XXIV
The moment that the Marquis of Clameran perceived that Raoul de Lagorswas the only obstacle between him and Madeleine, he swore that theobstacle should soon be removed.
That very day he took steps for the accomplishment of his purpose. AsRaoul was walking out to Vesinet about midnight, he was stopped at alonely spot, by three men, who asked him what o'clock it was; whilelooking at his watch, the ruffians fell upon him suddenly, and but forRaoul's wonderful strength and agility, would have left him dead on thespot.
As it was, he soon, by his skilfully plied blows (for he had become aproficient in fencing and boxing in England), made his enemies take totheir heels.
He quietly continued his walk home, fully determined to be hereafterwell armed when he went out at night.
He never for an instant suspected his accomplice of having instigatedthe assault.
But two days afterward, while sitting in a cafe, a burly, vulgar-lookingman, a stranger to him, interrupted him several times while talking,and, after making several rough speeches as if trying to provoke aquarrel, finally threw a card in his face, saying its owner was ready togrant him satisfaction when and where he pleased.
Raoul rushed toward the man to chastise him on the spot; but his friendsheld him back, telling him that it would be much more gentlemanly to runa sword through his vulgar hide, than have a scuffle in a public place.
"Very well, then: you will hear from me to-morrow," he said scornfullyto his assailant. "Wait at your hotel until I send two friends toarrange the matter with you."
As soon as the stranger had left, Raoul recovered from his excitement,and began to wonder what could have been the motive for this evidentlypremeditated insult.
Picking up the card of the bully, he read:
W. H. B. JACOBSON. Formerly Garibaldian volunteer, Ex-officer of thearmy of the South. (Italy, America.)
30, Rue Leonie.
Raoul had seen enough of the world to know that these heroes who covertheir visiting-cards with titles have very little glory elsewhere thanin their own conceit.
Still the insult had been offered in the presence of others; and, nomatter who the offender was, it must be noticed. Early the next morningRaoul sent two of his friends to make arrangements for a duel. He gavethem M. Jacobson's address, and told them to report at the Hotel duLouvre, where he would wait for them.
Having dismissed his friends, Raoul went to find out something about M.Jacobson; and, being an expert at the business of unravelling plots andsnares, he determined to discover who was at the bottom of this duelinto which he had been decoyed.
The information obtained was not very promising.
M. Jacobson, who lived in a very suspicious-looking little hotel whoseinmates were chiefly women of light character, was described to him asan eccentric gentleman, whose mode of life was a problem difficult tosolve. No one knew his means of support.
He reigned despotically in the hotel, went out a great deal, never camein until midnight, and seemed to have no capital to live upon, save hismilitary titles, and a talent for carrying out whatever was undertakenfor his own benefit.
"That being his character," thought Raoul, "I cannot see what object hecan have in picking a quarrel with me. What good will it do him to run asword through my body? Not the slightest; and, moreover, his pugnaciousconduct is apt to draw the attention of the police, who, from what Ihear, are the last people this warrior would like to have after him.Therefore he must have some reason for pursuing me; and I must find outwhat it is."
The result of his meditations was, that Raoul, upon his return to theHotel du Louvre, did not mention a word of his adventure to Clameran,whom he found already up.
At half-past eight his seconds arrived.
M. Jacobson had selected the sword, and would fight that very hour, inthe woods of Vincennes.
"Well, come along," cried Raoul gayly. "I accept the gentleman'sconditions."
They found the Garibaldian waiting; and after an interchange of a fewthrusts Raoul was slightly wounded in the right shoulder.
The "Ex-superior officer of the South" wished to continue the combat;but Raoul's seconds--brave young men--declared that honor was satisfied,and that they had no intention of subjecting their friend's life tounnecessary hazards.
The ex-officer was forced to admit that this was but fair, andunwillingly retired from the field. Raoul went home delighted at havingescaped with nothing more serious than a little loss of blood, andresolved to keep clear of all so-called Garibaldians in the future.
In fact, a night's reflection had convinced him that Clameran was theinstigator of the two attempts to kill him. Mme. Fauvel having toldhim what conditions Madeleine placed on her consent to marriage, Raoulinstantly saw how necessary his removal would be, now that he was animpediment in the way of Clameran's success. He recalled a thousandlittle remarks and events of the last few days, and, on skilfullyquestioning the marquis, had his suspicions changed into certainty.
