Le dossier no. 113. English

by Emile Gaboriau

  VII

  Prosper had been languishing in his private cell for nine days, when onThursday morning the jailer came to inform him of the judge's decision.He was conducted before the officer who had searched him when he wasarrested; and the contents of his pocket, his watch, penknife, andseveral little pieces of jewelry, were restored to him; then he was toldto sign a large sheet of paper, which he did.

  He was next led across a dark passage, and almost pushed through a door,which was abruptly shut upon him.

  He found himself on the quay: he was alone; he was free.

  Free! Justice had confessed her inability to convict him of the crime ofwhich he was accused.

  Free! He could walk about, he could breathe the pure air; but every doorwould be closed against him.

  Only acquittal after due trial would restore him to his former positionamong men.

  A decision of "Not proven" had left him covered with suspicion.

  The torments inflicted by public opinion are more fearful than thosesuffered in a prison cell.

  At the moment of his restoration to liberty, Prosper so cruelly sufferedfrom the horror of his situation, that he could not repress a cry ofrage and despair.

  "I am innocent! God knows I am innocent!" he cried out. But of what usewas his anger?

  Two strangers, who were passing, stopped to look at him, and said,pityingly, "He is crazy."

  The Seine was at his feet. A thought of suicide crossed his mind.

  "No," he said, "no! I have not even the right to kill myself. No: I willnot die until I have vindicated my innocence!"

  Often, day and night, had Prosper repeated these words, as he walkedhis cell. With a heart filled with a bitter, determined thirst forvengeance, which gives a man the force and patience to destroy orwear out all obstacles in his way, he would say, "Oh! why am I not atliberty? I am helpless, caged up; but let me once be free!"

  Now he was free; and, for the first time, he saw the difficulties of thetask before him. For each crime, justice requires a criminal: he couldnot establish his own innocence without producing the guilty man; howfind the thief so as to hand him over to the law?

  Discouraged, but not despondent, he turned in the direction of hisapartments. He was beset by a thousand anxieties. What had taken placeduring the nine days that he had been cut off from all intercourse withhis friends? No news of them had reached him. He had heard no more ofwhat was going on in the outside world, than if his secret cell had beena grave.

  He slowly walked along the streets, with his eyes cast down dreading tomeet some familiar face. He, who had always been so haughty, would nowbe pointed at with the finger of scorn. He would be greeted with coldlooks and averted faces. Men would refuse to shake hands with him. Hewould be shunned by honest people, who have no patience with a thief.

  Still, if he could count on only one true friend! Yes: he was sure ofone. But what friend would believe him when his father, who should havebeen the last to suspect him, had refused to believe him?

  In the midst of his sufferings, when he felt almost overwhelmed by thesense of his wretched, lonely condition, he thought of Gypsy.

  He had never loved the poor girl: indeed, at times he almost hated her;but now he felt a longing to see her. He wished to be with her, becausehe knew that she loved him, and that nothing would make her believe himguilty; because he knew that a woman remains true and firm in her faith,and is always faithful in the hour of adversity, although she sometimesfails in prosperity.

  On entering the Rue Chaptal, Prosper saw his own door, but hesitated toenter it.

  He suffered from the timidity which an honest man always feels when heknows he is viewed with suspicion.

  He dreaded meeting anyone whom he knew; yet he could not remain in thestreet. He entered.

  When the porter saw him, he uttered an exclamation of glad surprise, andsaid:

  "Ah, here you are at last, monsieur. I told everyone you would come outas white as snow; and, when I read in the papers that you were arrestedfor robbery, I said, 'My third-floor lodger a thief! Never would Ibelieve such a thing, never!'"

  The congratulations of this ignorant man were sincere, and offered frompure kindness of heart; but they impressed Prosper painfully, and he cutthem short by abruptly asking:

  "Madame of course has left: can you tell me where she has gone?"

  "Dear me, no, monsieur. The day of your arrest, she sent for a hack, gotinto it with her trunks, and disappeared; and no one has seen or heardof her since."

