“Did you not perceive the gaps in my narrative?”
“I did not.”
“That is because you don’t know how to listen. In the first place, did
Louis de Clameran poison his brother, or not?”
“Yes; I am sure of it, from what you tell me.”
“There you are! You are much more certain, young man, than I am. Your
opinion is mine; but what proof have we? None. I skilfully questioned
Dr. C----. He has not the shadow of suspicion; and Dr. C---- is no
quack; he is a cultivated, observing man of high standing. What poisons
produce the effects described? I know of none; and yet I have studied up
on poisons from Pomerania digitalis to Sauvresy aconite.”
“The death took place so opportunely----”
“That anybody would be convinced of foul play. That is true; but chance
is sometimes a wonderful accomplice in crime. In the second place, I
know nothing of Raoul’s antecedents.”
“Is information on that point necessary?”
“Indispensable, my friend; but we will soon know something. I have sent
off one of my men--excuse me, I mean one of my friends--who is very
expert and adroit, M. Palot; and he writes that he is on the track. I am
interested in the history of this sentimental, sceptical young rascal. I
have an idea that he must have been a brave, honest sort of youth before
Clameran ruined him.”
Prosper was no longer listening.
M. Verduret’s words had inspired him with confidence. Already he saw
the guilty men arraigned before the bar of justice; and enjoyed, in
anticipation, this assize-court drama, where he would be publicly
exonerated and restored to position.
Then he would seek Madeleine; for now he understood her strange conduct
at the dressmaker’s, and knew that she had never ceased to love him.
This certainty of future happiness restored all the self-possession that
had deserted him the day he found the safe robbed. For the first time he
was astonished at the peculiarity of his situation.
Prosper had at first only been surprised at the protection of M.
Verduret and the extent of his investigations: now he asked himself,
what could have been his motives for acting thus?
What price did he expect for this sacrifice of time and labor?
His anxiety made him say nervously:
“It is unjust to us both, monsieur, for you to preserve your incognito
any longer. When you have saved the honor and life of a man, you should
at least let him know whom he is to thank for it.”
“Oh!” said M. Verduret smilingly, “you are not out of the woods yet. You
are not married either: so you must wait a little longer; patience and
faith.”
The clock struck six.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed M. Verduret. “Can it be six o’clock? I did
hope to have a good night’s rest, but I must keep on moving. This is no
time to be asleep.”
He went into the passage, and, leaning over the balusters, called, “Mme.
Alexandre! I say, Mme. Alexandre!”
The hostess of the Archangel, the portly wife of Fanferlot the Squirrel,
evidently had not been to bed. This fact struck Prosper.
She appeared, obsequious, smiling, and eager to please.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” she inquired.
“You can send your--Joseph Dubois and Palmyre to me as soon as possible.
Let me know when they arrive. I will rest a few minutes, and you can
awake me when they come.”
As soon as Mme. Alexandre left the room, the fat man unceremoniously
threw himself on the bed.
“You have no objections, I suppose?” he said to Prosper.
In five minutes he was fast asleep; and Prosper sat by the bed watching
him with a perplexed gaze, wondering who this strange man could be.
About nine o’clock someone tapped timidly at the door.
Slight as the noise was, it aroused M. Verduret, who sprang up, and
called out:
“Who is it?”
Prosper arose and opened the door.
Joseph Dubois, the valet of the Marquis of Clameran, entered.
This important assistant of M. Verduret was breathless from fast
running; and his little rat eyes were more restless than ever.
“Well, patron, I am glad to see you once more,” he cried. “Now you can
tell me what to do; I have been perfectly lost during your absence, and
have felt like a jumping monkey with a broken string.
“What! did you get frightened too?”
“Bless me! I think I had cause for alarm when I could not find you
anywhere. Yesterday afternoon I sent you three despatches, to the
addresses you gave me, Lyons, Beaucaire, and Oloron, but received no
answer. I was almost crazy with anxiety when your message reached me
just now.”
“Things are getting hot, then.”
“Hot! They are burning! The place is too warm to hold me any longer;
upon my soul, I can’t stand it!”
M. Verduret occupied himself in repairing his toilet, become disarranged
by lying down.
When he had finished, he threw himself in an easy-chair, and said to
Joseph Dubois, who remained respectfully standing, cap in hand, like a
soldier awaiting orders:
“Explain yourself, my boy, and quickly, if you please; no
circumlocution.”
“It is just this, patron. I don’t know what your plans are, or what line
you are taking now; but I can just tell you this: that you will have to
wind up the affair pretty quickly.”
“That is your opinion, Master Joseph?”
“Yes, patron, because if you wait any longer, good-by to our covey: you
will certainly find an empty cage, and the birds flown. You smile? Yes,
I know you are clever, and can accomplish anything; but they are cunning
blades, and as slippery as eels. They know that they are watched, too.”
“The devil they do!” cried M. Verduret. “Who has been committing
blunders?”
“Oh! nobody has done anything wrong,” replied Joseph. “You know, patron,
that they suspected something long ago. They gave you a proof of it, the
night of the fancy ball; that ugly cut on your arm was the beginning.
