An impudent theft, to a very large amount, had been committed in the
Capital. Jewels, a valuable watch set with diamonds, his wife's
miniature in a frame enchased with brilliants, and a considerable sum in
money, the whole amounting in value to a hundred and fifteen thousand
florins, had been stolen. The banker himself went to the Director of
Police[4] to give notice of the robberies, but at the same time he
begged as a special favor that the investigation might be carried on as
quietly and considerately as possible, as he declared that he had not
the slightest ground for suspecting anybody in particular, and did not
wish any innocent person to be accused.
[Footnote 4: Head of the Criminal Investigation
Department.--TRANSLATOR.]
"First of all, give me the names of all the persons who regularly go
into your bedroom," the police director said.
"Nobody, except my wife, my children, and Joseph, my valet, a man for
whom I would answer as I would for myself."
"Then you think him absolutely incapable of committing such a deed?"
"Most decidedly I do," the banker replied.
"Very well; then can you remember whether on the day on which you first
missed the articles that have been stolen, or on any days immediately
preceding it, anybody who was not a member of your household, happened
by chance to go to your bedroom?"
The banker thought for a moment, and then said with some hesitation:
"Nobody, absolutely nobody."
The experienced official, however, was struck by the banker's slight
embarrassment and momentary blush, so he took his hand, and looking him
straight in the face, he said:
"You are not quite candid with me; somebody was with you, and you wish
to conceal the fact from me. You must tell me everything."
"No, no; indeed there was nobody here." "Then at present, there is only
one person on whom any suspicion can rest--and that is your valet."
"I will vouch for his honesty," the banker replied immediately.
"You may be mistaken, and I shall be obliged to question the man."
"May I beg you to do it with every possible consideration?"
"You may rely upon me for that."
An hour later, the banker's valet was in the police director's private
room, who first of all looked at his man very closely, and then came to
the conclusion that such an honest, unembarrassed face, and such quiet,
steady eyes could not possibly belong to a criminal.
"Do you know why I have sent for you?"
"No, your Honor."
"A large theft has been committed in your master's house," the police
director continued, "from his bedroom. Do you suspect anybody? Who has
been into the room, within the last few days?"
"Nobody but myself, except my master's family."
"Do you not see, my good fellow, that by saying that, you throw
suspicion on yourself?"
"Surely, sir," the valet exclaimed, "you do not believe..."
"I must not believe anything; my duty is merely to investigate and to
follow up any traces that I may discover," was the reply. "If you have
been the only person to go into the room within the last few days, I
must hold you responsible."
"My master knows me..."
The police director shrugged his shoulders: "Your master has vouched for
your honesty, but that is not enough for me. You are the only person on
whom, at present, any suspicion rests, and therefore I must--sorry as I
am to do so--have you arrested."
"If that is so," the man said, after some hesitation, "I prefer to speak
the truth, for my good name is more to me than my situation. Somebody
was in my master's apartments yesterday."
"And this somebody was...?"
"A lady."
"A lady of his acquaintance?"
The valet did not reply for some time.
"It must come out," he said at length. "My master keeps a woman--you
understand, sir, a pretty, fair woman; and he has furnished a house for
her and goes to see her, but secretly of course, for if my mistress were
to find it out, there would be a terrible scene. This person was with
him yesterday."
"Were they alone?"
"I showed her in, and she was in his bedroom with him; but I had to call
him out after a short time, as his confidential clerk wanted to speak to
him, and so she was in the room alone for about a quarter of an hour."
"What is her name?"
"Cæcelia K----; she is a Hungarian." At the same time the valet gave him
her address.
Then the director of police sent for the banker, who, on being brought
face to face with his valet, was obliged to acknowledge the truth of the
facts which the latter had alleged, painful as it was for him to do so;
whereupon orders were given to take Cæcelia K---- into custody.
In less than half an hour, however, the police officer who had been
dispatched for that purpose, returned and said that she had left her
apartments, and most likely the Capital also, the previous evening. The
unfortunate banker was almost in despair. Not only had he been robbed of
a hundred and fifty thousand florins, but at the same time he had lost
the beautiful woman, whom he loved with all the passion of which he was
capable. He could not grasp the idea that a woman whom he had surrounded
with Asiatic luxury, whose strangest whims he had gratified, and whose
tyranny he had borne so patiently, could have deceived him so
shamefully, and now he had a quarrel with his wife, and an end of all
domestic peace, into the bargain.
The only thing the police could do was to raise the hue and cry after
the lady, who had denounced herself by her flight, but it was all of no
use. In vain did the banker, in whose heart hatred and thirst for
revenge had taken the place of love, implore the Director of Police to
employ every means to bring the beautiful criminal to justice, and in
vain did he undertake to be responsible for all the costs of her
prosecution, no matter how heavy they might be. Special police officers
were told off to try and discover her, but Cæcelia K---- was so rude as
not to allow herself to be caught.
