"Good day to you. Monsieur Breuc," said the lawyer, as they bowed to one another; then, turning to Fouché, he added; "Would you be good enough to wait here while I have a word in private with my client."
Leaving Fouché he came over to Roger, led him further away into an embrasure behind two of the tall marble pillars, and said in a low voice:
"I think matters will arrange themselves satisfactorily, but that now largely depends upon yourself. The Court sits to inquire into the death of Doctor Fenelon in half an hour and if Monsieur Fouché and yourself tell the same story I doubt not that they will be satisfied and discharge you both. However, this desirable result depends on you both giving the same account of the way in which Doctor Fenelon met his death, and Monsieur Fouché has already stated to the police that the doctor committed suicide."
He paused for a moment then went on: "You will appreciate, I am sure, that it is not for me, a lawyer, to suggest that you should attempt to deceive the Court, but what you choose to say before the magistrates is entirely your own affair. Mademoiselle de Rochambeau has given me implicit instructions to save you from trouble if I can and while such a step is highly unorthodox, it occurred to me that the best hope of doing so lay in bringing Monsieur Fouché and yourself together for a private conversation before the Court opens. I need scarcely add that your interests in this matter are now absolutely identical. Namely that the whole affair should be dismissed without further inquiry. Do you consent to talk with him?"
"If you advise it, and 'tis unavoidable," Roger agreed with some reluctance.
"Very well, then; come this way."
Recrossing the hall, and beckoning to Fouché to join them, Maitre Leger led the pair into a lofty room which, from the rows of shelves filled with ledgers that lined its walls, looked like an office. Having ushered them in he closed the door behind him and left them together.
Fouché walked over to the wide fireplace, turned, and with his back to the carved mantel stood there for a moment, his hands clasped behind his back, then, without looking at Roger, he said:
"It has always been against my principles to make enemies needlessly. Your lawyer tells me that you are willing to compose this matter. If that is so, I am your man."
"I am naturally anxious to avoid being held for a lengthy period while an exhaustive investigation takes place," replied Roger frankly. "Yet I find it difficult to regard the murderer of my old friend as anything but an enemy."
"Your assumption that I murdered Doctor Fenelon has positively no foundation," said Fouché, his pale face remaining quite inscrutable. "I killed him in self-defence. You were a witness to it, and must have seen that had I not shot him he would have brained me with the hilt of the sword with which he had already struck me down."
Roger was forced to admit to himself the justice of this and asked: "Well, what is it that you propose?"
"I have already informed the officers of the law that some eight months ago I caused a warrant to be taken out for the Doctor's arrest. That can easily be verified by reference to the authorities in Nantes. I went on to state that finding the Doctor still to be at large I told him last night that, in the interests of justice, I intended to raise the matter with the authorities here. And that, in a fit of despair, he then pulled out a pocket pistol and before either you or I could stop him, shot himself through the head. As I had the good sense to leave the pistol beside the body such an account of the matter provides a loophole for us both; so all you will be called on to do is to verify my statement and, perhaps, testify that you knew the pistol to be the Doctor's property."
"It seems that you thought better of accusing me of murder," said Roger shrewdly. "And I see no reason why I should tell lies to get you out of trouble."
"Do you not. Monsieur Breuc?" Fouché’s small mouth broke into a thin smile. "Yet on entering this house this morning I found you still to be living a lie. You have passed yourself off here as a native of Alsace. As for last night, I took such measures as I thought might get you stopped and enable me to obtain possession of your money-belt.
I failed in that, but to-day is another day. Do you wish me to inform your noble friends, the de Rochambeaux, that they have taken up the cause of an impostor?"
Roger had been under no compulsion to deceive Athenais at the time of their meeting and it flashed upon him how utterly shamed he would feel if he were now shown up as having lied to her.