This conviction that the man whom he had so materially assisted in hiscriminal plans was so basely ungrateful as to turn against him, and hireassassins to murder him in cold blood, inspired in Raoul a resolution totake speedy vengeance upon his treacherous accomplice, and at the sametime insure his own safety.
This treason seemed monstrous to Raoul. He was as yet not sufficientlyexperienced in ruffianism to know that one villain always sacrificesanother to advance his own projects; he was credulous enough to believein the adage, "there's honor among thieves."
His rage was naturally mingled with fright, well knowing that his lifehung by a thread, when it was threatened by a daring scoundrel likeClameran.
He had twice miraculously escaped; a third attempt would more thanlikely prove fatal.
Knowing his accomplice's nature, Raoul saw himself surrounded by snares;he saw death before him in every form; he was equally afraid of goingout, and of remaining at home. He only ventured with the most suspiciouscaution into the most public places; he feared poison more than theassassin's knife, and imagined that every dish placed before him tastedof strychnine.
As this life of torture was intolerable, he determined to anticipate astruggle which he felt must terminate in the death of either Clameran orhimself; and, if he were doomed to die, to be first revenged. If he wentdown, Clameran should go too; better kill the devil than be killed byhim.
In his days of poverty, Raoul had often risked his life to obtain a fewguineas, and would not have hesitated to make short work of a personlike Clameran.
But with money prudence had come. He wished to enjoy his four hundredthousand francs without being compromised by committing a murder whichmight be discovered; he therefore began to devise some other meansof getting rid of his dreaded accomplice. Meanwhile, he devoted histhoughts to some discreet way of thwarting Clameran's marriage withMadeleine. He was sure that he would thus strike him to the heart, andthis was at least a satisfaction.
Raoul was persuaded that, by openly siding with Madeleine and her aims,he could save them from Clameran's clutches. Having fully resolved uponthis course, he wrote a note to Mme. Fauvel asking for an interview.
The poor woman hastened to Vesinet convinced that some new misfortunewas in store for her.
Her alarm was groundless. She found Raoul more tender and affectionatethan he had ever been. He saw the necessity of reassuring her, andwinning his old place in her forgiving heart, before making hisdisclosures.
He succeeded. The poor lady had a smiling and happy air as she sat in anarm-chair, with Raoul kneeling beside her.
"I have distressed you too long, my dear mother," he said in his softesttones, "but I repent sincerely: now listen to my--"
He had not time to say more; the door was violently thrown open, andRaoul, springing to his feet, was confronted by M. Fauvel.
The banker had a revolver in his hand, and was deadly pale.
It was evident that he was making superhuman efforts to remain calm,like a judge whose duty it is to justly punish cri
me.
"Ah," he said with a horrible laugh, "you look surprised. You did notexpect me? You thought that my imbecile credulity insured your safety."
Raoul had the courage to place himself before Mme. Fauvel, and to standprepared to receive the expected bullet.
"I assure you, uncle," he began.
"Enough!" interrupted the banker with an angry gesture, "let me hear nomore infamous falsehoods! End this acting, of which I am no longer thedupe."
"I swear to you--"
"Spare yourself the trouble of denying anything. I know all. I know whopawned my wife's diamonds. I know who committed the robbery for which aninnocent man was arrested and imprisoned."
Mme. Fauvel, white with terror, fell upon her knees.
At last it had come--the dreadful day had come. Vainly had she addedfalsehood to falsehood; vainly had she sacrificed herself and others:all was discovered.
She saw that all was lost, and wringing her hands she tearfully moaned:
"Pardon, Andre! I beg you, forgive me!"
At these heart-broken tones, the banker shook like a leaf. This voicebrought before him the twenty years of happiness which he had owedto this woman, who had always been the mistress of his heart, whoseslightest wish had been his law, and who, by a smile or a frown, couldmake him the happiest or the most miserable of men. Alas! those dayswere over now.
Could this wretched woman crouching at his feet be his belovedValentine, the pure, innocent girl whom he had found secluded in thechateau of La Verberie, who had never loved any other than himself?Could this be the cherished wife whom he had worshipped for so manyyears?
The memory of his lost happiness was too much for the stricken man. Heforgot the present in the past, and was almost melted to forgiveness.
