V.

After his midnight mishap, Puymirol, still suffering from his fall,

slowly and gloomily retraced his steps. What should he do with himself?

He was in no humour to go to bed, and the thought occurred to him that

he might perhaps still retrieve his losses at the gaming-table. The

doors of his own club were closed against him until his outstanding debt

was paid, but he knew other places easy of access, for in Paris there

are plenty of private gambling-dens to which a man can gain admission by

feeing the doorkeeper, as Puymirol was well aware. Thus in his great

need, the idea of again trying his luck occurred to him, and he did not

lose a moment in carrying it into execution. But, alas, the thirty louis

which still remained to him were speedily lost in an establishment of

the Chaussée d'Antin; and Puymirol, disheartened and exhausted, left the

card-room, and passing into an adjoining apartment flung himself upon a

sofa. He felt that irresistible longing to sleep which so often follows

upon great crises. His eyes closed in spite of all his efforts to keep

them open, and in a few moments he fell into a profound slumber which no

one at first disturbed, for at the gaming-table players don't trouble

themselves about the wounded. He was still sleeping heavily when he was

roughly shaken by a footman; and when he opened his eyes in bewilderment

he found that it was broad daylight. "What time is it?" he inquired,

with a yawn.

"Past eight o'clock," replied the footman sullenly. "All the other

gentlemen left a long while ago; and I must set the room in order. This

isn't a lodging house."

Puymirol felt strongly inclined to kick the fellow who had so rudely

recalled him to the realities of life, but he restrained his wrath, and

rose up without a word. He found his hat and overcoat in the

cloak-room, and forthwith left the establishment, having decided to

return home at once so as to see George and procure the letters, for his

late reverses had discouraged him so much that he was now inclined to

accept Madame de Lescombat's offer. He accordingly walked towards the

boulevard. Paris was already astir; the passers-by jostled him on the

side walk, and vehicles went rapidly to and fro. As he was hastening

past a doorway he narrowly escaped stumbling over a boy who was lying

there, more than half asleep. At this, he paused, with a muttered oath,

and heard the urchin mumble a few words which he did not at first

understand. Our friend was not in the best of humours by any means, and

he felt highly incensed with the little fellow, whom he suspected of

lying in wait to trip up unwary passers-by. "What did you say, you young

rascal?" he cried savagely.

"Buy the official list," sleepily responded the lad, rubbing his eyes.

Seizing the little fellow by his coat collar, Puymirol set him on his

feet in the twinkling of an eye. "Do you know," said he, "you very

nearly broke my neck, and I have a great mind to call a policeman to

take you to the station-house? What do you mean by going to sleep on the

pavement?"

"It is not my fault, sir," sobbed the boy. "I dared not go home because

I hadn't sold all the lists. Mother would have been sure to beat me. So

I ran about the streets all the evening until I couldn't stand it any

longer, and then I sat down here to rest, and fell asleep. Don't have me

arrested, please don't. I am going to set to work again now, and perhaps

I shall manage to sell what I've got left."

Puymirol was really kind-hearted, and the sight of the lad's distress so

touched him, that he put his hand in his pocket. He found himself richer

than he had supposed, for his pocket happened to contain a quantity of

small silver, which had escaped the croupier's rake. "What have you got

there?" he asked.

"Why, sir, I'm selling lists of the winning numbers of the Lottery of

the Decorative Art Society. They cost only two sous apiece; buy one,

sir."

"Well, here are five francs, my lad. You don't look to me as if you had

much dinner yesterday. Go and get something to eat, and then go home to

bed. You can take the money you have left to your mother, and she won't

beat you."

The boy took the money, trying to falter out his thanks; and as Puymirol

hastened on, he ran after him, and forced one of the lists of winning

numbers into his hand, saying: "Please take it. It may bring you good

luck, sir."

In Puymirol's present desperate plight the remark sounded very much like

a sarcasm. Still he took the list, and as he went on his way he glanced

at it mechanically, and beheld in large figures the number of the ticket

which had won the grand prize of one hundred thousand francs.

