HOPE AT LAST
Messrs. Perissard and Merivel were not hopelessly shocked and
grief-stricken over the death of Laroque. They were grateful to his
memory, inasmuch as he had put them in the way of making 125,000
francs with more ease and less risk than they had expected to incur in
collecting, at the outside, three-fifths of that amount in Bordeaux.
They were doubly grateful when they reflected that his timely death had
saved them ten per cent of that amount.
While he would have been useful in the matter of the public official of
Bordeaux, they felt that they would eventually find as trustworthy an
agent. On the whole, from the viewpoint of the partners in Confidential
Missions, nothing in his life became him as the leaving it. The fact
that he had been murdered by the wife of the President of the Court of
Toulouse put that gentleman in position where he could not possibly
refuse to pay for "discretion."
They went over all this as they sat in a café not far from the Floriot
house in Bordeaux and waited for M. Floriot's return. It had taken
them nearly three months to finally fix upon him as the husband of
the homicide of the Three Crowns. They went to Toulouse to interview
him and found that he had just gone to Bordeaux to attend the trial
in which his son was to appear for the defense. They fairly hugged
themselves with pious joy when they saw the shocking corruption of the
whole proceedings.
"We have got him, my dear Merivel," declared M. Perissard. "And he has
actually come to Bordeaux to see the trial!"
"A most shrewd man!" rumbled his colleague.
"I should say so!" returned M. Perissard. "He has his own son chosen
for the defense, and according to gossip, his son is to marry the
daughter of the Public Prosecutor!"
"A _most_ clever man!" insisted M. Merivel in a voice like the roar of
the surf.
"And they tell me that Floriot's wife refused to say a word to the
Examining Magistrate."
"Of course! The husband has been telling her what to do!"
"Obviously! Obviously!" agreed the senior partner with a vigorous nod.
"In this way, you see, her name won't even be mentioned, and as nobody
knows her in Bordeaux----" A two-handed gesture and a shrug of the
shoulders filled the hiatus.
"None of the trouble will get out of the family," concluded M. Merivel
heavily.
"The jury will find her guilty or acquit her--that is of no interest
whatever. But no one will ever know the inner interest!"
"Excepting ourselves, my dear Perissard," corrected the ex-schoolmaster.
"Exactly! Exactly! It is _most_ providential!"
It was with the situation thus reasoned out that the defenders of
society presented themselves for the second time at the house of M.
Floriot, when they were conducted to the garden. M. the President
received them with grave courtesy and invited them to take seats.
With all three comfortably settled, M. Merivel being a little in the
background, he asked:
"What can I do for you, gentlemen?"
"Have I the honor of speaking to President Floriot?" inquired M.
Perissard in his most polished manner.
"Yes, monsieur. And your name is----?"
"Perissard! This is M. Merivel, my associate," he added, rising with a
bow to that gentleman who also rose and saluted M. the President with a
profound obeisance.
"And what business brings you to Bordeaux?" M. Floriot inquired once
more when they had all resumed their seats.
"A--a matter of some delicacy, M. the President," began the senior
partner, clearing his throat impressively. "A matter which interests
you personally."
M. Floriot raised his eyebrows a trifle.
"Well?"
M. Perissard fidgeted slightly. When he spoke again it was in his most
"inspiring" manner.
"Every man has, at one time or another in his life, reason to regret
the past, and these regrets--however secretly we may hide them--remain
open wounds," he began, heavily.
"Alas!" exclaimed M. Merivel in gloomy thunder. M. Floriot stirred
impatiently.
"Probably true. But kindly explain yourself!" he commanded, shortly.
M. Perissard at once decided that nothing was to be gained by
moralizing, so he went directly to business.
"M. the President, you were Deputy Attorney in Paris twenty years ago,
were you not?"
"Yes."
"And if I am correctly informed you married a lady named Jacqueline
Lefevre, at the Town Hall in the Rue Drouot. She brought you a dot of
125,000 francs."
Floriot's glance was troubled and uneasy.
"Your information is perfectly correct," he said. "But why all these
questions?"
"Because they are indispensable," M. Perissard assured him, and he was
backed up by a ponderous nod from his colleague. "In family matters of
this kind one cannot take too many precautions. In matters of honor, I
have always said----"
Floriot half-rose. His face had paled slightly and his manner was
nervous.
"My time is limited!" he broke in, abruptly.
"I beg your pardon, monsieur! I beg your pardon!"
And four fat hands motioned him back to his seat.
"I will be brief!" M. Perissard assured him. "Your marriage was not
altogether as happy as it might have been, and one day you had a
violent scene. You turned out of your house the lady who had the honor
of bearing your name!"
"How do you know this? Who told you?" demanded Floriot. His voice was
low and menacing.
"Ah, it is true, then!" exclaimed M. Perissard. The other gave no sign
and Perissard took the silence as an assent.
"Very good! After this incident," he continued, hastily. "Madame
Floriot traveled. She traveled very far and was more or less--happy.
More or less!"
Floriot sprang up, white-faced and trembling.
"She is dead!" he cried. "You have come to tell me she is dead!"
M. Perissard smiled cunningly. He could appreciate good acting.
"Oh, no, I haven't!" he replied.
"She is _alive_?"
"Undoubtedly!"
"_Most_ certainly!" thundered M. Merivel.
"And where is she? In Paris! In France! Where?" cried Floriot, almost
too excited for coherency.
M. Perissard was beginning to be really puzzled. Was it possible that
this man did not know who the woman of the Three Crowns was? Was it
possible that he had not arranged the whole defense?
"Do you really mean that you don't know where your wife is now?" he
demanded.
"No! No! But you've come to tell me, haven't you?" He was feverishly
eager. He walked up and down before them with quick nervous strides?
and looked from one to the other with burning eyes.