Three years had passed, and the unpleasant story appeared to have been
forgotten. The banker had obtained his wife's pardon and--what he cared
about a good deal more--he had found another charming mistress, and the
police did not appear to trouble themselves about the beautiful
Hungarian any more.
We must now change the scene to London. A wealthy lady who created much
sensation in society, and who made many conquests both by her beauty and
her free behavior, was in want of a groom. Among the many applicants for
the situation, there was a young man, whose good looks and manners gave
people the impression that he must have been very well educated. This
was a recommendation in the eyes of the lady's maid, and she took him
immediately to her mistress's boudoir. When he entered, he saw a
beautiful, voluptuous looking woman, at most, twenty-five years of age,
with large, bright eyes and blue-black hair, which seemed to increase
the brilliancy of her fair complexion, lying on a sofa. She looked at
the young man, who also had thick black hair, and who turned his glowing
black eyes to the ground, beneath her searching gaze, with evident
satisfaction, and she seemed particularly taken with his slender,
athletic build, and then she said half lazily and half proudly:
"What is your name?"
"Lajos Mariassi."
"A Hungarian?"
And there was a strange look in her eyes.
"Yes."
"How did you come here?"
"I am one of the many emigrants who have forfeited their country and
their life; and I, who come of a good family, and who was an officer of
the Honveds, must now ... go into service, and thank God if I find a
mistress who is at the same time beautiful and an aristocrat, as you
are."
Miss Zoë--that was the lovely woman's name--smiled, and at the same time
showed two rows of pearly teeth.
"I like your looks," she said, "and I feel inclined to take you into my
service, if you are satisfied with my terms."
"A lady's whim," her maid said to herself, when she noticed the ardent
looks which Miss Zoë gave her manservant, "which will soon pass away."
But that experienced female was mistaken that time.
Zoë was really in love, and the respect with which Lajos treated her,
put her into a very bad temper. One evening, when she intended to go to
the Italian Opera, she countermanded her carriage, and refused to see
her noble adorer, who wished to throw himself at her feet, and ordered
her groom to be sent up to her boudoir.
"Lajos," she began, "I am not at all satisfied with you."
"Why, Madame?"
"I do not wish to have you about me any longer; here are your wages for
three months. Leave the house immediately." And she began to walk up and
down the room, impatiently.
"I will obey you, Madame," the groom replied, "but I shall not take my
wages."
"Why not?" she asked hastily.
"Because then I should be under your authority for three months," Lajos
said, "and I intend to be free, this very moment, so that I may be able
to tell you that I entered your service, not for the sake of your money,
but because I love and adore a beautiful woman in you."
"You love me!" Zoë exclaimed. "Why did you not tell me sooner? I merely
wished to banish you from my presence, because I love you, and did not
think that you loved me. But you shall smart for having tormented me so.
Come to my feet immediately."
The groom knelt before the lovely girl, whose moist lips sought his at
the same instant.
From that moment Lajos became her favorite. Of course he was not allowed
to be jealous, as the young lord was still her official lover, who had
the pleasure of paying everything for that licentious beauty, and
besides him, there was a whole army of so-called "good friends," who
were fortunate enough to obtain a smile now and then, and occasionally,
something more, and who, in return, had permission to present her with
rare flowers, a parrot or diamonds.
The more intimate Zoë became with Lajos, the more uncomfortable she felt
when he looked at her, as he frequently did, with undisguised contempt.
She was wholly under his influence and was afraid of him, and one day,
while he was playing with her dark curls, he said jeeringly:
"It is usually said that contrasts usually attract each other, and yet
you are as dark as I am."
She smiled, and then tore off her black curls, and immediately the most
charming, fair-haired woman was sitting by the side of Lajos, who looked
at her attentively, but without any surprise.
He left his mistress at about midnight, in order to look after the
horses, as he said, and she put on a very pretty nightdress and went to
bed. She remained awake for fully an hour, expecting her lover, and then
she went to sleep, but in two hours' time she was roused from her
slumbers, and saw a police inspector and two constables by the side of
her magnificent bed.
"Whom do you want?" she cried.
"Cæcelia K----."
"I am Miss Zoë."
"Oh! I know you," the Inspector said with a smile; "be kind enough to
take off your dark locks, and you will be Cæcelia K----. I arrest you in
the name of the law."
"Good heavens!" she stammered, "Lajos has betrayed me."
"You are mistaken, Madame," the Inspector replied; "he has merely done
his duty."
"What? Lajos . . . my lover?"
"No, Lajos, the detective."
Cæcelia got out of bed, and the next moment she sank fainting onto the
floor.