“One more question, monsieur: were you at home the evening before the
robbery?”
“No; I dined and spent the evening with a friend; when I returned home,
about one o’clock, my wife had retired, and I went to bed immediately.”
“And you were ignorant of the amount of money in the safe?”
“Absolutely. In conformity with my positive orders, I could only suppose
that a small sum had been left there over-night; I stated this fact to
the commissary in M. Bertomy’s presence, and he acknowledged it to be
the case.”
“Perfectly correct, monsieur: the commissary’s report proves it.” M.
Patrigent was for a time silent. To him everything depended upon this
one fact, that the banker was unaware of the three hundred and fifty
thousand francs being in the safe, and Prosper had disobeyed orders
by placing them there over-night; hence the conclusion was very easily
drawn.
Seeing that his examination was over, the banker thought that he would
relieve his mind of what was weighing upon it.
“I believe myself above suspicion, monsieur,” he began, “and yet I can
never rest easy until Bertomy’s guilt has been clearly proved. Calumny
prefers attacking a successful man: I may be calumniated: three hundred
and fifty thousand francs is a fortune capable of tempting even a
rich man. I would be obliged if you would have the condition of my
banking-house examined. This examination will prove that I could have
no interest in robbing my own safe. The prosperous condition of my
affairs--”
“That is sufficient, monsieur.”
M. Patrigent was well informed of the high standing of the banker, and
knew almost as much of his affairs as did M. Fauvel himself.
He asked him to sign his testimony, and then escorted him to the door of
his office, a rare favor on his part.
When M. Fauvel had left the room, Sigault indulged in a remark.
“This seems to be a very cloudy case,” he said; “if the cashier is
shrewd and firm, it will be difficult to convict him.”
“Perhaps it will,” said the judge, “but let us hear the other witnesses
before deciding.”
The person who answered to the call for number four was Lucien, M.
Fauvel’s eldest son.
He was a tall, handsome young man of twenty-two. To the judge’s
questions he replied that he was very fond of Prosper, was once very
intimate with him, and had always regarded him as a strictly honorable
man, incapable of doing anything unbecoming a gentleman.
He declared that he could not imagine what fatal circumstances could
have induced Prosper to commit a theft. He knew he played cards, but not
to the extent that was reported. He had never known him to indulge in
expenses beyond his means.
In regard to his cousin Madeleine, he replied:
“I always thought that Prosper was in love with Madeleine, and, until
yesterday, I was certain he would marry her, knowing that my father
would not oppose their marriage. I have always attributed the
discontinuance of Prosper’s visits to a quarrel with my cousin, but
supposed they would end by becoming reconciled.”
This information, more than that of M. Fauvel, threw light upon
Prosper’s past life, but did not apparently reveal any evidence which
could be used in the present state of affairs.
Lucien signed his deposition, and withdrew.
Cavaillon’s turn for examination came next. The poor fellow was in a
pitiable state of mind when he appeared before the judge.
Having, as a great secret, confided to a friend his adventure with the
detective, and being jeered at for his cowardice in giving up the note,
he felt great remorse, and passed the night in reproaching himself for
having ruined Prosper.
He endeavored to repair, as well as he could, what he called his
treason.
He did not exactly accuse M. Fauvel, but he courageously declared that
he was the cashier’s friend, and that he was as sure of his innocence as
he was of his own.
Unfortunately, besides his having no proofs to strengthen his
assertions, these were deprived of any value by his violent professions
of friendship for the accused.
After Cavaillon, six or eight clerks of the Fauvel bank successively
defiled in the judge’s office; but their depositions were nearly all
insignificant.
One of them, however, stated a fact which the judge carefully noted.
He said he knew that Prosper had speculated on the Bourse through the
medium of M. Raoul de Lagors, and had gained immense sums.
Five o’clock struck before the list of witnesses summoned for the day
was exhausted. But the task of M. Patrigent was not yet finished. He
rang for his bailiff, who instantly appeared, and said to him:
“Go at once, and bring Fanferlot here.”
