M. de Tregars and Maxence were in luck. They had a good driver and
a fair horse; and in twenty minutes they were at the trunk store.
As soon as the cab stopped,
“Well,” exclaimed M. de Tregars, “I suppose it has to be done.”
And, with the look of a man who has made up his mind to do something
which is extremely repugnant to him, he jumped out, and, followed
by Maxence, entered the shop.
It was a modest establishment; and the people who kept it, husband
and wife, seeing two customers coming in, rushed to meet them, with
that welcoming smile which blossoms upon the lips of every Parisian
shopkeeper.
“What will you have, gentlemen?”
And, with wonderful volubility, they went on enumerating every
article which they had for sale in their shop,--from the
“indispensable-necessary,” containing seventy-seven pieces of solid
silver, and costing four thousand francs, down to the humblest
carpet-bag at thirty-nine cents.
But Marius de Tregars interrupted them as soon as he could get an
opportunity, and, showing them their bill,
“It was here, wasn’t it,” he inquired, “that the two trunks were
bought which are charged in this bill?”
“Yes, sir,” answered simultaneously both husband and wife.
“When were they delivered?”
“Our porter went to deliver them, less than two hours after they
were bought.”
“Where?”
By this time the shopkeepers were beginning to exchange uneasy looks.
“Why do you ask?” inquired the woman in a tone which indicated that
she had the settled intention not to answer, unless for good and
valid reason.
To obtain the simplest information is not always as easy as might
be supposed. The suspicion of the Parisian tradesman is easily
aroused; and, as his head is stuffed with stories of spies and
robbers, as soon as he is questioned he becomes as dumb as an oyster.
But M. de Tregars had foreseen the difficulty:
“I beg you to believe, madame,” he went on, “that my questions are
not dictated by an idle curiosity. Here are the facts. A relative
of ours, a man of a certain age, of whom we are very fond, and whose
head is a little weak, left his home some forty-eight hours since.
We are looking for him, and we are in hopes, if we find these trunks,
to find him at the same time.”
With furtive glances, the husband and wife were tacitly consulting
each other.
“The fact is,” they said, “we wouldn’t like, under any consideration,
to commit an indiscretion which might result to the prejudice of a
customer.”
“Fear nothing,” said M. de Tregars with a reassuring gesture. “If
we have not had recourse to the police, it’s because, you know, it
isn’t pleasant to have the police interfere in one’s affairs. If
you have any objections to answer me, however, I must, of course,
apply to the commissary.”
The argument proved decisive.
“If that’s the case,” replied the woman, “I am ready to tell all I
know.”
“Well, then, madame, what do you know?”
“These two trunks were bought on Friday afternoon last, by a man of
a certain age, tall, very thin, with a stern countenance, and
wearing a long frock coat.”
“No more doubt,” murmured Maxence. “It was he.”
“And now,” the woman went on, “that you have just told me that your
relative was a little weak in the head, I remember that this
gentleman had a strange sort of way about him, and that he kept
walking about the store as if he had fleas on his legs. And awful
particular he was too! Nothing was handsome enough and strong
enough for him; and he was anxious about the safety-locks, as he
had, he said, many objects of value, papers, and securities, to put
away.”
“And where did he tell you to send the two trunks?”
“Rue du Cirque, to Mme.--wait a minute, I have the name at the end
of my tongue.”
“You must have it on your books, too,” remarked M. de Tregars.
The husband was already looking over his blotter.
“April 26, 1872,” he said. “26, here it is: ‘Two leather trunks,
patent safety-locks: Mme. Zelie Cadelle, 49 Rue du Cirque.’”
Without too much affectation, M. de Tregars had drawn near to the
shopkeeper, and was looking over his shoulder.
“What is that,” he asked, “written there, below the address?”
“That, sir, is the direction left by the customer ‘Mark on each end
of the trunks, in large letters, “Rio de Janeiro.”’”
Maxence could not suppress an exclamation. “Oh!”
But the tradesman mistook him; and, seizing this magnificent
opportunity to display his knowledge,
“Rio de Janeiro is the capital of Brazil,” he said in a tone of
importance. “And your relative evidently intended to go there; and,
if he has not changed his mind, I doubt whether you can overtake
him; for the Brazilian steamer was to have sailed yesterday from
Havre.”
Whatever may have been his intentions, M. de Tregars remained
perfectly calm.
“If that’s the case,” he said to the shopkeepers, “I think I had
better give up the chase. I am much obliged to you, however, for
your information.”
But, once out again,
“Do you really believe,” inquired Maxence, “that my father has
left France?”