It was a revelation, that visit of Mme. de Thaller’s; and there was
no need of very much perspicacity to guess her anxiety beneath her
bursts of laughter, and to understand that it was a bargain she had
come to propose. It was evident, therefore, that Marius de Tregars
held within his hands the principal threads of that complicated
intrigue which had just culminated in that robbery of twelve
millions. But would he be able to make use of them? What were his
designs, and his means of action? That is what Maxence could not in
any way conjecture.
He had no time to ask questions.
“Come,” said M. Tregars, whose agitation was manifest,--“come, let
us breakfast: we have not a moment to lose.”
And, whilst his servant was bringing in his modest meal,
“I am expecting M. d’Escajoul,” he said. “Show him in as soon as
he comes.”
Retired as he had lived from the financial world, Maxence had yet
heard the name of Octave d’Escajoul.
Who has not seen him, happy and smiling, his eye bright, and his lip
ruddy, notwithstanding his fifty years, walking on the sunny side
of the Boulevard, with his royal blue jacket and his eternal white
vest? He is passionately fond of everything that tends to make life
pleasant and easy; dines at Bignon’s, or the Cafe Anglais; plays
baccarat at the club with extraordinary luck; has the most comfortable
apartment and the most elegant coupe in all Paris. With all this,
he is pleased to declare that he is the happiest of men, and is
certainly one of the most popular; for he cannot walk three blocks
on the Boulevard without lifting his hat at least fifty times, and
shaking hands twice as often.
And when any one asks, “What does he do?” the invariable answer is,
“Why he operates.”
To explain what sort of operations, would not be, perhaps, very
easy. In the world of rogues, there are some rogues more formidable
and more skillful than the rest, who always manage to escape the hand
of the law. They are not such fools as to operate in person,--not
they! They content themselves with watching their friends and
comrades. If a good haul is made, at once they appear and claim
their share. And, as they always threaten to inform, there is no
help for it but to let them pocket the clearest of the profit.
Well, in a more elevated sphere, in the world of speculation, it is
precisely that lucrative and honorable industry which M. d’Escajoul
carries on. Thoroughly master of his ground, possessing a superior
scent and an imperturbable patience, always awake, and continually
on the watch, he never operates unless he is sure to win.
And the day when the manager of some company has violated his
charter or stretched the law a little too far, he may be sure to
see M. d’Escajoul appear, and ask for some little--advantages,
and proffer, in exchange, the most thorough discretion, and even
his kind offices.
Two or three of his friends have heard him say,
“Who would dare to blame me? It’s very moral, what I am doing.”
Such is the man who came in, smiling, just as Maxence and Marius de
Tregars had sat down at the table. M. de Tregars rose to receive him.
“You will breakfast with us?” he said.
“Thank you,” answered M. d’Escajoul. “I breakfasted precisely at
eleven, as usual. Punctuality is a politeness which a man owes to
his stomach. But I will accept with pleasure a drop of that old
Cognac which you offered me the other evening.”
He took a seat; and the valet brought him a glass, which he set on
the edge of the table. Then,
“I have just seen our man,” he said.
Maxence understood that he was referring to M. de Thaller.
“Well?” inquired M. de Tregars.
“Impossible to get any thing out of him. I turned him over and
over, every way. Nothing!”
“Indeed!”
“It’s so; and you know if I understand the business. But what can
you say to a man who answers you all the time, ‘The matter is in
the hands of the law; experts have been named; I have nothing to
fear from the most minute investigations’?”
By the look which Marius de Tregars kept riveted upon M. d’Escajoul,
it was easy to see that his confidence in him was not without limits.
He felt it, and, with an air of injured innocence,
“Do you suspect me, by chance,” he said, “to have allowed myself to
be hoodwinked by Thaller?”
And as M. de Tregars said nothing, which was the most eloquent of
answers,
“Upon my word,” he insisted, “you are wrong to doubt me. Was it
you who came after me? No. It was I, who, hearing through Marcolet
the history of your fortune, came to tell you, ‘Do you want to know
a way of swamping Thaller?’ And the reasons I had to wish that
Thaller might be swamped: I have them still. He trifled with me,
he ‘sold’ me, and he must suffer for it; for, if it came to be known
that I could be taken in with impunity, it would be all over with my
credit.”
After a moment of silence,
“Do you believe, then,” asked M. de Tregars, “that M. de Thaller is
innocent?”
“Perhaps.”
“That would be curious.”
“Or else his measures are so well taken that he has absolutely
nothing to fear. If Favoral takes everything upon himself, what
can they say to the other? If they have acted in collusion, the
thing has been prepared for a long time; and, before commencing
to fish, they must have troubled the water so well, that justice
will be unable to see anything in it.”
“And you see no one who could help us?”
“Favoral--”
To Maxence’s great surprise, M. de Tregars shrugged his shoulders.
“That one is gone,” he said; “and, were he at hand, it is quite
evident that if he was in collusion with M. de Thaller, he would
not speak.”
“Of course.”
“That being the case, what can we do?”
“Wait.”