"This is really most extraordinary!" declared M. Perissard. "I should
have thought with all your means of getting information----"
"I have never heard from her or of her since the day she disappeared!"
"Never?" insisted the other, wonderingly.
"Never! I thought she was dead!"
"Extraordinary! Isn't it?" M. Perissard appealed to his partner.
"_Most_ extraordinary!" was the prompt response.
Floriot was fairly dancing with excitement and impatience.
"You know where she is and where I can see her?" he demanded.
"Indeed, I do!" declared M. Perissard.
"Tell me, man! Tell me!" he cried.
M. Perissard stroked his chin a moment. All this excitement indicated
excellent opportunities for financial advancement and he did not want
to spoil anything through unwary haste.
"I have not been instructed to tell you," he said, guardedly.
"Good God, man! You don't mean to say you refuse?"
"My--my client has so instructed me----" began M. Perissard in his most
professional tone.
"You come from her?" interrupted the other. "She's your client? What
does she want? What can I do?"
M. Perissard drew a quick breath.
"She wants the money she brought with her on her marriage!" he plumped
out.
"Her dot? Her 125,000 francs?"
"She wants that sum refunded to her!" affirmed M. Perissard, pursing up
his lips impressively.
"She would have had it long ago if I had known where to find her!"
cried Floriot.
"Then you will raise no objections?" There was a triumphant gleam in M.
Perissard's pig-like I eyes.
"None whatever! The money is here!"
The two partners rose as one and held out their hands.
"I will tell her what you say--word for word!" declared the senior.
"Give me her address so I can go and see her at once!" pleaded Floriot,
eagerly.
"M. the President," replied M. Perissard in his heaviest manner. "I
must beg you to excuse me: I have no authority from my client to give
you her address."
"But----"
"I am only acting on instructions!"
"But what reason can she have for refusing to see me?" he protested,
wildly.
"I don't know that she has any reason, but before giving you her
address I must ask her permission!" was the firm response.
"Then you are going to see her?"
"I shall write to her," replied M. Perissard. "I may confide one thing
in you, I think, without exceeding my professional duty."
"Yes?" questioned Floriot eagerly.
"May I count on your discretion?"
"Absolutely! You have my word for it!"
M. Perissard appeared to hesitate.
"Madame Floriot is just now in--ah--er--tight place," he said.
"A very tight place!" echoed his partner.
"She is absolutely penniless!"
"Great heavens!" gasped Floriot, horror-stricken. He dropped into a
chair and buried his face in his hands.
"Are--are you willing to send her some money?" inquired the senior
partner. Floriot sprang up, his face flushed.
"By all means!" he cried, his hand darting into his coat pocket. "Will
you see that she gets it? _Immediately_?"
"Without a moment's delay!" M. Perissard assured him, heartily. Floriot
bowed his head as he worked with the leather tongue of his pocket-book,
and when he looked up his eyes were misty with tears.
"Gentlemen," he said, brokenly, "you must excuse my emotion--when I
think that--she--is without a penny----! Here are 300 francs--all I
have with me. Send it to her at once and----"
"She shall receive the money to-day!" M. Perissard broke in. "Allow me
to give you a receipt. And when can I see you again, M. the President?
Will the day after to-morrow suit you?"
"Can you have an answer by then?"
"I hope so!"
"I'll expect you in the morning then." He smiled almost joyously and
held out his hands to the visitors. "We can go and see her together! I
need not ask you to be discreet, need I? Nobody must know!" he added
anxiously. M. Perissard drew himself up haughtily.
"M. the President!" he said stiffly, "I have not the honor of being
known to you, but remember these words: Whatever may happen, we are
engaged by our word of honor to remain silent--my partner, you and I!"
"Silent as the tomb!" echoed M. Merivel.
"And you may always reckon--always, I repeat--on our entire
discretion!"
Floriot put out a hand which was eagerly gripped.
"Gentlemen, I thank you!" he said in a grave, unsteady voice. And with
many a scrape and hand-shake and assurance of their perfect discretion
the firm of Perissard and Merivel bowed itself out.
For a moment, after they had gone, Floriot stood with head raised and
fists clenched.
"Oh, Jacqueline! Jacqueline!" he murmured aloud, as if he felt that the
cry from his heart must reach her ears. "Forgive--forgive me!"
Then he darted across the garden and into the house like a boy. Up the
steps he raced, three at a time, and burst into Noel's room with tears
streaming down his face, speechless with emotion. Noel started up from
the suit-case he was unpacking and stared at his friend in alarm.
"For God's sake, Louis!" he cried. "What's the matter?"
"Jacqueline--Jacqueline is alive!"
In a bound Noel was across the room, with a grip on his friend's
shoulder.
"What do you mean?" he cried, shaking him fiercely. "Alive! Who told
you?"
In broken, gasping phrases Floriot told the story; and as Noel finally
grasped the details, he clutched his friend's arms, and with a shout
of joy hurled him on to the bed. Floriot bounded back to his feet and
swung his fist into the other's back. Then these two gray-haired men
threw each other around the room, rolled over together on the bed,
knocked chairs over and tables upside down, shouting and laughing at
the top of their lungs.
"Day after to-morrow! Twenty years, old man! I knew we'd win out at
last!"
The uproar reached Raymond in his studio at the other end of the house
and he ran up to see what was the matter. As he threw open the door of
the disordered room he saw his father and M. Noel shaking hands as
enthusiastically as if they had not met for years.
"Why, father, what's the matter?" he cried.
Floriot ran over and threw an arm across his son's shoulders.
"Raymond, my boy!" he shouted, "A wonderful--an unbelievable happiness
has come to your father! I can't tell you anything yet but, my God! I'm
happy!"