  This was another blow to the unhappy cashier.

  "And where are my servants?"

  "Gone, monsieur; your father paid and discharged them."

  "I suppose you have my keys?"

  "No, monsieur; when your father left here this morning at eight o'clock,he told me that a friend of his would take charge of your rooms untilyou should return. Of course you know who he is--a stout gentleman withred whiskers."

  Prosper was stupefied. What could be the meaning of one of his father'sfriends being in his rooms? He did not, however, betray any surprise,but quietly said:

  "Yes: I know who it is."

  He quickly ran up the stairs, and knocked at his door.

  It was opened by his father's friend.

  He had been accurately described by the porter. A fat man, with a redface, sensual lips, brilliant eyes, and of rather coarse manners, stoodbowing to Prosper, who had never seen him before.

  "Delighted to make your acquaintance, monsieur," said he to Prosper.

  He seemed to be perfectly at home. On the table lay a book, which he hadtaken from the bookcase; and he appeared ready to do the honors of thehouse.

  "I must say, monsieur," began Prosper.

  "That you are surprised to find me here? So I suppose. Your fatherintended introducing me to you; but he was compelled to return toBeaucaire this morning; and let me add that he departed thoroughlyconvinced, as I myself am, that you never took a cent from M. Fauvel."

  At this unexpected good news, Prosper's face lit up with pleasure.

  "Here is a letter from your father, which I hope will serve as anintroduction between us."

  Prosper opened the letter; and as he read his eyes grew brighter, and aslight color returned to his pale face.

  When he had finished, he held out his hand to the large gentleman, andsaid:

  "My father, monsieur, tells me you are his best friend; he advises me tohave absolute confidence in you, and follow your counsel."

  "Exactly. This morning your father said to me, 'Verduret'--that is myname--'Verduret, my son is in great trouble, he must be helped out.' Ireplied, 'I am ready,' and here I am to help you. Now the ice is broken,is it not? Then let us go to work at once. What do you intend to do?"

  This question revived Prosper's slumbering rage. His eyes flashed.

  "What do I intend to do?" he said, angrily: "what should I do but seekthe villain who has ruined me?"

  "So I supposed; but have you any hopes of success?"

  "None; yet I shall succeed, because, when a man devotes his whole lifeto the accomplishment of an object, he is certain to achieve it."

  "Well said, M. Prosper; and, to be frank, I fully expected that thiswould be your purpose. I have therefore already begun to think andact for you. I have a plan. In the first place, you will sell thisfurniture, and disappear from the neighborhood."

  "Disappear!" cried Prosper, indignantly, "disappear! Why, monsieur?Do you not see that such a step would be a confession of guilt, wouldauthorize the world to say that I am hiding so as to enjoy undisturbedthe stolen fortune?"

  "Well, what then?" said the man with the red whiskers; "did you not sayjust now the sacrifice of your life is made? The skilful swimmer throwninto the river by malefactors is careful not to rise to the surfaceimmediately: on the contrary, he plunges beneath, and remains there aslong as his breath holds out. He comes up again at a great distance, andlands out of sight; then, when he is supposed to be dead, lost foreverto the sight of man, he rises up and
has his vengeance. You have anenemy? Some petty imprudence will betray him. But, while he sees youstanding by on the watch, he will be on his guard."

  It was with a sort of amazed submission that Prosper listened to thisman, who, though a friend of his father, was an utter stranger tohimself.

  He submitted unconsciously to the ascendency of a nature so much moreenergetic and forcible than his own. In his helpless condition he wasgrateful for friendly assistance, and said:

  "I will follow your advice, monsieur."

  "I was sure you would, my dear friend. Let us reflect upon the courseyou should pursue. And remember that you will need every cent of theproceeds of the sale. Have you any ready money? no, but you must havesome. Knowing that you would need it at once, I brought an upholstererhere; and he will give twelve thousand francs for everything exceptingthe pictures."

  The cashier could not refrain from shrugging his shoulders, which M.Verduret observed.