"Unhappy woman," he murmured, "unhappy woman! What have I done that youshould thus betray me? Ah, my only fault was loving you too deeply,and letting you see it. One wearies of everything in this world, evenhappiness. Did pure domestic joys pall upon you, and weary you, drivingyou to seek the excitement of a sinful passion? Were you so tired of theatmosphere of respect and affection which surrounded you, that you mustneeds risk your honor and mine by braving public opinion? Oh, intowhat an abyss you have fallen, Valentine! and, oh, my God! if you werewearied by my constant devotion, had the thought of your children nopower to restrain your evil passions; could you not remain untarnishedfor their sake?"
M. Fauvel spoke slowly, with painful effort, as if each word choked him.
Raoul, who listened with attention, saw that if the banker knew somethings, he certainly did not know all.
He saw that erroneous information had misled the unhappy man, and thathe was still a victim of false appearances.
He determined to convince him of the mistake under which he waslaboring, and said:
"Monsieur, I hope you will listen."
But the sound of Raoul's voice was sufficient to break the charm.
"Silence!" cried the banker with an angry oath, "silence!"
For some moments nothing was heard but the sobs of Mme. Fauvel.
"I came here," continued the banker, "with the intention of killing youboth. But I cannot kill a woman, and I will not kill an unarmed man."
Raoul once more tried to speak.
"Let me finish!" interrupted M. Fauvel. "Your life is in my hands; thelaw excuses the vengeance of an injured husband; but I refuse to takeadvantage of it. I see on your mantel a revolver similar to mine; takeit, and defend yourself."
"Never!"
"Defend yourself!" cried the banker raising his arm, "if you do not--"
Feeling the barrel of M. Fauvel's revolver touch his breast, Raoul inself-defence seized his own pistol, and prepared to fire.
"Stand in that corner of the room, and I will stand in this," continuedthe banker; "and when the clock strikes, which will be in a few seconds,we will both fire."
They took the places designated, and stood perfectly still.
But the horror of the scene was too much for Mme. Fauvel to witness anylonger without interposing. She understood but one thing: her son andher husband were about to kill each other before her very eyes. Frightand horror gave her strength to start up and rush between the two men.
"For God's sake, have mercy, Andre!" she cried, wringing her hands withanguish, "let me tell you everything; don't kill--"
This burst of maternal love, M. Fauvel thought the pleadings of acriminal woman defending her lover.
He roughly seized his wife by the arm, and thrust her aside, saying withindignant scorn:
"Get out of the way!"
But she would not be repulsed; rushing up to Raoul, she threw her armsaround him, and said to her husband:
"Kill me, and me alone; for I am the guilty one."
At these words M. Fauvel glared at the guilty pair, and, deliberatelytaking aim, fired.
Neither Raoul nor Mme. Fauvel moved. The banker fired a second time;then a third.
He cocked the pistol for a fourth shot, when a man rushed into the room,snatched the pistol from the banker's hand, and, throwing him on thesofa, ran toward Mme. Fauvel.
This man was M. Verduret, who had been warned by Cavaillon, but did notknow that Mme. Gypsy had extracted the balls from M. Fauvel's revolver.
"Thank Heaven!" he cried, "she is unhurt."
"How dare you interfere?" cried the banker, who by this time hadjoined the group. "I have the right to avenge my honor when it has beendegraded; the villain shall die!"
M. Verduret seized the banker's wrists in a vice-like grasp, andwhispered in his ear:
"Thank God you are saved from committing a terrible crime; the anonymousletter deceived you."
In violent situations like this, all the untoward, strange attendingcircumstances appear perfectly natural to the participators, whosepassions have already carried them beyond the limits of socialpropriety.
Thus M. Fauvel never once thought of asking this stranger who he was andwhere he came from.
He heard and understood but one fact: the anonymous letter had lied.
"But my wife confesses she is guilty," he stammered.
"So she is," replied M. Verduret, "but not of the crime you imagine. Doyou know who that man is, that you attempted to kill?"
"Her lover!"
"No: her son!"
The words of this stranger, showing his intimate knowledge of theprivate affairs of all present, seemed to confound and frighten Raoulmore than M. Fauvel's threats had done. Yet he had sufficient presenceof mind to say:
"It is the truth!"
The banker looked wildly from Raoul to M. Verduret; then, fastening hishaggard eyes on his wife, exclaimed:
"It is false! you are all conspiring to deceive me! Proofs!"
"You shall have proofs," replied M. Verduret, "but first listen."
And rapidly, with his wonderful talent for exposition, he related theprincipal points of the plot he had discovered.
