully agree with you if the bloodhound were faithful, but I
fear it is not."
"Ah, M. Narcisse, you think--"
"I think that, instead of putting us on the track, you amuse yourself
with setting us on a false scent, and abuse the confidence placed in
you. Every day you promise to aid us to lay hands on the gang, and that
day never arrives."
"What if the day arrives to-day, M. Narcisse, as I am sure it will? What
if I bring together in a parcel Barbillon, Nicholas Martial, the widow,
her daughter, and the Chouette? Will that or will it not be a good sweep
of the net? Will you then mistrust me any longer?"
"No; and you will have rendered a real service; for there are very
strong presumptive facts against this gang,--suspicions almost assured,
but, unfortunately, no proofs."
"So, then, a small fag-end of actual crime, which would allow of their
being apprehended, would help amazingly to unravel the difficult
skein,--eh, M. Narcisse?"
"Most decidedly. And you assure me that there has not been the
slightest incitement on your part towards the _coup_ which they are now
going to attempt?"
"No, on my honour! It is the Chouette, who came to me to propose
inveigling the diamond-matcher here when that infernal hag learned from
my son that Morel, the lapidary, who lives in the Rue du Temple, was a
workman in real stones, and not in false, and that Mother Mathieu had
frequently considerable value about her person, I acceded to the
proposition, and suggested to the Chouette that the Martials and
Barbillon should join her, so that I might be able to put the whole
party into your hands."
"And the Schoolmaster,--that fellow who is so dangerous, so powerful,
and so ferocious, and who was always with the Chouette,--one of the
frequenters of the _tapis-franc_?"
"The Schoolmaster?" said Bras-Rouge, feigning astonishment.
"Yes, a convict escaped from the galleys at Rochefort, Anselm Duresnel
by name, sentenced for life. We know now that he disfigured himself on
purpose, that he might not be recognised. Have you no trace of him?"
"None," replied Bras-Rouge, boldly, for he had his reasons for the lie,
the Schoolmaster being at this very moment shut up in one of the cellars
of the cabaret.
"There is every reason to believe that the Schoolmaster is the author of
fresh murders. He would be an important capture."
"No one knows what has become of him for the last six weeks."
"And that's the reason you are reproached with having lost all trace of
him."
"Always reproaches, M. Narcisse, always!"
"Not for want of ample cause! And how goes on the smuggling?"
"Is it not necessary that I should know something of all kinds of
persons--smugglers as well as others--in order to put you on the scent?
I disclosed to you that pipe to introduce liquids, established outside
the Barriere du Trone, and coming into a house in the street."
"I know that," said Narcisse, interrupting Bras-Rouge; "but for one that
you denounce, you allow ten to escape, and continue your traffic with
impunity. I am sure you eat at two mangers, as the saying is."
"Oh, M. Narcisse, I am incapable of an appetite so dishonest!"
"That is not all: in the Rue du Temple, No. 17, there lives a woman
named Burette, who lends money on deposit, who, they say, is a private
receiver of stolen goods on your account."
"What would you have me do, M. Narcisse? The world is so
slanderous,--says so many wicked things! Once again, I say, it is
necessary for me to mix with as many rogues as possible, that I even
seem one of themselves--so much the worse for them--in order that they
may not have any suspicions; but it cuts me to the heart to imitate
them,--cuts me to the heart. I must, indeed, be devoted to the service,
to give myself up to such a thing as that."
"Poor, dear man! I pity you with all my soul!"
"You are laughing at me, M. Narcisse; but, if that was believed, why has
there not been a search made at Mother Burette's and in my house?"
"You know well enough,--that we might not alarm the ruffians, whom, for
so long a time, you have promised to deliver into our hands."
"And I am now about to deliver them, M. Narcisse; before an hour you
will have them all handcuffed, and that without much trouble, for there
are three women. As to Barbillon and Nicholas Martial, they are as
savage as tigers, but as cowardly as pullets."
"Tigers or pullets," said Narcisse, half opening his long frock coat,
and showing the butts of two pistols in the pockets of his trousers, "I
have wherewithal here for them."
"You will do well to have two of your men with you, M. Narcisse. When
they see themselves caught, the most cowardly sometimes show fight."
"I shall station two of my men in the small parlour at the entrance, by
the side of the room into which you are to introduce the jewel-matcher.
At the first cry, I shall appear at one door, and my two men at the
other."
"You must be speedy, then, for I expect the gang here every moment, M.
Narcisse."
"Very well, I will go at once and place my men, provided that all this
is not another humbug."
The conversation was cut short by the peculiar whistle intended as a
signal. Bras-Rouge looked out of a window to see whom it was that
Tortillard announced.
"Ah, ha! It is the Chouette already. Well, do you believe me now, M.
Narcisse?"
"Why, this looks something like; but it is not all. But we shall see.
And now to station my men."
And the agent of safety disappeared at a side door.