"Number 115,815!" he murmured. "That is to say, there is now somewhere

in Paris, or in the provinces, a fortunate mortal who paid a franc for a

scrap of paper which he can now exchange for one hundred thousand francs

in bank notes. And this lucky fellow is perhaps a millionaire who has

more money than he knows what to do with already, whereas if I had one

hundred thousand francs I should consider myself independent for life."

So reflecting, Puymirol crumpled the list in his hand, and was about to

throw it away, when a new idea flashed through his brain. "Why, I still

have those tickets I found in the pocket-book. While I was chasing that

rascal last night, I placed them in my waistcoat pocket. What if I

should find one of the winning numbers among them? Let me see."

He drew out the little packet of tickets, some two dozen in number, and,

stopping short behind a newspaper kiosk, he slowly unfolded them. As he

glanced at the topmost ticket he could scarcely believe his eyes, for

there was the number--the winning number printed in the centre of it. He

read and re-read it, examined it again and again, and compared it,

figure by figure, with the list in his other hand; but it was all quite

true, he certainly had in his possession No. 115,815, which entitled its

owner to the grand prize. He had nineteen francs in his pocket, nothing

in his desk, and one hundred thousand francs between his fingers. The

shock was so great and so unexpected, that, proof as he had always

considered himself against emotion, he was obliged to lean against the

newspaper kiosk for support. His brain reeled. But suddenly a fresh

thought occurred to him. "Dash it! the ticket isn't mine! It belonged to

Dargental. In fact, it is the only piece of property he left for his

heirs, if he has any. I have no right to appropriate it. It would be a

theft." Puymirol's face lengthened, but he quickly recovered himself. "A

theft, no. I did not steal it; I found it, or rather it was thrown to

me, which amounted to the same thing as giving it to me."

This sophistry did not deceive him, however. He had invented it to quiet

his conscience; but he realised how shallow it was. Then he thought of

consulting Caumont, but he felt a presentiment that George would advise

him to give up the ticket; and he did not care for advice which he did

not intend to follow. But where and how was this grand prize payable?

Would it only be necessary to show this triumphant No. 115,815 at the

lottery office to convert it into bank notes? One of these questions was

answered on the back of the ticket. He there read that the office of the

Lottery of the Society of Decorative Arts was at the Palais de

l'Industrie, in the Champs Elysées, Door No. 4. Puymirol's position was

too desperate for him to indulge in much reflection. He made a nervous

gesture as if to say: "I must cross the Rubicon," and then he replaced

the tickets in his pocket. However, before going to the lottery office,

he must set his toilet right. Still, this was easily managed. There were

some Turkish baths hard by, and after indulging in the wholesome luxury

of Oriental ablutions, he proceeded in due course to a fashionable

barber's, where he was shaved, cosmetiqued, and perfumed, so that he

would have been presentable anywhere, although he had not changed his

linen. These preparations occupied him until eleven o'clock, and then,

after partaking of a light breakfast, which exhausted his remaining

funds, he hastened to the Palais de l'Industrie. At door No. 4, which

seemed to him very like the gate of Paradise, he found a liveried

footman talking with two men whom he took for favourites of fortune,

who, like himself, had come to receive their money. He explained why he

wished to speak to the secretary, and the attendant having gazed at him

with admiring envy, told him to walk upstairs. The two persons who had

been waiting, followed in his wake, and they all three entered a large

ante-room on the first floor. A clerk rose on seeing them, and Puymirol

was about to repeat his statement when one of the other fellows hastily

approached the clerk, took him aside, and said a few words to him in a

low tone; thereupon the clerk immediately opened a side door, and the

man passed out and disappeared.

Turning to Puymirol, the clerk then inquired what he wanted, and on

learning that he had come to cash a winning ticket, he at once opened a

door leading into the office proper, where Puymirol found two

prepossessing-looking gentlemen. One of them sat in an arm-chair, while

the other occupied a stool at the end of the same table, and had a large

leather case, such as is employed for the conveyance of documents,

before him. "To whom have I the honour of speaking?" inquired the

gentleman in the arm-chair.