The true state of the case was terribly distressing to M. Fauvel, butnothing compared with what he had suspected.
His throbbing, yearning heart told him that he still loved his wife. Whyshould he punish a fault committed so many years ago, and atoned for bytwenty years of devotion and suffering?
For some moments after M. Verduret had finished his explanation, M.Fauvel remained silent.
So many strange events had happened, rapidly following each other insuccession, and culminating in the shocking scene which had just takenplace, that M. Fauvel seemed to be too bewildered to think clearly.
If his heart counselled pardon and forgetfulness, wounded pride andself-respect demanded vengeance.
If Raoul, the baleful witness, the living proof of a far-off sin, werenot in existence, M. Fauvel would not have hesitated. Gaston de Clameranwas dead; he would have held out his arms to his wife, and said:
"Come to my heart! your sacrifices for my honor shall be yourabsolution; let the sad past be forgotten."
But the sight of Raoul froze the words upon
his lips.
"So this is your son," he said to his wife--"this man, who has plunderedyou and robbed me!"
Mme. Fauvel was unable to utter a word in reply to these reproachfulwords.
"Oh!" said M. Verduret, "madame will tell you that this young man is theson of Gaston de Clameran; she has never doubted it. But the truth is--"
"What!"
"That, in order to swindle her, he has perpetrated a gross imposture."
During the last few minutes Raoul had been quietly creeping toward thedoor, hoping to escape while no one was thinking of him.
But M. Verduret, who anticipated his intentions, was watching him out ofthe corner of one eye, and stopped him just as he was about leaving theroom.
"Not so fast, my pretty youth," he said, dragging him into the middle ofthe room; "it is not polite to leave us so unceremoniously. Let ushave a little conversation before parting; a little explanation will beedifying!"
The jeering words and mocking manner of M. Verduret made Raoul turndeadly pale, and start back as if confronted by a phantom.
"The clown!" he gasped.
"The same, friend," said the fat man. "Ah, now that you recognize me,I confess that the clown and myself are one and the same. Yes, I am themountebank of the Jandidier ball; here is proof of it."
And turning up his sleeve he showed a deep cut on his arm.
"I think that this recent wound will convince you of my identity," hecontinued. "I imagine you know the villain that gave me this littledecoration, that night I was walking along the Rue Bourdaloue. Thatbeing the case, you know, I have a slight claim upon you, and shallexpect you to relate to us your little story."
But Raoul was so terrified that he could not utter a word.
"Your modesty keeps you silent," said M. Verduret. "Bravo! modestybecomes talent, and for one of your age you certainly have displayed atalent for knavery."
M. Fauvel listened without understanding a word of what was said.
"Into what dark depths of shame have we fallen!" he groaned.
"Reassure yourself, monsieur," replied M. Verduret with great respect."After what I have been constrained to tell you, what remains to be saidis a mere trifle. I will finish the story.
"On leaving Mihonne, who had given him a full account of the misfortunesof Mlle. Valentine de la Verberie, Clameran hastened to London.
"He had no difficulty in finding the farmer's wife to whom the oldcountess had intrusted Gaston's son.
"But here an unexpected disappointment greeted him.
"He learned that the child, whose name was registered on the parishbooks as Raoul-Valentin Wilson, had died of the croup when eighteenmonths old."
"Did anyone state such a fact as that?" interrupted Raoul: "it isfalse."
"It was not only stated, but proved, my pretty youth," replied M.Verduret. "You don't suppose I am a man to trust to verbal testimony; doyou?"
He drew from his pocket several officially stamped documents, with redseals attached, and laid them on the table.
"These are declarations of the nurse, her husband, and four witnesses.Here is an extract from the register of births; this is a certificateof registry of his death; and all these are authenticated at the FrenchEmbassy. Now are you satisfied, young man?"
"What next?" inquired M. Fauvel.
"The next step was this," replied M. Verduret. "Clameran, findingthat the child was dead, supposed that he could, in spite of thisdisappointment, obtain money from Mme. Fauvel; he was mistaken. Hisfirst attempt failed. Having an inventive turn of mind, he determinedthat the child should come to life. Among his large circle of rascallyacquaintances, he selected a young fellow to impersonate Raoul-ValentinWilson; and the chosen one stands before you."
Mme. Fauvel was in a pitiable state. And yet she began to feel a ray ofhope; her acute anxiety had so long tortured her, that the truth was arelief; she would thank Heaven if this wicked man was proved to be noson of hers.