  "Well," said he, "it is rather hard, I admit, but it is a necessity. Nowlisten: you are the invalid, and I am the doctor charged to cure you;if I cut to the quick, you will have to endure it. It is the only way tosave you."

  "Cut away then, monsieur," answered Prosper.

  "Well, we will hurry, for time passes. You have a friend, M. de Lagors?"

  "Raoul? Yes, monsieur, he is an intimate friend."

  "Now tell me, who is this fellow?"

  The term "fellow" seemed to offend Prosper.

  "M. de Lagors, monsieur," he said, haughtily, "is M. Fauvel's nephew; heis a wealthy young man, handsome, intelligent, cultivated, and the bestfriend I have."

  "Hum!" said M. Verduret, "I shall be delighted to make the acquaintanceof one adorned by so many charming qualities. I must let you know that Iwrote him a note in your name asking him to come here, and he sent wordthat he would be here directly."

  "What! do you suppose--"

  "Oh, I suppose nothing! Only I must see this young man. Also, I havearranged and will submit to you a little plan of conversation--"

  A ring at the front door interrupted M. Verduret.

  "Sacrebleu! adieu to my plan; here he is! Where can I hide so as to hearand see?"

  "There, in my bedroom; leave the door open and the curtain down."

  A second ring was heard.

  "Now remember, Prosper," said M. Verduret in a warning tone, "notone word to this man about your plans, or about me. Pretend to bediscouraged, helpless, and undecided what to do."

  And he disappeared behind the curtain, as Prosper ran to open the door.

  Prosper's portrait of M. de Lagors had not been an exaggerated one.So handsome a face and manly a figure could belong only to a noblecharacter.

  Although Raoul said that he was twenty-four, he appeared to be not morethan twenty. He had a superb figure, well knit and supple; a beautifulwhite brow, shaded by soft chestnut curly hair, soft blue eyes whichbeamed with frankness.

  His first impulse was to throw himself into Prosper's arms.

  "My poor, dear friend!" he said, "my poor Prosper!"

  But beneath these affectionate demonstrations there was a certainconstraint, which, if it escaped the cashier, was noticed by M.Verduret.

  "Your letter, my dear Prosper," said Raoul, "made me almost ill, I wasso frightened by it. I asked myself if you could have lost your mind.Then I left everything, to fly to your assistance; and here I am."

  Prosper did not seem to hear him; he was pre-occupied about the letterwhich he had not written. What were its contents? Who was this strangerwhose assistance he had accepted?

  "You must not feel discouraged," continued M. de Lagors: "you are youngenough to commence life anew. Your friends are still left to you. I havecome to say to you, Rely upon me; I am rich, half of my fortune is atyour disposal."

  This generous offer, made at a moment like this with such franksimplicity, deeply touched Prosper.

  "Thanks, Raoul," he said with emotion, "thank you! But unfortunately allthe money in the world would be of no use now."

  "Why so? What are you going to do? Do you propose to remain in Paris?"

  "I know not, Raoul. I have made no plans yet. My mind is too confusedfor me to think."

  "I will tell you what to do," replied Raoul quickly, "you must startafresh; until this mysterious robbery is explained you must keep awayfrom Paris. It will never do for you to remain here."

  "And suppose it never should be explained?"

  "Only the more reason for your remaining in oblivion. I have beentalking about you to Clameran. 'If I were in Prosper's place,' he said,'I would turn everything into money, and embark for America; there Iwould make a fortune, and return to crush with my millions those whohave suspected me.'"

  This advice offended Prosper's pride, but he said nothing. He wasthinking of what the stranger had said to him.

  "I will think it over," he finally forced himself to say. "I will see. Iwould like to know what M. Fauvel says."

  "My uncle? I suppose you know that I have declined the offer he made meto enter his banking-house, and we have almost quarrelled. I have notset foot in his house for over a month; but I hear of him occasionally."

  "Through whom?"

  "Through your friend Cavaillon. My uncle, they say, is more distressedby this affair than you are. He does not attend to his business, andwanders about as if he had lost every friend on earth."