Ever since, they have had one eye open all the time. They had begun to
feel easier, when all of a sudden, yesterday, _ma foi_, they began to
smell a rat!”
“Was that the cause of your telegrams?”
“Of course. Now listen: yesterday morning when my master got up, about
ten o’clock, he took it into his head to arrange the papers in his desk;
which, by the way, has a disgusting lock which has given me a deal of
trouble. Meanwhile, I pretended to be fixing the fire, so as to remain
in the room to watch him. Patron, the man has an eye like a Yankee! At
the first glance he saw, or rather divined, that his papers had been
meddled with, he turned livid, and swore an oath; Lord, what an oath!”
“Never mind the oath; go on.”
“Well, how he discovered the little attentions I had devoted to
his letters, I can’t imagine. You know how careful I am. I had put
everything in perfect order; just as I found things I left them, when,
lo and behold! my noble marquis picks up each paper, one at a time,
turns it over, and smells it. I was just thinking I would offer him a
magnifying-glass, when all of a sudden he sprang up, and with one kick
sent his chair across the room, and flew at me with his eyes flashing
like two pistols. ‘Somebody has been at my papers,’ he shrieked; ‘this
letter has been photographed!’ B-r-r-r! I am not a coward, but I can
tell you that my heart stood perfectly still; I saw myself as dead
as Caesar, cut into mince-meat; and says I to myself, ‘Fanfer--excuse
me--Dubois, my friend, you are lost, dead;’ and I thought of Mme.
Alexandre.”
M. Verduret was buried in thought, and paid no attention to the worthy
Joseph’s analysis of his personal sensations.
“What happened next?” said Verduret after a few minutes.
“Why, he was just as frightened as I was, patron. The rascal did not
even dare to touch me. To be sure, I had taken the precaution to get out
of his reach; we talked with a large table between us. While wondering
what could have enabled him to discover the secret, I defended myself
with virtuous indignation. I said:
“‘It cannot be; M. le marquis is mistaken. Who would dare touch his
papers?’
“Bast! Instead of listening to me, he flourished an open letter, and
said:
“‘This letter has been photographed! here is proof of it!’ and he
pointed to a little yellow spot on the paper, shrieking out, ‘Look!
Smell! Smell it, you devil! It is--’ I forget the name he called it, but
some acid used by photographers.”
“I know, I know,” said M. Verduret; “go on; what next?”
“Then, patron, we had a scene; what a scene! He ended by seizing me by
the throat, and shaking me like a plum-tree, saying he would shake me
until I told him who I was, what I knew, and where I came from. As if I
knew, myself! I was obliged to account for every minute of my time
since I had been in his service. The devil was worse than a judge of
instruction, in his questions. Then he sent for the hotel porter,
who had charge of the front door, and questioned him closely, but in
English, so that I could not understand. After a while, he cooled down,
and when the boy was gone, presented me with twenty francs, saying, ‘I
am sorry I was so sharp with you; you are too stupid to have been guilty
of the offence.’”
“He said that, did he?”
“He used those very words to my face, patron.”
“And you think he meant what he said?”
“Certainly I do.”
The fat man smiled, and whistled a little tune expressive of contempt.
“If you think that,” he said, “Clameran was right in his estimate of
your brilliancy.”
It was easy to see that Joseph Dubois was anxious to hear his patron’s
grounds for considering him stupid, but dared not ask.
“I suppose I am stupid, if you think so,” said poor Fanferlot humbly.
“Well, after he had done blustering about the letters, M. le marquis
dressed, and went out. He did not want his carriage, but I saw him hire
a cab at the hotel door. I thought he had perhaps disappeared forever;
but I was mistaken. About five o’clock he returned as gay as a
bull-finch. During his absence, I had telegraphed to you.”
“What! did you not follow him?”
“I stayed on the spot in case of his return; but one of our friends kept
watch on him, and this friend gave me a report of my dandy’s movements.
First he went to a broker’s, then to the bank and discount office: so he
must be collecting his money to take a little trip.”
“Is that all he did?”
“That is all, patron. But I must tell you how the rascals tried to shut
up, ‘administratively,’ you understand, Mlle. Palmyre. Fortunately you
had anticipated something of the kind, and given orders to watch over
her safety. But for you, she would now be in prison.”
Joseph looked up to the ceiling by way of trying to remember something
more. Finding nothing there, he said:
“That is all. I rather think M. Patrigent will rub his hands with
delight when I carry him my report. He did not expect to see me any
more, and has no idea of the facts I have collected to swell the size of
his FILE 113.”
There was a long silence. Joseph was right in supposing that the crisis
had come. M. Verduret was arranging his plan of battle while waiting
for the report of Nina--now Palmyre, upon which depended his point of
attack.
But Joseph Dubois began to grow restless and uneasy.
“What must I do now, patron?” he asked.
“Return to the hotel; probably your master had noticed your absence; but
he will say nothing about it, so continue--”
Here M. Verduret was interrupted by an exclamation from Prosper, who was
standing near a window.
“What is the matter?” he inquired.
“There is Clameran!” cried Prosper, “over there.”