"I am the holder of ticket No. 115,815, which is mentioned as having won

one hundred thousand francs at your last drawing."

"I congratulate you, sir. Will you take a seat?"

Puymirol accepted the invitation; but in spite of his gracious

reception, he felt ill at ease in the presence of these two persons.

When a man has not a clear conscience, he sees danger everywhere, and

Puymirol almost fancied himself a culprit arraigned before an

investigating magistrate and his secretary. It was necessary to exhibit

the ticket, however, so he drew the whole packet from his pocket and

handed it to the gentleman in the arm-chair, who unfolded it, and

examined the tickets one after another. "Here are some that do not

interest us," he remarked: "the Tunisian Lottery, the Amsterdam

Lottery."

"Yes," replied Puymirol, "I take a chance or two in all of them, but so

far I have never won anything."

The official continued his examination, and finally lighted upon No.

115,815. This he examined closely, first upon one side, and then upon

the other, and finally passed it to the gentleman seated at the end of

the table. "Excuse this close examination," he remarked to Puymirol. "It

not infrequently happens that spurious tickets are presented to us; that

is to say, tickets of which the numbers have been altered."

"That is not the case with mine, I suppose?"

"No, sir. It is a little soiled, but it has not been tampered with."

"Then I can draw the amount?"

"There are certain formalities which must be gone through first of all.

Will you give me your name and address?"

Puymirol coloured slightly. "Is this indispensable?" he asked. "I don't

care to have my name in the papers. If it became known that I had won

this prize," he added, a little nervously, "I should be beset on every

side by requests for money. All my impecunious friends would make

demands upon my purse, and my hundred thousand francs wouldn't last

long."

"Oh! you need have no fears, sir. We shall not publish your name. This

isn't the first time that winners have requested us not to give their

names, and we have always complied with such requests, although, by

doing so, we miss an excellent advertisement for our lottery. You need

not, therefore, object to giving us your name and address. They will be

recorded upon our books, but no one will be allowed to see them."

"That is all I ask. My name is Adhémar de Puymirol. I am a medical

student, and I reside at No. 14 Rue de Medicis."

"Very well, sir, we will make a note of it. I forgot to mention that you

would be obliged to give this information, in any case, for no winner

can draw a penny of his money without giving a receipt to which his

address must be appended."

"I fancied that it would only be necessary to present the ticket at your

office so as to obtain the money, but I am ready and willing to give a

receipt for it."

The gentleman took no notice of this hint. He seemed to have become

suddenly absorbed in the examination of some papers; however, the person

whom Adhémar had taken for a secretary, looked up, and, with his eyes

fixed searchingly on the applicant's face, he curtly asked: "How old are

you?"

"What difference can my age possibly make? I have attained my majority,

as you see, and that is all that is necessary to make my receipt

perfectly valid."

"Where were you born?"

"What business is that of yours?" replied Adhémar, exasperated by these

strange questions.

"You refuse to answer, then?"

"Yes, certainly. I came here to draw the money due to me. I don't intend

to be cross examined like some criminal."

"Be careful, I am a commissary of police."

Puymirol turned pale. He realised, at last, that he had plunged blindly

into a frightful abyss, and that his imprudence was about to cost him

dear. He was resolved to defend himself to the last, however. "I was not

aware that the managers of this popular lottery required the assistance

of police officials in the performance of their duties," he retorted.

"This precaution will hardly favour the sale of tickets, should it

become known to the public, and I will take good care to inform people

about it."

"You are speaking to a magistrate, remember. Tell me where, and when,

you purchased this ticket?"

"At a tobacconist's, probably."

"What tobacconist's?"

"The deuce take me if I can remember. I purchased between twenty and

thirty tickets, and in a dozen different places. They are all here on

the table."

"Yes, I see you have brought them all. It is strange that the idea of

detaching the winning ticket did not occur to you. One can not think of

everything, however."

