This story, which ends in New York, begins in the Department of the
Gironde at the town of Monségur, seventy-five kilometers from Bordeaux,
in the little vineyard of Monsieur Emile Lapierre--"landowner." In 1901
Lapierre was a happy and contented man, making a good living out of his
modest farm. To-day he is--well, if you understand the language of the
Gironde, he will tell you with a shrug of his broad shoulders that he
might have been a Monte Cristo had not _le bon Dieu_ willed it
otherwise. For did he not almost have five hundred million dollars--two
and a half _milliards_ of francs--in his very hands? _Hein_? But he did!
Does M'sieu' have doubts? Nevertheless it is all true. _C'est trop
vrai_! Is M'sieu' tired? And would he care to hear the story? There is a
comfortable chair _sous le grand arbre_ in front of the veranda, and
Madame will give M'sieu' a glass of wine from the presses, across the
road. Yes, it _is_ good wine, but there is little profit in it, when one
thinks in _milliards_.
The landowner lights his pipe and seats himself cross-legged against the
trunk of the big chestnut. Back of the house the vineyard slopes away
toward the distant woods in straight, green, trellised alleys. A dim
haze hangs over the landscape sleeping so quietly in the midsummer
afternoon. Down the road comes heavily, creaking and swaying, a wain
loaded with a huge tower of empty casks and drawn by two oxen, their
heads swinging to the dust. Yes, it is hard to _comprendre_ twenty-five
hundred million francs.
It was this way. Madame Lapierre was a Tessier of Bordeaux--an ancient
_bourgeois_ family, and very proud indeed of being _bourgeois_. You can
see her passing and repassing the window if you watch carefully the
kitchen, where she is superintending dinner. The Tessiers have always
lived in Bordeaux and they are connected by marriage with
everybody--from the blacksmith up to the Mayor's notary. Once a Tessier
was Mayor himself. Years and years ago Madame's great-uncle Jean had
emigrated to America, and from time to time vague rumors of the wealth
he had achieved in the new country reached the ears of his
relatives--but no direct word ever came.
Then one hot day--like this--appeared M. le Général. He came walking
down the road in the dust from the _gare_, in his tall silk hat and
frock coat and gold-headed cane, and stopped before the house to ask if
one of the descendants of a certain Jean Tessier did not live
hereabouts. He was fat and red-faced, and he perspired, but--_Dieu_!--he
was _distingué_, and he had an order in his buttonhole. Madame Lapierre,
who came out to answer his question, knew at once that he was an
aristocrat.
Ah! was she herself the grandniece of Jean Tessier? Then, Heaven be
thanked! the General's toilsome journey was ended. He had much to tell
them--when he should be rested. He removed the silk hat and mopped his
shining forehead. He must introduce himself that he might have credit
with Madame, else she might hardly listen to his story, for there had
never been a tale like it before since the world was. Let him present
himself--M. le Général Pedro Suarez de Moreno, Count de Tinoco and
Marquis de la d'Essa. Although one was fatigued it refreshed one to be
the bearer of good news, and such was his mission. Let Madame prepare
herself to hear. Yes, it would be proper for her to call M'sieu', her
husband, that he might participate.
Over a draft of this same vintage M. le Général imparted to them the
secret. Lapierre laughs and shrugs his shoulders as he recalls the
scene--the apoplectic General, with the glass of wine in one hand,
waving the other grandiloquently as he described the wealth about to
descend upon them.
Yes, the General must begin at the beginning, for it was a long story.
First, as to himself and how he came to know of the affair. It had been
on his return from the Philippines after the surrender of Manila, where
he had been in command of the armies of Spain, that he had paused for
repose in New York and had first learned of the Tessier inheritance. The
precise manner of his discovery was left somewhat indefinite, but the
Lapierres were not particular. So many distinguished persons had played
a part in the drama that the recital left but a vague impression as to
individuals. A certain Madame Luchia, widow of one Roquefailaire, whom
he had accidentally met, had apparently been the instrument of
Providence in disclosing the history of Jean Tessier to the General. She
herself had been wronged by the villains and knew all the secrets of the
conspirators. But she had waited for a suitable opportunity to speak.
Jean Tessier had died possessed of properties which to-day, seventy
years after, were worth in the neighborhood of five hundred million
dollars! The General paused for the effect, solemnly nodding his head
at his astounded auditors in affirmance. Yes, it was even so!
Five hundred million dollars! No more--and no less! Then he once more
took up the thread of his narrative.