By a swift sideways glance from his heavily lidded eyes Fouché saw Roger's discomfiture and pressed home his advantage. "Besides, Mister Brook, I have not yet said my piece before the magistrates, and I have long made a practice of trimming my sails to every emergency. I can still tell them that, touched by your youth, on an impulse of compassion for you, when questioned last night, I sought to shield you from the results of your criminal act; but, to-day, my conscience smiting me, I feel constrained to tell the truth: That is, that, on informing the Doctor I intended to have him arrested you attempted to shoot me, but missed your aim and shot him instead, then panicked and endeavoured to escape with his money."
With growing trepidation Roger realised that behind the pale high forehead of this red-haired Oratorian teacher there lay a subtle and cunning brain. Such a story would square quite well with what Fouché had told the police the previous night, yet leave him, Roger, to face a charge of attempted murder or manslaughter, at the very least. He knew that he dared not face it, and said slowly:
"So be it. I will do as you suggest."
Fouché smiled down at his boots. "You may not have inherited the boldness associated with English Admirals, but in this you show a wisdom which will prove more profitable to you than any rash display of courage. You can leave me to do the talking. All you need do is to say that I have given a full and true account of the affair and, if you are asked, state that for as long as you had known him the Doctor had always carried that little two-barrelled pistol. 'Tis time now that we went, for the Court will soon be sitting."
On their leaving the room young Monsieur Fouché's pale smile was enough to tell Maitre Leger that they had reached agreement, and he hurried them both into his carriage.
At the Court House everything went according to plan. In a quarter of an hour the inquest was over. There was no jury, but after consulting for a few moments the magistrates declared their verdict: that Doctor Aristotle Fenelon had taken his own life while his mind was temporarily deranged owing to his having just been told that he was to be arrested on a charge involving the death penalty.
Afterwards, without a glance at Roger, the tall, thin Fouché left the Court House and walked away. As Roger watched him go Maitre Leger said: "What have you in mind to do now, my young friend?"
"I'm monstrous eager to get back to the inn, in order to collect my money," Roger replied. "But I feel that first I should let Mademoiselle de Rochambeau know that I have come safe out of this business."
"In that case I will drop you at the Hotel de Rochambeau," volunteered the lawyer.
Roger thanked him and, as they went out to the carriage, said a little diffidently: "And to you, Monsieur, I can never render thanks enough. My funds, unfortunately, are limited; but if your fee is within my means I will be most happy to pay it."
"Nay, I'll not deprive you of your money," replied the lawyer kindly. "It needs but half an eye to see that you are an honest youth and that Fouché is a rogue who deserves to hang. Think no more of it, I beg. 'Twas a pleasure to have been of service to you; and, in any case, 'tis a part of my livelihood to handle all legal matters in which the de Rochambeau family are concerned. The Marquis is rich enough to pay me a louis or two for my morning's work and never miss it."
Ten minutes later they were back at the Hotel de Rochambeau. Maitre Leger set Roger down there and drove away. Roger at once inquired if Mademoiselle Athenats would receive him.
After a short wait she came downstairs. With the sunshine streaming on her golden hair he thought his newly acquired divinity more beautiful than ever. Swiftly h
e told her of the morning's events and thanked her once more, both for the protection and the legal aid that she had afforded him.
He thought she took the matter very calmly and even seemed a little distrait, as she asked him what he intended to do now that he was no longer menaced by a charge of murder.
"I've hardly had time to think," he replied quickly. "But first I must return to the inn to see to the Doctor's burial, and to secure my money."
"Of course," she agreed. "If the occasion arises you must let me know if I can be of any further service to you." Then, having given him her hand to kiss, she turned away to issue orders about some bandboxes that two of her maids were carrying downstairs.
Roger was torn between the desire to linger with her and his urge to get back to the inn, but, seeing that she was now busy with other matters, he succumbed to the latter. With a farewell wave he left the mansion and, half running, half walking, made his way to the Du Guesclin.