  "And Mme. Fauvel, and"--Prosper hesitated--"and Mlle. Madeleine, how arethey?"

  "Oh," said Raoul lightly, "my aunt is as pious as ever; she has masssaid for the benefit of the sinner. As to my handsome, icy cousin, shecannot bring herself down to common matters, because she is entirelyabsorbed in preparing for the fancy ball to be given day after to-morrowby MM. Jandidier. She has discovered, so one of her friends told me, awonderful dressmaker, a stranger who has suddenly appeared from no oneknows where, who is making a costume of Catherine de Medici's maid ofhonor; and it is to be a marvel of beauty."

  Excessive suffering brings with it a sort of dull insensibility andstupor; and Prosper thought that there was nothing left to be inflictedupon him, and had reached that state of impassibility from which henever expected to be aroused, when this last remark of M. de Lagors madehim cry out with pain:

  "Madeleine! Oh, Madeleine!"

  M. de Lagors, pretending not to have heard him, rose from his chair, andsaid:

  "I must leave you now, my dear Prosper; on Saturday I will see theseladies at the ball, and will bring you news of them. Now, do havecourage, and remember that, whatever happens, you have a friend in me."

  Raoul shook Prosper's hand, closed the door after him, and hurriedup the street, leaving Prosper standing immovable and overcome bydisappointment.

  He was aroused from his gloomy revery by hearing the red-whiskered mansay, in a bantering tone:

  "So these are your friends."

  "Yes," said Prosper with bitterness. "You heard him offer me half hisfortune?"

  M. Verduret shrugged his shoulders with an air of compassion.

  "That was very stingy on his part," he said, "why did he not offer thewhole? Offers cost nothing; although I have no doubt that this sweetyouth would cheerfully give ten thousand francs to put the ocean betweenyou and him."

  "Monsieur! what reason?"

  "Who knows? Perhaps for the same reason that he had not set foot in hisuncle's house for a month."

  "But that is the truth, monsieur, I am sure of it."

  "Naturally," said M. Verduret with a provoking smile. "But," hecontinued with a serious air, "we have devoted enough time to thisAdonis. Now, be good enough to change your dress, and we will go andcall on M. Fauvel."

  This proposal seemed to stir up all of Prosper's anger.

  "Never!" he exclaimed with excitement, "no, never will I voluntarily seteyes on that wretch!"

  This resistance did not surprise M. Verduret.

  "I can understand your feelings toward him," said he, "but at the sametime I hope you will change your mind. For the same reason that
I wishedto see M. de Lagors, do I wish to see M. Fauvel; it is necessary, youunderstand. Are you so very weak that you cannot put a constraint uponyourself for five minutes? I shall introduce myself as one of yourrelatives, and you need not open your lips."

  "If it is positively necessary," said Prosper, "if--"

  "It is necessary; so come on. You must have confidence, put on a braveface. Hurry and fix yourself up a little; it is getting late, and I amhungry. We will breakfast on our way there."

  Prosper had hardly passed into his bedroom when the bell rang again.M. Verduret opened the door. It was the porter, who handed him a thickletter, and said:

  "This letter was left this morning for M. Bertomy; I was so flusteredwhen he came that I forgot to hand it to him. It is a very odd-lookingletter; is it not, monsieur?"

  It was indeed a most peculiar missive. The address was not written, butformed of printed letters, carefully cut from a book, and pasted on theenvelope.

  "Oh, ho! what is this?" cried M. Verduret; then turning toward theporter he cried, "Wait."

  He went into the next room, and closed the door behind him; there hefound Prosper, anxious to know what was going on.

  "Here is a letter for you," said M. Verduret.

  He at once tore open the envelope.

  Some bank-notes dropped out; he counted them; there were ten.

  Prosper's face turned purple.

  "What does this mean?" he asked.

  "We will read the letter and find out," replied M. Verduret.

  The letter, like the address, was composed of printed words cut out andpasted on a sheet of paper.