Tessier's lands, originally farms, were to-day occupied by huge
_magasins_, government buildings, palaces and hotels. He had been a
frugal, hardworking, far-seeing man of affairs whose money had doubled
itself year by year. Then had appeared one Emmeric Lespinasse, a
Frenchman, also from Bordeaux, who had plotted to rob him of his estate,
and the better to accomplish his purpose had entered the millionaire's
employ. When Tessier died, in 1884, Lespinasse had seized his papers and
the property, destroyed his will, dispersed the clerks, secretaries,
"notaries" and accountants of the deceased, and quietly got rid of such
persons as stood actively in his way. The great wealth thus acquired had
enabled him to defy those who knew that he was not entitled to the
fortune, and that the real heirs were in far-away France.
He had prospered like the bay tree. His daughter, Marie Louise, had
married a distinguished English nobleman, and his sons were now the
richest men in America. Yet they lived with the sword of Damocles over
their heads, suspended by a single thread, and the General had the knife
wherewith to cut it. Lespinasse, among other things, had caused the
murder of the husband of Madame Luchia, and she was in possession of
conclusive proofs which, at the proper moment, could be produced to
convict him of his many crimes, or at least to oust his sons and
daughter from the stolen inheritance.
It was a weird, bizarre nightmare, no more astonishing than the novels
the Lapierres had read. America, they understood, was a land where the
rivers were full of gold--a country of bronzed and handsome savages, of
birds of paradise and ruined Aztec temples, of vast tobacco fields and
plantations of thousands of acres of cotton cultivated by naked slaves,
while one lay in a hammock fanned by a "_petite nègre_" and languidly
sipped _eau sucrée_. The General had made it all seem very, very real.
At the weak spots he had gesticulated convincingly and digressed upon
his health. Then, while the narrative was fresh and he might have had to
answer questions about it had he given his listeners opportunity to ask
them, he had hastily told of a visit to Tunis. There he had by chance
encountered Marie Louise, the daughter of Lespinasse, living with her
noble husband in a "handsome Oriental palace," had been invited to dine
with them and had afterward seized the occasion while "walking in the
garden" with the lady to disclose the fact that he knew all, and had it
in his power to ruin them as impostors. Marie Louise had been
frightfully angry, but afterward her better nature had suggested the
return of the inheritance, or at least a hundred millions or so, to the
rightful heirs. The General had left the palace believing all would be
well, and had retired to Paris to await letters and further
developments, but these had never come, and he had discovered that he
had been deceived. It had been merely a ruse on the part of the woman
and her husband to gain time, and now every step that he took was dogged
by spies in the pay of the Lespinasses, who followed him everywhere. But
the right would triumph! He had sworn to run the conspiracy to earth!
Many hours were consumed in the telling of the story. The Lapierres were
enchanted. More than that, they were convinced--persuaded that they were
heirs to the richest inheritance in the world, which comprised most of
the great American city of New York.
Persons who were going to participate in twenty-five hundred millions of
francs could afford to be hospitable. M. le Général stayed to dinner. A
list of the heirs living in or near Bordeaux was made out with the share
of each in the inheritance carefully computed. Madame Lapierre's was
only fifty million dollars--but still that was almost enough to buy up
Bordeaux. And they could purchase Monségur as a country place. The
General spoke of a stable of automobiles by means of which the journey
from Bordeaux to the farm could be accomplished in the space of an hour.
That night the good man and his wife scarcely closed their eyes, and the
next day, accompanied by the General, they visited Bordeaux and the
neighboring towns and broke the news gently to the other heirs. There
was M. Pettit, the veterinary at Mormand; Tessier, the blacksmith in
Bordeaux; M. Pelegue and his wife, M. Rozier, M. Cazenava and his son,
and others. One branch of the family lived in Brazil--the Joubin Frères
and one Tessier of "Saint Bezeille." These last had to be reached by
post, a most annoyingly slow means of communication--_mais que
voulez-vous_?
Those were busy days in and around Bordeaux, and the General was the
centre of attraction. What a splendid figure he cut in his tall silk hat
and gold-headed cane! But they were all very careful to let no inkling
of their good fortune leak out, for it might spoil everything--give some
opportunity to the spies of the impostor Lespinasse to fabricate new
chains of title or to prepare for a defense of the fortune. The little
blacksmith, being addicted to white wine, was the only one who did not
keep his head. But even he managed to hold his mouth sufficiently shut.
A family council was held; M. le Général was given full power of
attorney to act for all the heirs; and each having contributed an
insignificant sum toward his necessary expenses, they waved him a
tremulous good-by as he stood on the upper deck of the steamer, his silk
hat in one hand and his gold-headed cane in the other.
"He will get it, if any one can!" cried the blacksmith enthusiastically.
"It is as good as ours already!" echoed Rozier.
"My friends," Madame Lapierre assured them, "a General of the armies of
Spain and a Chevalier of the Order of Jiminez would die rather than fail
in his mission. Besides," she added, her French blood asserting itself,
"he is to get nineteen per cent. of the inheritance!"
