“Did I hear right? Did you say the concierge of that house in Water
Street, and his wife, were called Chevassat?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because Maxime de Brevan’s real name is Justin Chevassat.”
Papa Ravinet started up as if he had been shot.
“What,” he said, “you know that?”
“I learned it three months ago. I also know that my friend, the
proud nobleman, Maxime de Brevan, who has been received in the most
aristocratic _salons_ of Paris, has been a galley-slave, condemned for
forgery.”
Henrietta had risen, filled with terror.
“Then,” she stammered, “this wretched man was”--
“Chevassat’s son; yes, madam,” replied Mrs. Bertolle.
“Oh!” exclaimed the poor girl, “oh!”
And she fell heavily back into her chair, overcome by this discovery.
The old dealer alone preserved his calm appearance.
“How did you learn that?” he asked Daniel.
“Through the man whom my friend Maxime had hired to murder me.”
Positively this threatened to be too much for Henrietta’s mind.
“Ah! I thought the mean coward would try to get you out of the way,
Daniel. I wrote to you to be careful.”
“And I received your letter, my darling, but too late. After having
missed me twice, the assassin fired at me; and I was in my bed, a ball
in my chest, dying.”
“What has become of the murderer?” asked Papa Ravinet.
“He was arrested.”
“Then he confessed?”
“Yes, thanks to the astonishing cleverness of the magistrate who carried
on the investigation.”
“What has become of him?”
“He has left Saigon by this time. They have sent him home to be tried
here.”
“And Brevan?”
“I am surprised he has not yet been arrested. The papers in the case
were sent to Paris by a vessel which left a fortnight before I left. To
be sure, ‘The Saint Louis’ may have gotten ahead of her. At all events,
I have in my keeping a letter to the court.”
Papa Ravinet seemed to be almost delirious with joy. He gesticulated
like a madman; he laughed nervously, and almost frightfully, till his
sides shook; and at last he said,--
“I shall see Brevan on the scaffold! Yes, I shall!”
But from that moment there was an end of that logical order which the
old gentleman had so far kept up. As it always happens with people who
are under the influence of some passion, eager to learn what they do not
know, and little disposed to tell what they do know, confusion prevailed
soon. Questions crossed each other, and followed, without order or
connection. Answers came at haphazard. Each wanted to be heard; and
all were speaking at once. Thus the explanations, which, by a little
management, might have been given in twenty minutes, took them more than
two hours.
At last, after the lapse of this time, and by dint of great efforts, it
became possible to ascertain the sum total of the information given by
Papa Ravinet, Daniel, and Henrietta. The truth began to show itself
in the midst of this chaos; and the plot of Sarah Brandon and her
accomplices appeared in all its hideous outlines. A plan of striking
simplicity, the success of which seemed to have hung upon a hair. If the
old dealer, instead of going down by the backstairs, had taken the front
staircase, he would never have heard Henrietta’s agony, and the poor
child would have been lost.
If Crochard’s ball had been a few lines nearer the heart, Daniel would
have been killed.
And still the old dealer was not quite satisfied. He hung his lip, and
winked with his yellow eyes, as if he wished it to be understood that
he was by no means fully convinced, and that there were certain points
which required fuller explanation.
“Look here, M. Champcey,” he began at last, “the more I think of it, the
more _I_ am convinced that Sarah Brandon had nothing to do with these
attempts at assassination, which so nearly made an end of you. She is
too strong in her perversity to stoop to such coarse means, which always
leave traces behind, and finally lead to a court of justice. She always
acts alone, when her mind is made up; and her accomplices aid her only
unconsciously, so that they can never betray her.”
Daniel had been thoughtful.
“What you tell me,” he answered, “I was told before by M. de Brevan.”
The old gentleman did not seem to hear him, so intensely did he apply
all the faculties of his mind to the problem before him.
“Still,” he continued, “there is no doubt about the manner in which
Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, was employed. Could Brevan have done so
without Sarah’s knowledge, and perhaps even contrary to her wishes?”
“That is quite possible; but then why should he have done so?”
“To secure to himself the fortune which M. Champcey had so imprudently
intrusted to him,” said Henrietta.