  It was short but explicit:

  "MY DEAR PROSPER--A friend, who knows the horror of your situation,sends you this succor. There is one heart, be assured, that shares yoursufferings. Go away; leave France; you are young; the future is beforeyou. Go, and may this money bring you happiness!"

  As M. Verduret read the note, Prosper's rage increased. He was angry andperplexed, for he could not explain the rapidly succeeding events whichwere so calculated to mystify his already confused brain.

  "Everybody wishes me to go away," he cried; "then there must be aconspiracy against me."

  M. Verduret smiled with satisfaction.

  "At last you begin to open your eyes, you begin to understand. Yes,there are people who hate you because of the wrong they have done you;there are people to whom your presence in Paris is a constant danger,and who will not feel safe till they are rid of you."

  "But who are these people, monsieur? Tell me, who dares send thismoney?"

  "If I knew, my dear Prosper, my task would be at an end, for then Iwould know who committed the robbery. But we will continue our searches.I have finally procured evidence which will sooner or later becomeconvincing proof. I have heretofore only made deductions more or lessprobable; I now possess knowledge which proves that I was not mistaken.I walked in darkness: now I have a light to guide me."

  As Prosper listened to M. Verduret's reassuring words, he felt hopearising in his breast.

  "Now," said M. Verduret, "we must take advantage of this evidence,gained by the imprudence of our enemies, without delay. We will beginwith the porter."

  He opened the door and called out:

  "I say, my good man, step here a moment."

  The porter entered, looking very much surprised at the authorityexercised over his lodger by this stranger.

  "Who gave you this letter?" said M. Verduret.

  "A messenger, who said he was paid for bringing it."

  "Do you know him?"

  "I know him well; he is the errand-runner who keeps his cart at thecorner of the Rue Pigalle."

  "Go and bring him here."

  After the porter had gone, M. Verduret drew from his pocket his diary,and compared a page of it with the notes which he had spread over thetable.

  "These notes were not sent by the thief," he said, after an attentiveexamination of them.

  "Do you think so, monsieur?"

  "I am certain of it; that is, unless the thief is endowed withextraordinary penetration and forethought. One thing is certain: theseten thousand francs are not part of the three hundred and fifty thousandwhich were stolen from the safe."

  "Yet," said Prosper, who could not account for this certainty on thepart of his protector, "yet----"

  "There is no doubt about it: I have the numbers of all the stolennotes."

  "What! When even I did not have them?"

  "But the bank did, fortunately. When we undertake an affair we mustanticipate everything, and forget nothing. It is a poor excuse for aman to say, 'I did not think of it' when he commits some oversight. Ithought of the bank."

  If, in the beginning, Prosper had felt some repugnance about confidingin his father's friend, the feeling had now disappeared.

  He understood that alone, scarcely master of himself, governed onlyby the inspirations of inexperience, never would he have the patientperspicacity of this singular man.

  Verduret continued talking to himself, as if he had absolutely forgottenProsper's presence:

  "Then, as this package did not come from the thief, it can only comefrom the other person, who was near the safe at the time of the robbery,but could not prevent it, and now feels remorse. The probability oftwo persons assisting at the robbery, a probability suggested by thescratch, is now converted into undeniable certainty. _Ergo_, I wasright."

  Prosper listening attentively tried hard to comprehend this monologue,which he dared not interrupt.

  "Let us seek," went on the fat man, "this second person, whoseconscience pricks him, and yet who dares not reveal anything."

  He read the letter over several times, scanning the sentences, andweighing every word.

  "Evidently this letter was composed by a woman," he finally said. "Neverwould one man doing another man a service, and sending him money, usethe word 'succor.' A man would have said, loan, money, or some otherequivalent, but succor, never. No one but a woman, ignorant of masculinesusceptibilities, would have naturally made use of this word to expressthe idea it represents. As to the sentence, 'There is one heart,' and soon, it could only have been written by a woman."

  "You are mistaken, monsieur," said Prosper: "no woman is mixed up inthis affair."