"I brought the package exactly as I took it from my pocket-book."

"Have you that pocket-book about you?"

"No," stammered Puymirol, disconcerted by this question, which he might

have foreseen, however. "I left it at home."

"Of course, great as your audacity may be, you would hardly dare to

produce that. It bears other initials than yours."

"Produce it if you can," retorted Puymirol, imprudently.

"I understand. You have no fear of its being produced; you have

destroyed it."

This time the commissary had made a mistake, and a suspicion that had

flashed across Puymirol's mind a few moments before, was effectually

dispelled. He had fancied that his assailant of the previous night might

have been set upon his track by the police, who had taken forcible

possession of the pocket-book, by orders of his superiors. "I do not

understand you, unfortunately," said Adhémar. "But let us put an end to

this. What are you aiming at?"

"Well, a crime was committed in Paris about a fortnight ago. A

well-known gentleman, a man of fashion, was murdered at mid-day, in his

rooms. You must have heard of the affair?"

"Yes, through the papers."

"Well, the gentleman's valet was arrested; but, as there was no evidence

against him, he has been released. The murderer has not only escaped

detection so far, but the motive that prompted the crime has not yet

been discovered. All that has been ascertained is that the victim always

carried a pocket-book, of which a full description has been given, and

that this pocket-book has disappeared."

"All this is very interesting," sneered Puymirol. "The pocket-book

probably contained a large sum of money?"

"That is the general supposition, but one can not be sure. One thing,

however, is certain; it contained several tickets of this lottery, and

among this gentleman's private papers, a list of these tickets was

found. It occurred to the investigating magistrate that he might utilise

this information in the improbable event of one of these particular

tickets winning a prize, and being presented for payment by the

murderer. It was one chance in a million, and yet it has occurred. As

soon as the investigating magistrate ascertained that one of these

tickets had won the grand prize, he gave me orders to come here with two

detectives. Now, you must understand the situation. What have you to

say?"

"Nothing."

"Your silence is equivalent to a confession of guilt. You admit, then,

that you purloined these tickets after killing the man who had them

about his person?"

"I admit nothing of the kind."

"Oh! it is patent that you took them from the body of your victim; and

you had the courage to open the pocket-book immediately after murdering

that unfortunate man. Look at this ticket. The mark of your bloody

fingers is still upon it."

As the commissary spoke he spread the ticket out upon the table and

pointed to a couple of pale red stains upon the back of it and which

Puymirol had not perceived when he had looked at the ticket on the

boulevard. However he made no attempt to refute the commissary's

arguments. He had decided to defend himself in a different way. "So you

really accuse me of murder and robbery?" he asked.

"I have merely stated the facts and the conclusions one must naturally

draw from them. It is for you to prove that my deductions are false.

Now, do you still persist in declaring that you purchased the tickets in

a cigar shop?"

"No," was Adhémar's reluctant response. "I found them in a cab a

fortnight ago."

"And you kept them until now?"

"I attached very little importance to the occurrence. Lottery tickets

are seldom of any value."

"Before the drawing, perhaps so; but afterwards when one of them has won

a prize, it is very different."

"I admit that I yielded to the temptation of trying to profit by what

seemed almost a godsend; I had no idea of doing so until this morning,

however, when a list of the winning numbers happened to fall into my

hands. I had the tickets in my pocket at the time, and impelled by a

very natural curiosity to compare them with the list, I saw that the

first prize had been won by No. 115,815. I yielded to the temptation

which I regret, and I am certainly sufficiently punished."

"Why did you not inform Monsieur Robergeot of the finding of these

tickets?" inquired the commissary, after a prolonged pause.

"Who is Monsieur Robergeot?"

"The investigating magistrate who sent for you on the day after the

murder. I have his report here. You see I know everything."

"But I had no reason to suppose that this ticket had ever belonged to

Dargental. The magistrate said nothing that would lead me to think so.

He only asked me what I saw on entering the room in which the body was

lying, and what I thought of the valet's connection with the affair."