"Can this be possible?" she murmured, "can it be?"
"Impossible!" cried the banker: "an infamous plot like this could not beexecuted in our midst!"
"All this is false!" said Raoul boldly. "It is a lie!"
M. Verduret turned to Raoul, and, bowing with ironical respect, said:
"Monsieur desires proofs, does he? Monsieur shall certainly haveconvincing ones. I have just left a friend of mine, M. Palot, whobrought me valuable information from London. Now, my young gentleman,I will tell you the little story he told me, and then you can give youropinion of it.
"In 1847 Lord Murray, a wealthy and generous nobleman, had a jockeynamed Spencer, of whom he was very fond. At the Epsom races, this jockeywas thrown from his horse, and killed. Lord Murray grieved over theloss of his favorite, and, having no children of his own, declared hisintention of adopting Spencer's son, who was then but four years old.
"Thus James Spencer was brought up in affluence, as heir to the immensewealth of the noble lord. He was a handsome, intelligent boy, and gavesatisfaction to his protector until he was sixteen years of age; when hebecame intimate with a worthless set of people, and turned out badly.
"Lord Murray, who was very indulgent, pardoned many grave faults; butone fine morning he discovered that his adopted son had been imitatinghis signature upon some checks. He indignantly dismissed him from thehouse, and told him never to show his face again.
"James Spencer had been living in London about four years, managing tosupport himself by gambling and swindling, when he met Clameran, whooffered him twenty-five thousand francs to play a part in a littlecomedy which he had arranged to suit the actors."
"You are a detective!" interrupted Raoul.
The fat man smiled grimly.
"At present," he replied, "I am merely a friend of Prosper Bertomy. Itdepends entirely upon your behavior which character I appear in whilesettling up this little affair."
"What do you expect me to do?"
"Restore the three hundred and fifty thousand francs which you havestolen."
The young rascal hesitated a moment, and then said:
"The money is in this room."
"Very good. This frankness is creditable, and will benefit you. I knowthat the money is in this room, and also exactly where it is to befound. Be kind enough to look behind that cupboard, and you will findthe three hundred and fifty thousand francs."
Raoul saw that his game was lost. He tremblingly went to the cupboard,and pulled out several bundles of bank-notes, and an enormous package ofpawn-broker's tickets.
"Very well done," said M. Verduret, as he carefully examined the moneyand papers: "this is the most sensible step you ever took."
Raoul relied on this moment, when everybody's attention would beabsorbed by the money, to make his escape. He slid toward the door,gently opened it, slipped out, and locked it on the outside; the keybeing still in the lock.
"He has escaped!" cried M. Fauvel.
"Naturally," replied M. Verduret, without even looking up: "I thought hewould have sense enough to do that."
"But is he to go unpunished?"
"My dear sir, would you have this affair become a public scandal? Do youwish your wife's name to be brought into a case of this nature beforethe police-court?"
"Oh, monsieur!"
"Then the best thing you can do, is to let the rascal go scot free. Hereare receipts for all the articles which he has pawned, so that we shouldconsider ourselves fortunate. He has kept fifty thousand francs, butthat is all the better for you. This sum will enable him to leaveFrance, and we shall never see him again."
Like everyone else, M. Fauvel yielded to the ascendancy of M. Verduret.
Gradually he had awakened to the true state of affairs; prospectivehappiness no longer seemed impossible, and he felt that he was indebtedto the man before him for more than life. But for M. Verduret, wherewould have been his honor and domestic peace?
With earnest gratitude he seized M. Verduret's hand as if to carry it tohis lips, and said, in broken tones:
"Oh, monsieur! how can I ever find words to express how deeply Iappreciate your kindness? How can I ever repay the great service youhave rendered me?"
M. Verduret reflected a moment, and then said:
"If you feel under any significant obligations to me, monsieur, you haveit in your power to return them. I have a favor to ask of you."
"A favor? you ask of me? Speak, monsieur, you have but to name it. Myfortune and life are at your disposal."
"I will not hesitate, then, to explain myself. I am Prosper's friend,and deeply interested in his future. You can exonerate him from thisinfamous charge of robbery; you can restore him to his honorableposition. You can do more than this, monsieur. He loves Mlle.Madeleine."
"Madeleine shall be his wife, monsieur," interrupted the banker: "I giveyou my word of honor. And I will so publicly exonerate him, that nota shadow of suspicion will rest upon his name. I will place him ina position which will prevent slander from reproaching him with thepainful remembrance of my fatal error."