  M. Verduret paid no attention to this interruption, perhaps he did nothear it; perhaps he did not care to argue the matter.

  "Now, let us see if we can discover whence the printed words were takento compose this letter."

  He approached the window, and began to study the pasted words with allthe scrupulous attention which an antiquarian would devote to an old,half-effaced manuscript.

  "Small type," he said, "very slender and clear; the paper is thin andglossy. Consequently, these words have not been cut from a newspaper,magazine, or even a novel. I have seen type like this, I recognize it atonce; Didot often uses it, so does Mme. de Tours."

  He stopped with his mouth open, and eyes fixed, appealing laboriously tohis memory.

  Suddenly he struck his forehead exultantly.

  "Now I have it!" he cried; "now I have it! Why did I not see it atonce? These words have all been cut from a prayer-book. We will look, atleast, and then we shall be certain."

  He moistened one of the words pasted on the paper with his tongue, and,when it was sufficiently softened, he detached it with a pin. On theother side of this word was printed a Latin word, _Deus_.

  "Ah, ha," he said with a little laugh of satisfaction. "I knew it.Father Taberet would be pleased to see this. But what has become ofthe mutilated prayer-book? Can it have been burned? No, because aheavy-bound book is not easily burned. It is thrown in some corner."

  M. Verduret was interrupted by the porter, who returned with themessenger from the Rue Pigalle.

  "Ah, here you are," he said encouragingly. Then he showed the envelopeof the letter, and said:

  "Do you remember bringing this letter here this morning?"

  "Perfectly, monsieur. I took particular notice of t
he direction; wedon't often see anything like it."

  "Who told you to bring it? a gentleman, or a lady?"

  "Neither, monsieur; it was a porter."

  This reply made the porter laugh very much, but not a muscle of M.Verduret's face moved.

  "A porter? Well, do you know this colleague of yours."

  "I never even saw him before."

  "How does he look?"

  "He was neither tall nor short; he wore a green vest, and his medal."

  "Your description is so vague that it would suit every porter in thecity; but did your colleague tell you who sent the letter?"

  "No, monsieur. He only put ten sous in my hand, and said, 'Here, carrythis to No. 39, Rue Chaptal: a coachman on the boulevard handed it tome.' Ten sous! I warrant you he made more than that by it."

  This answer seemed to disconcert M. Verduret. So many precautions takenin sending the letter disturbed him, and disarranged his plans.

  "Do you think you would recognize the porter again?"

  "Yes, monsieur, if I saw him."

  "How much do you gain a day as a porter?"

  "I can't tell exactly; but my corner is a good stand, and I am busydoing errands nearly all day. I suppose I make from eight to tenfrancs."

  "Very well; I will give you ten francs a day if you will walk about thestreets, and look for the porter who brought this letter. Every evening,at eight o'clock, come to the Archangel, on the Quai Saint Michel, giveme a report of your search, and receive your pay. Ask for M. Verduret.If you find the man I will give you fifty francs. Do you accept?"

  "I rather think I will, monsieur."

  "Then don't lose a minute. Start off!"

  Although ignorant of M. Verduret's plans, Prosper began to comprehendthe sense of his investigations. His fate depended upon their success,and yet he almost forgot this fact in his admiration of this singularman; for his energy, his bantering coolness when he wished to discoveranything, the surety of his deductions, the fertility of his expedients,and the rapidity of his movements, were astonishing.

  "Monsieur," said Prosper when the porter had left the room, "do youstill think you see a woman's hand in this affair?"

  "More than ever; and a pious woman too, and a woman who has twoprayer-books, since she could cut up one to write to you."

  "And you hope to find the mutilated book?"

  "I do, thanks to the opportunity I have of making an immediate search;which I will set about at once."

  Saying this, he sat down, and rapidly scratched off a few lines on aslip of paper, which he folded up, and put in his vest-pocket.

  "Are you ready to go to M. Fauvel's? Yes? Come on, then; we havecertainly earned our breakfast to-day."