“Very well, then, it’s understood,” he said, pressing M. de Tregars’
hand. “I am watching for both of us; and if I see a chance, I come
at once, and you act.”
But the outer door had hardly closed, when suddenly the countenance
of Marius de Tregars changed. Shaking the hand which M. d’Escajoul
had just touched,--“Pouah!” he said with a look of thorough
disgust,--“pouah!”
And noticing Maxence’s look of utter surprise,
“Don’t you understand,” he said, “that this old rascal has been sent
to me by Thaller to feel my intentions, and mislead me by false
information? I had scented him, fortunately; and, if either one of
us is dupe of the other, I have every reason to believe that it will
not be me.”
They had finished their breakfast. M. de Tregars called his servant.
“Have you been for a carriage?” he asked.
“It is at the door, sir.”
“Well, then, come along.”
Maxence had the good sense not to over-estimate himself. Perfectly
convinced that he could accomplish nothing alone, he was firmly
resolved to trust blindly to Marius de Tregars.
He followed him, therefore; and it was only after the carriage had
started, that he ventured to ask,
“Where are we going?”
“Didn’t you hear me,” replied M. de Tregars, “order the driver to
take us to the court-house?”
“I beg your pardon; but what I wish to know is, what we are going
to do there?”
“You are going, my dear friend, to ask an audience of the judge who
has your father’s case in charge, and deposit into his hands the
fifteen thousand francs you have in your pocket.”
“What! You wish me to--”
“I think it better to place that money into the hands of justice,
which will appreciate the step, than into those of M. de Thaller,
who would not breathe a word about it. We are in a position where
nothing should be neglected; and that money may prove an indication.”
But they had arrived. M. de Tregars guided Maxence through the
labyrinth of corridors of the building, until he came to a long
gallery, at the entrance of which an usher was seated reading a
newspaper.
“M. Barban d’Avranchel?” inquired M. de Tregars.
“He is in his office,” replied the usher.
“Please ask him if he would receive an important deposition in the
Favoral case.”
The usher rose somewhat reluctantly, and, while he was gone,
“You will go in alone,” said M. de Tregars to Maxence. “I shall
not appear; and it is important that my name should not even be
pronounced. But, above all, try and remember even the most
insignificant words of the judge; for, upon what he tells you, I
shall regulate my conduct.”
The usher returned.
“M. d’Avranchel will receive you,” he said. And, leading Maxence
to the extremity of the gallery, he opened a small door, and
pushed him in, saying at the same time,
“That is it, sir: walk in.”
It was a small room, with a low ceiling, and poorly furnished. The
faded curtains and threadbare carpet showed plainly that more than
one judge had occupied it, and that legions of accused criminals
had passed through it. In front of a table, two men--one old, the
judge; the other young, the clerk--were signing and classifying
papers. These papers related to the Favoral case, and were all
indorsed in large letters: Mutual Credit Company.
As soon as Maxence appeared, the judge rose, and, after measuring
him with a clear and cold look:
“Who are you?” he interrogated.
In a somewhat husky voice, Maxence stated his name and surname.
“Ah! you are Vincent Favoral’s son,” interrupted the judge. “And
it was you who helped him escape through the window? I was going
to send you a summons this very day; but, since you are here, so
much the better. You have something important to communicate, I
have been told.”
Very few people, even among the most strictly honest, can overcome
a certain unpleasant feeling when, having crossed the threshold of
the palace of justice, they find themselves in presence of a judge.
More than almost any one else, Maxence was likely to be accessible
to that vague and inexplicable feeling; and it was with an effort
that he answered,
“On Saturday evening, the Baron de Thaller called at our house a
few minutes before the commissary. After loading my father with
reproaches, he invited him to leave the country; and, in order to
facilitate his flight, he handed him these fifteen thousand francs.
My father declined to accept them; and, at the moment of parting,
he recommended to me particularly to return them to M. de Thaller.
I thought it best to return them to you, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because I wished the fact known to you of the money having been
offered and refused.”
M. Barban d’Avranchel was quietly stroking his whiskers, once of a
bright red, but now almost entirely white.
“Is this an insinuation against the manager of the Mutual Credit?”
he asked.
Maxence looked straight at him; and, in a tone which affirmed
precisely the reverse,
“I accuse no one,” he said.
“I must tell you,” resumed the judge, “that M. de Thaller has
himself informed me of this circumstance. When he called at your
house, he was ignorant, as yet, of the extent of the embezzlements,
and was in hopes of being able to hush up the affair. That’s why
he wished his cashier to start for Belgium. This system of
helping criminals to escape the just punishment of their crimes is
to be bitterly deplored; but it is quite the habit of your financial
magnates, who prefer sending some poor devil of an employe to hang
himself abroad than run the risk of compromising their credit by
confessing that they have been robbed.”
Maxence might have had a great deal to say; but M. de Tregars had
recommended him the most extreme reserve. He remained silent.
“On the other hand,” resumed the judge, “the refusal to accept the
money so generously offered does not speak in favor of Vincent
Favoral. He was well aware, when he left, that it would require a
great deal of money to reach the frontier, escape pursuit, and hide
himself abroad; and, if he refused the fifteen thousand francs, it
must have been because he was well provided for already.”
Tears of shame and rage started from Maxence’s eyes. “I am certain,
sir,” he exclaimed, “that my father went off without a sou.”
“What has become of the millions, then?” he asked coldly.
Maxence hesitated. Why not mention his suspicions? He dared not.
“My father speculated at the bourse,” he stammered. “And he led a
scandalous conduct, keeping up, away from home, a style of living
which must have absorbed immense sums.”
“We knew nothing of it, sir; and our first suspicions were aroused
by what the commissary of police told us.”
The judge insisted no more; and in a tone which indicated that his
question was a mere matter of form, and he attached but little
importance to the answer,
“You have no news from your father?” he asked.
“None whatever.”
“And you have no idea where he has gone?”
“None in the least.”
M. d’Avranchel had already resumed his seat at the table, and was
again busy with his papers.
“You may retire,” he said. “You will be notified if I need you.”
Maxence felt much discouraged when he joined M. de Tregars at the
entrance of the gallery.
“The judge is convinced of M. de Thaller’s entire innocence,” he
said.
But as soon as he had narrated, with a fidelity that did honor to
his memory, all that had just occurred,
“Nothing is lost yet,” declared M. de Tregars. And, taking from
his pocket the bill for two trunks, which had been found in M.
Favoral’s portfolio,
“There,” he said, “we shall know our fate.”