The fat man quietly took up his hat and cane, as if he had been payingan ordinary morning call, and turned to leave the room, after saying,"Good-morning." But, seeing the weeping woman raise her clasped handsappealingly toward him, he said hesitatingly:
"Monsieur, excuse my intruding any advice; but Mme. Fauvel--"
"Andre!" murmured the wretched wife, "Andre!"
The banker hesitated a moment; then, following the impulse of his heart,ran to his wife, and, clasping her in his arms, said tenderly:
"No, I will not be foolish enough to struggle against my deep-rootedlove. I do not pardon, Valentine: I forget; I forget all!"
M. Verduret had nothing more to do at Vesinet.
Without taking leave of the banker, he quietly left the room, and,jumping into his cab, ordered the driver to return to Paris, and driveto the Hotel du Louvre as rapidly as possible.
His mind was filled with anxiety about Clameran. He knew that Raoulwould give him no more trouble; the young rogue was probably taking hispassage for some foreign land at that very moment. But Clameran shouldnot escape unpunished; and how this punishment could be brought aboutwithout compromising Mme. Fauvel, was the problem to be solved.
M. Verduret thought over the various cases similar to this, but not oneof his former expedients could be applied to the present circumstances.He could not deliver the villain over to justice without involving Mme.Fauvel.
After long thought, he decided that an accusation of poisoning must comefrom Oloron. He would go there and work upon "public opinion," so that,to satisfy the townspeople, the authorities would order a post-mortemexamination of Gaston. But this mode of proceeding required time; andClameran would certainly escape before another day passed over his head.He was too experienced a knave to remain on slippery ground, now thathis eyes were open to the danger which menaced him. It was almost darkwhen the carriage stopped in front of the Hotel du Louvre; M. Verduretnoticed a crowd of people collected together in groups, eagerlydiscussing some exciting event which seemed to have just takenplace. Although the policeman attempted to disperse the crowd byauthoritatively ordering them to "Move on! Move on!" they would merelyseparate in one spot to join a more clamorous group a few yards off.
"What has happened?" demanded M. Verduret of a lounger near by.
"The strangest thing you ever heard of," replied the man; "yes, I sawhim with my own eyes. He first appeared at that seventh-story window; hewas only half-dressed. Some men tried to seize him; but, bast! with theagility of a squirrel, he jumped out upon the roof, shrieking, 'Murder!murder!' The recklessness of his conduct led me to suppose--"
The gossip stopped short in his narrative, very much surprised andvexed; his questioner had vanished.
"If it should be Clameran!" thought M. Verduret; "if terror has derangedthat brain, so capable of working out great crimes! Fate must haveinterposed----"
While thus talking to himself, he elbowed his way through the crowdedcourt-yard of the hotel.
At the foot of the staircase he found M. Fanferlot and threepeculiar-looking individuals standing together, as if waiting forsomeone.
"Well," cried M. Verduret, "what is the matter?"
With laudable emulation, the four men rushed forward to report to theirsuperior officer.
"Patron," they all began at once.
"Silence!" said the fat man with an oath; "one at a time. Quick! what isthe matter?"
"The matter is this, patron," said Fanferlot dejectedly. "I am doomedto ill luck. You see how it is; this is the only chance I ever had ofworking out a beautiful case, and, paf! my criminal must go and fizzle!A regular case of bankruptcy!"
"Then it is Clameran who--"
"Of course it is. When the rascal saw me this morning, he scampered offlike a hare. You should have seen him run; I thought he would never stopthis side of Ivry: but not at all. On reaching the Boulevard des Ecoles,a sudden idea seemed to strike him, and he made a bee-line for hishotel; I suppose, to get his pile of money. Directly he gets here, whatdoes he see? these three friends of mine. The sight of these gentlemenhad the effect of a sunstroke upon him; he went raving mad on the spot.The idea of serving me such a low trick at the very moment I was sure ofsuccess!"
"Where is he now?"
"At the prefecture, I suppose. Some policemen handcuffed him, and droveoff with him in a cab."
"Come with me."
M. Verduret and Fanferlot found Clameran in one of the private cellsreserved for dangerous prisoners.
He had on a strait-jacket, and was struggling violently against threemen, who were striving to hold him, while a physician tried to force himto swallow a potion.