On his arrival he learned from the landlord that the Doctor's body had been removed to the city mortuary. He then inquired about his purse. The man averred that he had neither found it nor had it been given to him, and together they went to the dark passage under the stairs to look for it.
The passage was a straight one with no niches in which such a thing could have remained concealed for long. In vain Roger stared at first one end of it then the other, and ran several times up and down the stairs to ascertain the exact point at which the purse had dropped, and if it could possibly have got caught up on something during its fall. After a quarter of an hour of frantic searching he had to admit that it was not there, and that whoever had picked it up must have made off with it.
It occurred to him that Fouché might have seen it drop, and, after the abortive chase, returned to the inn to make a search for it that had proved successful; but he had no proof of that and any one of the servants of the inn, the landlord or a visitor, might equally well have picked it up and decided that fifty-four louis were worth straining one's conscience to keep.
Sadly depressed, he gave up the hunt and set about making arrangements for the Doctor's funeral. Having no other resources than the few francs in his pocket he saddled Monsieur de Montaigne and, taking him to an apothecary, sold the remaining contents of his panniers for two louis. Then, he hardened his heart and disposed of the old mule for a further four crowns.
That afternoon he managed to raise two more louis on the Doctor's medical instruments; then he went in search of a priest who would give his poor old friend decent burial. As the verdict of the Court had spread about the town this proved far from easy; but by nightfall he found a poor priest in the parish of St. Helier de Vern who was broad-minded enough to undertake the business for a payment of three louis.
Next morning he was the sole mourner at the Doctor's funeral, and he came away from it with only four crowns and two francs in his pocket; the expenses of the funeral having absorbed the remainder of the money he had succeeded in raising from the sale of his late partner's effects.
Yet he was not unduly downhearted regarding his own prospects. He felt certain that his beautiful little protectress would find a means to open for him a new and much more promising career.
On leaving the cemetery he hurried to the Hotel de Rochambeau. At its door he was met by the supercilious Aldegonde. In less than a minute that pompous functionary shattered his hopes and took obvious delight in so doing.
"Mademoiselle left yesterday for Monseigneur It Marquis's chateau in the country," he announced with evident enjoyment. "And she will not be in Rennes again for several weeks." Upon which he rudely slammed the door.
Sadly Roger turned away. Once again Georgina's foretelling of his future had proved correct. No good had come to him from his partnership with old Aristotle Fenelon. He was back where he had started eleven weeks ago. In fact, his situation was somewhat worse, as the summer had gone; he was again almost penniless, and considerably further from home. At his age he could not conceivably set up to be a journeyman-doctor who had travelled the world in search of a hundred miraculous remedies, and he knew no other trade. Once more he was destitute in a strange land without either prospects or friends.
CHAPTER XII
THE MAN IN GREEN
As Roger walked aimlessly away from the Hotel de Rochambeau one fact emerged clearly from his unhappy musings; it was imperative that within the next few days he should find himself some sort of work.
Rennes was the best part of fifty miles from St. Malo, its nearest seaport. Even had he now been prepared to admit defeat and endeavour to beg a passage home on promise of payment the other end, his few crowns would not support him for so long a tramp; and the poverty of the French countryside made it, unlike England, no place in which one could with any ease pick up a night's board and lodging here and there in return for casual work. Whatever he might decide to do later, he saw that, for the time being, he must somehow secure employment in Rennes which would enable him, by careful saving, to build up a capital of at least five louis before taking any further decision as to his future.
It then occurred to him that he was not altogether friendless. Maitre Leger had not only given him very shrewd legal advice the day before on Athenais's instructions, but behaved towards him in the most pleasant and kindly manner.
Turning about he retraced his steps to the Hotel and once more bearded the supercilious Monsieur Aldegonde, who told him that the lawyer lived in the Rue d'Antrain a few doors from the Hotel de Ville, and that the street lay only just across the Place.