"At that time the memorandum had not been found. But from what you say,

the tickets were in your possession when you were first examined."

Puymirol bit his lip, but it was too late to retract this imprudent

admission. "Yes," he replied at last. "They had been in my possession

since the previous day, though at the time I forgot all about them."

"You picked them up in a cab you said. In that case, it is natural to

suppose that the murderer dropped them there, or that he left them there

intentionally. He certainly did not murder Monsieur Dargental to obtain

possession of them. However, where did you take this cab?"

"At the cab-stand near my house outside the Luxembourg."

"And it took you where?"

"To the Lion d'Or restaurant where Dargental had asked me to meet him.

He was giving a lunch that day to several friends."

"At what hour did you reach the restaurant?"

"About noon."

"And the crime must have been committed at about eleven o'clock. It is

strange that the murderer should have driven back to the Odéon almost to

your very door."

Puymirol made no reply. He felt that he was not capable of contending

with the commissary. "Did you take the number of this cab?" added the

official.

"No. I had no special reason for taking it."

"Excuse me: had you done so, you might have questioned the driver, and

have ascertained where he had left the passenger who had dropped the

lottery tickets. It is true that you were not anxious to find him, as

you had already decided to keep them." Puymirol flushed, and hung his

head. To clear himself of the charge of murder he had placed himself in

such a position that he could not deny a fraudulent intention. "It is a

great pity," continued the commissary. "The driver's testimony would be

of great importance, for the magistrate is not obliged to take your

word, and if you can produce no witness--Were you alone in the cab?"

This time Puymirol hesitated. It was too great a risk to mention George

Caumont's name, for George, who was ignorant of the real situation of

affairs, would simply tell the truth, and then the pocket-book, which

Puymirol no longer possessed, would come into question; and besides,

George would probably hand over the letters. Perhaps he would even tell

the magistrate that one of the letters was written by the Countess de

Lescombat, and one of the others probably by Blanche Pornic, in which

case the least that could happen to Puymirol would be a conviction for

perjury; so hoping to avert this new danger by a falsehood, he replied

unblushingly: "I was alone."

"There is nothing left for us, then, but to try and find the driver,"

replied the commissary coldly, "and we may, perhaps, succeed in finding

him. We have the exact date, as well as the point of departure, and the

place of destination. We will make inquiries at the office of the cab

company, and at all the livery stables. If the driver remembers the

occurrence he can give us the clue we want."

Puymirol knew perfectly well that the driver would recollect the

occurrence, as he had given the mysterious stranger who had purloined

the pocket-book full information about it, so seeing that he was getting

deeper and deeper into the mire, he decided to make a bold attempt to

cut the interview short. "I reproach myself bitterly for having yielded

to a temptation for which I blush," he said. "You must blame me very

severely, but I hope you will not carry matters to extremes. I belong to

a respectable family, and my past life is without a stain. I shall be at

your disposal, of course, but I ask your permission to withdraw."

"My powers are more limited than you suppose," said the commissary

gravely. "The magistrate will pay due attention to your explanation, but

you must give it to him in person. He must now be at the Palais de

Justice, and I will accompany you there."

"Nothing would please me better. I thought of calling at his office

to-day, and as you are kind enough to accompany me--"

"It is my duty."

The commissary then rang. One of the detectives who had remained in the

ante-room entered, and received orders to fetch a cab: then, taking up

his case of documents, the commissary left the room in company with

Puymirol, whose wonted assurance had nearly deserted him. They found the

cab at the door, and entered it, one of the detectives climbing upon the

box, and seating himself beside the driver. The journey was a silent

one, and ended upon the Quai de l'Horloge, at the entrance to the

court-yard of the Conciergerie. "Where are you taking me?" asked

Puymirol. "Monsieur Robergeot's office is in the building facing the

boulevard."

"You will soon be summoned there," replied the commissary. "But I must

see him before you do, and in the meanwhile I must consign you to the

dépôt of the Prefecture of Police."