THE LAST LINK.
For some days M. Mascarin had not shown himself at the office, and
Beaumarchef was terribly harassed with inquiries regarding his absent
master. Mascarin, on the day after the evening on which Tantaine had
met Caroline Schimmel at the Grand Turk, was carefully shut up in
his private room; his face and eyes were red and inflamed, and he
occasionally sipped a glass of some cooling beverage which stood before
him, and his compressed lips and corrugated brow showed how deeply he
was meditating. Suddenly the door opened, and Dr. Hortebise entered the
room.
“Well!” exclaimed Mascarin, “have you seen the Mussidans, as I told you
to do.”
“Certainly,” answered Hortebise briskly; “I saw the Countess, and told
her how pressing the holders of her letters were growing, and urged on
her the necessity for immediate action. She told me that both she and
her husband had determined to yield, and that Sabine, though evidently
broken-hearted, would not oppose the marriage.”
“Good,” said Mascarin; “and now, if Croisenois only follows out the
orders that I have given him, the marriage will take place without
the knowledge of either De Breulh or Andre. Then we need fear them no
longer. The prospectus of the new Company is ready, and can be issued
almost immediately; but we meet to-day to discuss not that matter, but
the more important one of the heir to the Champdoce title.”
A timid knock at the door announced the arrival of Paul who came in
hesitatingly, as if doubtful what sort of a reception he might receive;
but Mascarin gave him the warmest possible welcome.
“Permit me,” said he, “to offer you my congratulations on having won
the affections of so estimable and wealthy a young lady as Mademoiselle
Flavia. I may tell you that a friend of mine has informed me of the very
flattering terms in which her father, M. Rigal, spoke of you, and I can
assure you that if our mutual friend Dr. Hortebise were to go to the
banker with an offer of marriage on your part, you have no cause to
dread a refusal.”
Paul blushed with pleasure, and as he was stammering out a few words,
the door opened for the third time, and Catenac made his appearance. To
cover the lateness of his arrival, he had clothed his face in smiles,
and advanced with outstretched hands toward his confederates; but
Mascarin’s look and manner were so menacing, that he recoiled a few
steps and gazed on him with an expression of the utmost wonder and
surprise.
“What is the meaning of this reception?” asked he.
“Can you not guess?” returned Mascarin, his manner growing more and more
threatening. “I have sounded the lowest depths of your infamy. I was
sure the other day that you meant to turn traitor, but you swore to the
contrary, and you--”
“On my honor--”
“It is useless. One word from Perpignan set us on the right track. Were
you or were you not ignorant that the Duke de Champdoce had a certain
way of recognizing his son, and that was by a certain ineffaceable
scar?”
“It had escaped my memory----”
The words faded from his lips, for even his great self-command failed
him under Mascarin’s disdainful glance.
“Let me tell you what I think of you,” said the latter. “I knew that you
were a coward and a traitor. Even convicts keep faith with each other,
and I had not thought you so utterly infamous.”
“Then why have you forced me to act contrary to my wishes?”
This reply exasperated Mascarin so much that he grasped Catenac by the
throat, and shook him violently.
“I made use of you, you viper,” said he, “because I had placed you in
such a position that you could not harm us. And now you will serve
me because I will show you that I can take everything from you--name,
money, liberty, and _life_. All depends upon our success. If we fail,
you fall into an abyss of the depth and horrors of which you can have
no conception. I knew with whom I had to deal, and took my measures
accordingly. The most crushing proofs of your crime are in the hands of
a person who has precise orders how to act. When I give the signal, he
moves; and when he moves, you are utterly lost.”
There was something so threatening in the silence that followed this
speech that Paul grew faint with apprehension.
“And,” went on Mascarin, “it would be an evil day for you if anything
were to happen to Hortebise, Paul, or myself; for if one of us were to
die suddenly, your fate would be sealed. You cannot say that you have
not been warned.”
Catenac stood with his head bent upon his breast, rooted to the ground
with terror. He felt that he was bound, and gagged, and fettered hand
and foot. Mascarin swallowed some of the cooling draught that stood
before him, and tranquilly commenced,--
“Suppose, Catenac, that I were to tell you that I know far more of the
Champdoce matter than you do; for, after all, your knowledge is only
derived from what the Duke has told you. You think that you have hit
upon the truth; you were never more mistaken in your life. I, perhaps
you are unaware, have been many years engaged in this matter. Perhaps
you would like to know how I first thought of the affair. Do you
remember that solicitor who had an office near the Law Courts, and did
a great deal of blackmail business? If you do, you must remember that he
got two years’ hard labor.”
“Yes, I remember the man,” returned Catenac in a humble voice.
“He used,” continued Mascarin, “to buy up waste paper, and search
through the piles he had collected for any matters that might be
concealed in the heterogeneous mass. And many things he must have found.