"Help!" he shrieked; "help, for God's sake! Do you not see my brothercoming after me? Look! he wants to poison me!"
M. Verduret took the physician aside, and questioned him about themaniac.
"The wretched man is in a hopeless state," replied the doctor; "thisspecies of insanity is incurable. He thinks someone is trying to poisonhim, and nothing will persuade him to eat or drink anything; and, asit is impossible to force anything down his throat, he will die ofstarvation, after having suffered all the tortures of poison."
M. Verduret, with a shudder, turned to leave the prefecture, saying toFanferlot:
"Mme. Fauvel is saved, and by the interposition of God, who has himselfpunished Clameran!"
"That don't help me in the least," grumbled Fanferlot. "The idea of allmy trouble and labor ending in this flat, quiet way! I seem to be bornfor ill-luck!"
"Don't take your blighted hopes of glory so much to heart," repliedM. Verduret. "It is a melancholy fact for you that _File No. 113_ willnever leave the record-office; but you must bear your disappointmentgracefully and heroically. I will console you by sending you as bearerof despatches to a friend of mine, and what you have lost in fame willbe gained in gold."
XXV
Four days had passed since the events just narrated, when one morningM. Lecoq--the official Lecoq, who resembled the dignified head ofa bureau--was walking up and down his private office, at each turnnervously looking at the clock, which slowly ticked on the mantel, asif it had no intention of striking any sooner than usual, to gratify theman so anxiously watching its placid face.
At last, however, the clock did strike; and just then the faithfulJanouille opened the door, and ushered in Mme. Nina and Prosper Bertomy.
"Ah," said M. Lecoq, "you are punctual; lovers are generally so."
"We are not lovers, monsieur," replied Mme. Gypsy. "M. Verduret gaveus express orders to meet here in your office this morning, and we haveobeyed."
"Very good," said the celebrated detective: "then be kind enough to waita few minutes; I will tell him you are here."
During the quarter of an hour that Nina and Prosper remained alonetogether, they did not exchange a word. Finally a door opened, and M.Verduret appeared.
Nina and Prosper eagerly started toward him; but he checked them by oneof those peculiar looks which no one ever dared resist.
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br /> "You have come," he said severely, "to hear the secret of my conduct.I have promised, and will keep my word, however painful it may be tomy feelings. Listen, then. My best friend is a loyal, honest man,named Caldas. Eighteen months ago this friend was the happiest of men.Infatuated by a woman, he lived for her alone, and, fool that he was,imagined that she felt the same love for him."
"She did!" cried Gypsy, "yes, she always loved him."
"She showed her love in a peculiar way. She loved him so much, thatone fine day she left him, and ran off with another man. In his firstmoments of despair, Caldas wished to kill himself. Then he reflectedthat it would be wiser to live, and avenge himself."
"And then," faltered Prosper.
"Then Caldas avenged himself in his own way. He made the woman whodeserted him recognize his immense superiority over his rival. Weak,timid, and helpless, the rival was disgraced, and falling over the vergeof a precipice, when the powerful hand of Caldas reached forth and savedhim. You understand all now, do you not? The woman is Nina; the rival isyourself; and Caldas is--"
With a quick, dexterous movement, he threw off his wig and whiskers, andstood before them the real, intelligent, proud Lecoq.
"Caldas!" cried Nina.
"No, not Caldas, not Verduret any longer: but Lecoq, the detective!"
M. Lecoq broke the stupefied silence of his listeners by saying toProsper:
"It is not to me alone that you owe your salvation. A noble girlconfided to me the difficult task of clearing your reputation. Ipromised her that M. Fauvel should never know the shameful secretsconcerning his domestic happiness. Your letter thwarted all my plans,and made it impossible for me to keep my promise. I have nothing more tosay."
He turned to leave the room, but Nina barred his exit.
"Caldas," she murmured, "I implore you to have pity on me! I am _so_miserable! Ah, if you only knew! Be forgiving to one who has alwaysloved you, Caldas! Listen."
Prosper departed from M. Lecoq's office alone.
On the 15th of last month, was celebrated, at the church of Notre Damede Lorette, the marriage of M. Prosper Bertomy and Mlle. MadeleineFauvel.
The banking-house is still on the Rue de Provence; but as M. Fauvel hasdecided to retire from business, and live in the country, the name ofthe firm has been changed, and is now--
"Prosper Bertomy & Co."
Le dossier no. 113. English Page 23