Following these directions Roger soon found the house. It proved to be a commodious old building serving both as home and office, as could be seen from the green wire blinds in the ground floor room and the heads of several young men bowed over ledgers that were visible above them. Going in, Roger gave his name and asked to see Maitre Leger.
A youth, a little older than himself, with fiery red hair and a spotty face, took his message, and asked him to wait in a small musty-smelling ante-chamber. Ten minutes later he returned and conducted Roger to a room on the first floor, where he found the immaculately dressed lawyer seated at a big desk strewn with parchments and law books.
"Good day to you, my young friend," said the man in green affably. "In what way can I be of service to you?"
"I want your advice and help, if you would be kind enough to give it to me," replied Roger, sitting down in a comfortable elbow chair to which the lawyer waved him; and without beating about the bush he explained the precarious position in which Doctor Aristotle Fenelon's death had left him.
Maitre Leger adjusted a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles which were now perched upon his thin, sharp nose, sat back with the tips of his fingers placed together and listened attentively. When Roger had done, he said:
"Your position is certainly a difficult one, and I think that much your best course would be to return to your parents. If I advance you the necessary money for your journey to Strasbourg can you give me an honourable undertaking as to my reimbursement, in due course?"
Roger flushed slightly. For a moment he thought of taking the money and using it to return to England, but his whole mind still revolted at the thought of reappearing penniless at home to throw himself on his father's mercy; so he said, a triffly awkwardly:
"Your offer. Monsieur, is most kindly meant, and I deeply appreciate it. But I left home on account of a most bitter quarrel with my stepfather, who had made my life unbearable, so I am most loath to go back as long as there is the least possibility of my being able to earn my own livelihood."
The lawyer nodded sympathetically. "Well, in that case, if you will tell me your qualifications, I will see if I can suggest anything."
"At school, Monsieur, I did well at composition and I write a fair hand. Unfortunately, I know nothing of bookkeeping, but I am strong in languages; my Greek is fair and my tutor was good enough to compliment me many times upon my Latin."
Maitre Leger looked at him with a sudden increas
e of interest. "A good understanding of Latin is a valuable asset; and, of course, you speak and write fluent German?"
This was a facer that Roger had not expected, and to have denied it would have immediately disclosed his story of being a native of Alsace to be false, so he avoided telling a direct he by saying quickly: "I also did well in English; in fact, 'tis said that I have quite a gift for that tongue."
"These languages, coupled with a legible hand and the ability to compose, clearly fit you to enter one of the learned professions," Maitre Leger announced. "Has it ever occurred to you to take up the law?"
Again Roger was slightly nonplussed. He had wanted a life of excitement and travel, and few things could have been further removed from that than the dry-as-dust occupation of poring over legal documents. But in his mind at this moment there was no thought of choosing a permanent career, only of obtaining some temporary work which would stave off starvation; so he answered tactfully: "No, Monsieur, but it is an honourable profession, and no doubt interesting."
The lawyer smiled drily. "It gives one as good a status in France as one can have if not born of the noblesse. But whether so high-spirited a young man as yourself would find it interesting is quite another matter. How old are you?"
"Seventeen," lied Roger, stretching his age as far as he thought he could do so with plausibility.
"You are a little old, then, to be bound as an apprentice; and 'tis the custom for parents whose boys are articled to me to pay a consideration for their learning the profession. So 'twould be resented by the others if I took you without a fee."
On seeing Roger's face fall, Maitre Leger went on tactfully: "However, that might be overcome. I have formed the impression that you have a quick and intelligent mind, and if your Latin is as good as you say I may be able to offer you employment." Sorting quickly through his papers he selected one and, passing it across his desk, added: "See what you can make of this?"
For a moment Roger was sadly baffled by the legal terms with which the document was besprinkled, but he soon found he could understand enough of it to pronounce it to be a mortgage on some fields and a small vineyard, and to state the terms of interest and repayment.
The Launching of Roger Brook rb-1 Page 24