As long as the steamer remained in sight the General waved
encouragingly, his hat raised toward Heaven.
"_Mais_," says Lapierre, with another shrug as he lights his pipe, "even
you would have believed him. _Vraiment_! He would have deceived the
devil himself!"
Up the road the wain comes creaking back again. A crow flaps across the
vineyard, laughing scornfully at good M. Lapierre, and you yourself
wonder if such a thing could have been possible.
On a rainy afternoon in March, 1905, there entered the writer's office
in the Criminal Courts Building, New York City, a ruddy, stoutly-built
man, dressed in homespun garments, accompanied by an attractive and
vivacious little woman, who, while unable to speak a single word of
English, had no difficulty in making it obvious that she had a story to
tell of the most vital importance. An interpreter was soon found and the
names of the visitors disclosed. The lady, who did the talking for both
of them, introduced herself as Madame Valoie Reddon, of Bordeaux, and
her companion as M. Emile Lapierre, landowner, of Monségur, They had
come, she explained, from France to take possession of the inheritance
Tessier. She was a personal friend of Madame Lapierre, and as the
Tessiers had exhausted all their money in paying the expenses connected
with securing the fortune, she, being a well-to-do gentlewoman, had come
to their assistance, and for the last few months had been financing the
enterprise on a fifteen per cent. basis. If Madame Lapierre was to
receive ten million dollars, then, to be sure, Madame Reddon would have
one million five hundred thouand dollars; but, of course, it was not for
the money, but on account of friendship, that she was aiding them. I
would understand that three years had elapsed since a certain
distinguished General Pedro Suarez de Moreno had disclosed to the
Lapierres the fact that Madame was the heiress to the greatest estate in
America. M. Lapierre solemnly nodded confirmation as the lady proceeded.
It was the one subject talked about in the Gironde and Bordeaux--that
is, among those who had been fortunate enough to learn anything about
it. And for three years the Tessiers, their wives, their sons' wives,
and their connections, had been waiting to receive the glad tidings that
the conspirators had been put to rout and the rightful heirs reinstated.
It was some time before the good lady succeeded in convincing her
auditor that such a ridiculous fraud as she described had actually been
perpetrated. But there was M. Lapierre and there was Madame Valerie
Reddon sitting in the office as living witnesses to the fact. What
wonderful person could this General Moreno be, who could hypnotize a
hard-headed, thrifty farmer from the Gironde and a clever little French
woman from Bordeaux into believing that five hundred million dollars was
waiting for them on the other side of the Atlantic! I expressed my
surprise. Madame Reddon shrugged her sloping shoulders. Well, perhaps it
was hard for M'sieu' to believe, but then there were the proofs, the
documents, the _dossier_, and, most of all, there was the General
himself. Oh! if M'sieu' could see the General in his tall silk hat and
gold-headed cane!
I asked for the documents. Madame Reddon opened her bag and produced a
package of nearly one hundred letters, written in a fine Spanish hand.
Oh! he had been a wonderful writer, this gorgeous Count de Tinoco and
Marquis de la d'Essa. She had met him herself when he had been in
Bordeaux. Madame Lapierre had introduced him to her, and she had heard
him talk. How beautifully he talked! The stories of his experiences as
General of the armies of Spain under Don Carlos and as Brigadier-General
in the Philippines were as fascinating as a romance. But it was his
letters which had really led her to take a personal interest in the
undertaking. With a sigh Madame Valoie untied the little blue ribbon
which bound up the pitiful little history. If M'sieu' would be good
enough to grant the time she would begin at the beginning. Here was his
first letter written after the General's return to America:
_June 25, '02._
My dear M. Lapierre:
We have had a terrible voyage. A horrible storm broke loose in
mid-ocean, endangering all our lives.... The waves, like mountains,
threatened every instant to swallow us all; the spectacle was
terrifying. I fell from the top of the stairs 'way down into the
hole (_sic_), hurting my right leg in the centre of the tibia bone.
The ship's doctor, who is nothing but a stupid fool, left me
helpless almost the entire day.... If ever I should have dreamt what
would occur to me in this trip, not for all the gold in the world
would I have embarked. But, now that I am here, I shall not retreat
before any obstacle, in order to arrive at the fulfillment of my
enterprise, and no matter at what cost, even at that of my life. It
is necessary that I succeed--my pride demands it. Those who are in
the right shall triumph, that is sure.... In the mean time, will you
kindly give my regards to Madame and your son, and all of your
relatives, not forgetting your good old servant. Squeezing your hand
cordially, I bid you adieu.
Your devoted,
Pedro S. de Moreno.
"Can you not see the waves, and observe him falling down the hole?" asks
Madame Reddon,
"Mais, voici une autre."
_July 11, 1902._