"CONFIDENTIAL MISSIONS"
It was nearly twenty years after the disappearance of Jacqueline that
M. Robert Henri Perissard and his very dear confrère, M. Modiste
Hyacinthe Merivel, reached their office in a little street not very far
from the Palace of Justice, about nine o'clock in the morning, as was
their custom.
They always took a cab in going to and from their place of business
for the same reason that the cab never took them to the door of their
residence. And, for the same reason, their residence was in one of
the worst streets of Montmartre. One maintained an address in the Rue
Fribourg and the other in Rue St. Denis, but neither could ever be
found there.
Their little home was beautifully furnished, but it was on the top
floor of a squalid-looking building, and scarcely a soul in the world
besides themselves knew that they lived there. They did not look at
all like residents of the vilest quarter of Paris. In fact, their
appearance was so blamelessly respectable that it would have aroused
the suspicions of a clever policeman.
All this may seem strange, but in their relation to society it
was quite necessary. It was their mission in life to avenge all
transgressions of the laws of God and man. They ferreted out evildoing
that escaped or was not punishable by the police, and heavily fined the
evildoers. It was a lucrative business, but they dared not live up to
anything like the full strength of their income. It would attract too
much attention, and gentlemen who engage in that business always shrink
from notoriety. As it is, they are frequently found in queer places
decorated with bullet holes or knife wounds of great merit.
Then, besides, the natural guardians of the community--the police--are
frequently brutal enough to call them "blackmailers" and send them to
prison for long terms. So you can see that only gentlemen of great
caution and perspicacity can ply the trade successfully.
M. Perissard, the elder of the two, had in conversation a mixture of
pomposity and unction that was truly edifying.
He was about medium height with a rotund figure, bald head, bushy
side-whiskers and little porcine eyes in a fat face. If you were not a
close observer of men you would have taken him for a prosperous banker.
His companion, M. Merivel, was the larger and younger man. He affected
an even more subdued and painfully respectable garb. He had oily black
hair and heavy jowls. He was gifted with a deep heavy voice, though not
so glib a tongue, but it was most impressive to hear him back up his
co-worker's statements with rumbling affirmatives.
The commodities in which they dealt are not hard to come by--especially
in Continental Europe. There is scarcely a wealthy family that has not
some secret that it would rather the world did not know. For men with
the shrewdness and insight of Messrs. Perissard and Merivel a whisper,
a breath, was enough. A patient and careful system of espionage and
research and a little judicious bribing of servants and, lo! The thing
was done!
Lately their business had been remarkably successful and was spreading
rapidly--so rapidly that they had found it necessary to take in
another man to look after their interests in Lyons, where they had
two or three "_most_ promising affairs," as M. Merivel would have put
it. And now they felt the need of a shrewd man in Bordeaux--shrewd
and courageous, for they had laid out a "mission" there that was
so dangerous that neither cared to handle it in person, and yet so
lucrative that it could not be abandoned.
The man in Lyons had proved that he was just the genius needed
there and the partners feared that they should "never look upon his
like again." For weeks they had gone over the field of reckless and
unscrupulous blackguards whom they knew--and knew to be at that time
out of prison--but they could not fix upon one who, they were sure, had
the ability and the loyalty combined.
It was in this dilemma that M. Perissard began opening the morning's
mail, sighing heavily, while his associate busied himself with a
collection of society papers from various capitals in the hope of
unearthing a profitable hint of threatened scandal.
The first letter was from the editor of a black-mailing weekly who
received commissions on all of his "tips" that developed into financial
gain for the firm of "Perissard and Merivel, Confidential Missions."
It contained the information that a certain Marquise had gone into a
secluded part of Switzerland "for her health" and was very anxious to
maintain the utmost secrecy, as it was well known that her husband had
been in the Far East for more than a year.
M. Perissard put the letter carefully to one side of his desk and
picked up the next, which bore a queer-looking South American stamp.
He opened it and glanced over the two sheets of notepaper that it
contained, and as he read his face expressed a grateful and uplifting
joy.
"My dear Merivel!" he exclaimed. "Our problem is solved!
The--veree--thing!"
M. Merivel ponderously folded his paper and turned a look of heavy
inquiry on his associate.
"Indeed!" he rumbled.
"True! my dear friend, true!" M. Perissard assured him, joyously.
"Listen!" And this is what he read:
Café Libertad, Buenos Ayres, Feb. 11th.
_My Revered Preceptor_:
You will no doubt be surprised to hear from me, and especially
in this God-forsaken place, but here I am without exactly
knowing how I got here. Furthermore, now that I am here and
have been here for some weeks, I don't see how I am going to
live much longer.
South America is a great place for government officials and
cattle raisers. Cattle thieves, I am told, do rather well,
too, but none of these three lines of occupation is open to
me. I haven't the influence for the first, the capital for the
second or the inclination for the third. It is _bourgeois_,
and it is well for us of the upper classes to keep our hands
clean of vulgar theft. The more gentlemanly forms of acquiring
mentionable sums are practically useless. These people of Latin
America have the suspicious nature of all provincials; and, as
most of them chat about their family scandals in the cafés, it
is not a fruitful field for a discreet young man with a keen
scent. The very wealthy are usually investing in revolutions,
and I have no vocation for that form of promoting.
All this, my dear teacher, is simply a prelude to the
information that I want to get back to La Belle France--want to
very badly. If you can find something for me to do and want me
badly enough to pay my passage, I will take the first ship that
sails. You can reach me at the above address, unless a certain
yellow-skinned suitor of one of the ladies at the café knifes
me before I hear from you. Believe me to be yours dutifully,
FREDERIC LAROQUE.
M. Perissard read and M. Merivel heard this flippant letter without
the trace of a smile. They were serious-minded folk. "Confidential
missions" have the effect of dwarfing the sense of humor, and they had
been in the profession for many years.
"A-ahem!" said M. Merivel heavily. "And this Frederic Laroque---?
"He is a young man who was a clerk in my office before we became
partners, my dear Merivel," explained M. Perissard, smiling happily.
"He displayed a singular aptitude for our work but----Youth! Youth!" He
shook his head. "He would not stay with me as I advised. He insisted
on going his own way and I lost sight of him in a short time. I am
really surprised that he is not in prison, but it shows that he must
have developed as I knew that he would. His hardships in the New
World probably have had the needed subduing effect. And now he is an
instrument made to our hand! Thoroughly loyal to his friend or employer
he always was, I assure you, my dear Merivel, and without fear--without
fear absolutely! Oh, it is providential! Providential!" and he raised
his hands piously.
"_Most_ providential!" echoed M. Merivel in rolling thunder. Then
he added: "You are certain, my dear Robert, that the young man is
trustworthy? You remember that Guadin was also fearless!"
"Oh, quite so! Quite so, my dear friend!" his confrère hastened to
assure him. "He is the soul of honor! He would not think of attempting
anything dishonest with me!"
"In that case," came from the depths of M. Merivel's chest, "I think
that we would do well to send him the money."
"Just what I was going to propose the moment I finished his letter!"
declared M. Perissard.
So the letter was written and a postal order for a thousand francs
enclosed. Laroque was requested to meet M. Perissard at the Hotel of
the Three Crowns in Bordeaux as soon as he could get there.
* * * * *
Some three weeks later M. Frederic Laroque, accompanied by the lady of
the Café Libertad, walked up the gangplank of the "Amazon," bound for
France, while on the pier, Manuel Silvas blasphemed the Virgin because
he was armed only with a knife; and Laroque had carelessly dropped his
hand on his pistol pocket as he passed.