In what sensational case have not letters played a prominent part? What
man is there who has not at one time or other regretted that he has had
pen and ink ready to his hand? If men were wise, they would use those
patent inks, which fade from the paper in a few days. I followed his
example, and, among other strange discoveries, I made this one.”
He took from his desk a piece of paper--ragged, dirty, and creased--and,
handing it to Hortebise and Paul, said,--
“Read!”
They did so, and read the following strange word:
“TNAFNEERTONIOMZEDNEREITIPZEYAETNECONNISIUSEJECARG;”
while underneath was written in another hand the word, “Never.”
“It was evident that I had in my hands a letter written in cipher, and I
concluded that the paper contained some important secret.”
Catenac listened to this narrative with an air of contempt, for he was
one of those foolish men who never know when it is best for them to
yield.
“I daresay you are right,” answered he with a slight sneer.
“Thank you,” returned Mascarin coolly. “At any rate, I was deeply
interested in solving this riddle, the more as I belonged to an
association which owes its being and position to its skill in
penetrating the secrets of others. I shut myself up in my room, and
vowed that I would not leave it until I had worked out the cipher.”
Paul, Hortebise, and Catenac examined the letter curiously, but could
make nothing of it.
“I can’t make head or tail of it,” said the doctor impatiently.
Mascarin smiled as he took back the paper, and remarked,--
“At first I was as much puzzled as you were, and more than once was
tempted to throw the document into the waste-paper basket, but a secret
feeling that it opened a way to all our fortunes restrained me. Of
course there was the chance that I might only decipher some foolish
jest, and no secret at all, but still I went on. If the commencement of
the word was written in a woman’s hand, the last word had evidently
been added by a man. But why should a cryptogram have been used? Was it
because the demand was of so dangerous and compromising a character that
it was impossible to put it in plain language? If so, why was the
last word not in cipher? Simply because the mere rejection of what was
certainly a demand would in no manner compromise the writer. You will
ask how it happens that demand and rejection are both on the same sheet
of paper. I thought this over, and came to the conclusion that the
letter had once been meant for the post, but had been sent by hand.
Perhaps the writers may have occupied rooms in the same house. The
woman, in the anguish of her soul, may have sent the letter by a servant
to her husband, and he, transported by rage, may have hurriedly
scrawled this word across it, and returned it again: ‘Take this to your
mistress.’ Having settled this point, I attacked the cipher, and, after
fourteen hours’ hard work, hit upon its meaning.
“Accidentally I held the piece of paper between myself and the light,
with the side on which the writing was turned from me, and read it at
once. It was a cryptogram of the simplest kind, as the letters forming
the words were simply reversed. I divided the letters into words,
and made out this sentence: ‘_Grace, je suis innocente. Ayez pitie;
rendez-moi notre enfant_ (Mercy, I am innocent. Give me back our son).’”
Hortebise snatched up the paper and glanced at it.
“You are right,” said he; “it is the art of cipher writing in its
infancy.”
“I had succeeded in reading it,--but how to make use of it! The mass of
waste paper in which I found it had been purchased from a servant in
a country house near Vendome. A friend of mine, who was accustomed to
drawing plans and maps, came to my aid, and discovered some faint
signs of a crest in one corner of the paper. With the aid of a powerful
magnifying glass, I discovered it to be the cognizance of the ducal
house of Champdoce. The light that guided me was faint and uncertain,
and many another man would have given up the quest. But the thought was
with me in my waking hours, and was the companion of my pillow during
the dark hours of the night. Six months later I knew that it was the
Duchess who had addressed this missive to her husband, and why she had
done so. By degrees I learned all the secret to which this scrap of
paper gave me the clue; and if I have been a long while over it, it is
because one link was wanting which I only discovered yesterday.”
“Ah,” said the doctor, “then Caroline Schimmel has spoken.”
“Yes; drink was the magician that disclosed the secret that for twenty
years she had guarded with unswerving fidelity.”
As Mascarin uttered these words he opened a drawer, and drew from it a
large pile of manuscript, which he waved over his head with an air of
triumph.
“This is the greatest work that I have ever done,” exclaimed he. “Listen
to it, Hortebise, and you shall see how it is that I hold firmly, at
the same time, both the Duke and Duchess of Champdoce, and Diana the
Countess of Mussidan. Listen to me, Catenac,--you who distrusted me, and
were ready to play the traitor, and tell me if I do not grasp success in
my strong right hand.” Then, holding out the roll of papers to Paul, he
cried, “And do you, my dear boy, take this and read it carefully. Let
nothing escape you, for there is not one item, however trivial it may
seem to you, that has not its importance. It is the history of a great
and noble house, and one in which you are more interested than you may
think.”
Paul opened the manuscript, and, in a voice which quivered with emotion,
he read the facts announced by Mascarin, which he had entitled “The
Mystery of Champdoce.”
[The conclusion of this exciting narrative will be found in the volume
called “The Mystery of Champdoce.”]