It was some time before the detective answered the summons. Having met
a colleague on the gallery, he thought it his duty to treat him to a
drink; and the bailiff had found it necessary to bring him from the
little inn at the corner.
“How is it that you keep people waiting?” said the judge, when he
entered bowing and scraping. Fanferlot bowed more profoundly still.
Despite his smiling face, he was very uneasy. To prosecute the Bertomy
case alone, it required a double play that might be discovered at any
moment; to manage at once the cause of justice and his own ambition, he
ran great risks, the least of which was the losing of his place.
“I have a great deal to do,” he said, to excuse himself, “and have not
wasted any time.”
And he began to give a detailed account of his movements. He was
embarrassed, for he spoke with all sorts of restrictions, picking out
what was to be said, and avoiding what was to be left unsaid. Thus he
gave the history of Cavaillon’s letter, which he handed to the judge;
but he did not breathe a word of Madeleine. On the other hand, he gave
biographical details, very minute indeed, of Prosper and Mme. Gypsy,
which he had collected from various quarters during the day.
As he progressed the conviction of M. Patrigent was strengthened.
“This young man is evidently guilty,” he said. Fanferlot did not reply;
his opinion was different, but he was delighted that the judge was
on the wrong track, thinking that his own glory would thereby be the
greater when he discovered the real culprit. True, this grand discovery
was as far off as it had ever been; but Fanferlot was hopeful.
After hearing all he had to tell, the judge dismissed Fanferlot, telling
him to return the next day.
“Above all,” he said, as Fanferlot left the room, “do not lose sight of
the girl Gypsy; she must know where the money is, and can put us on the
track.”
Fanferlot smiled cunningly.
“You may rest easy about that, monsieur; the lady is in good hands.”
Left to himself, although the evening was far advanced, M. Patrigent
continued to busy himself with the case, and to arrange that the rest of
the depositions should be made.
This case had actually taken possession of his mind; it was, at the same
time, puzzling and attractive. It seemed to be surrounded by a cloud of
mystery, and he determined to penetrate and dispel it.
The next morning he was in his office much earlier than usual. On this
day he examined Mme. Gypsy, recalled Cavaillon, and sent again for M.
Fauvel. For several days he displayed the same activity.
Of all the witnesses summoned, only two failed to appear.
One was the office-boy sent by Prosper to bring the money from the city
bank; he was ill from a fall.
The other was M. Raoul de Lagors.
But their absence did not prevent the file of papers relating to
Prosper’s case from daily increasing; and on the ensuing Monday, five
days after the robbery, M. Patrigent thought he held in his hands enough
moral proof to crush the accused.
V
While his whole past was the object of the most minute investigations,
Prosper was in prison, in a secret cell.
The two first days had not appeared very long.
He had requested, and been granted, some sheets of paper, numbered,
which he was obliged to account for; and he wrote, with a sort of rage,
plans of defence and a narrative of justification.
The third day he began to be uneasy at not seeing anyone except the
condemned prisoners who were employed to serve those confined in secret
cells, and the jailer who brought him his food.
“Am I not to be examined again?” he would ask.
“Your turn is coming,” the jailer invariably answered.
Time passed; and the wretched man, tortured by the sufferings of
solitary confinement which quickly breaks the spirit, sank into the
depths of despair.
“Am I to stay here forever?” he moaned.
No, he was not forgotten; for on Monday morning, at one o’clock, an hour
when the jailer never came, he heard the heavy bolt of his cell pushed
back.
He ran toward the door.
But the sight of a gray-headed man standing on the sill rooted him to
the spot.
“Father,” he gasped, “father!”
“Your father, yes!”
Prosper’s astonishment at seeing his father was instantly succeeded by a
feeling of great joy.
A father is one friend upon whom we can always rely. In the hour of
need, when all else fails, we remember this man upon whose knees we sat
when children, and who soothed our sorrows; and although he can in no
way assist us, his presence alone comforts and strengthens.
Without reflecting, Prosper, impelled by tender feeling, was about to
throw himself on his father’s bosom.