Other People's Money

by Emile Gaboriau

  IX

  As he left Mlle. Lucienne's room,

  "There is nothing more to keep me at the Hotel des Folies," saidthe commissary of police to Maxence. "Every thing possible will bedone, and well done, by M. de Tregars. I am going home, therefore;and I am going to take you with me. I have a great deal to do andyou'll help me."

  That was not exactly true; but he feared, on the part of Maxence,some imprudence which might compromise the success of M. deTregars' mission.

  He was trying to think of every thing to leave as little as possibleto chance; like a man who has seen the best combined plans fail forwant of a trifling precaution.

  Once in the yard, he opened the door of the lodge where thehonorable Fortins, man and wife, were deliberating, and exchangingtheir conjectures, instead of going to bed. For they werewonderfully puzzled by all those events that succeeded each other,and anxious about all these goings and comings.

  "I am going home," the commissary said to them; "but, before that,listen to my instructions. You will allow no one, you understand,--no one who is not known to you, to go up to Mlle. Lucienne'sroom. And remember that I will admit of no excuse, and that youmust not come and tell me afterwards, 'It isn't our fault, we can'tsee everybody that comes in,' and all that sort of nonsense."

  He was speaking in that harsh and imperious tone of whichpolice-agents have the secret, when they are addressing people whohave, by their conduct, placed themselves under their dependence.

  "We are going to close our front-door," replied the estimablehotel-keepers. "We will comply strictly with your orders."

  "I trust so; because, if you should disobey me, I should hear it,and the result would be a serious trouble to you. Besides yourhotel being unmercifully closed up, you would find yourselvesimplicated in a very bad piece of business."

  The most ardent curiosity could be read in Mme. Fortin's little eyes.

  "I understood at once," she began, "that something extraordinarywas going on."

  But the commissary interrupted her,

  "I have not done yet. It may be that to-night or to-morrow someone will call and inquire how Mlle. Lucienne is."

  "And then?"

  "You will answer that she is as bad as possible; and that she hasneither spoken a word, nor recovered her senses, since the accident;and that she will certainly not live through the day."

  The effort which Mme. Fortin made to remain silent gave, better thanany thing else, an idea of the terror with which the commissaryinspired her.

  "That is not all," he went on. "As soon as the person in questionhas started off, you will follow him, without affectation, as faras the street-door, and you will point him out with your finger,here, like that, to one of my agents, who will happen to be on theBoulevard."

  "And suppose he should not be there?"

  "He shall be there. You can make yourself easy on that score."

  The looks of distress which the honorable hotel-keepers wereexchanging did not announce a very tranquil conscience.

  "In other words, here we are under surveillance," said M. Fortinwith a groan. "What have we done to be thus mistrusted?"

  To reply to him would have been a task more long than difficult.

  "Do as I tell you," insisted the commissary harshly, "and don'tmind the rest, and, meantime, good-night."

  He was right in trusting implicitly to his agent's punctuality;for, as soon as he came out of the Hotel des Folies, a man passedby him, and without seeming to address him, or even to recognizehim, said in a whisper,

  "What news?"

  "Nothing," he replied, "except that the Fortins are notified. Thetrap is well set. Keep your eyes open now, and spot any one whocomes to ask about Mlle. Lucienne."

  And he hurried on, still followed by Maxence, who walked along likea body without soul, tortured by the most frightful anguish.

  As he had been away the whole evening, four or five persons werewaiting for him at his office on matters of current business. Hedespatched them in less than no time; after which, addressinghimself to an agent on duty,

  "This evening," he said, "at about nine o'clock, in a restaurant onthe Boulevard, a quarrel took place. A person tried to pick aquarrel with another.

  "You will proceed at once to that restaurant; you will get theparticulars of what took place; and you will ascertain exactly whothis man is, his name, his profession, and his residence."

  Like a man accustomed to such errands,

  "Can I have a description of him?" inquired the agent.

  "Yes. He is a man past middle age, military bearing, heavy mustache,ribbons in his buttonhole."

  "Yes, I see: one of your regular fighting fellows."

  "Very well. Go then. I shall not retire before your return. Ah,I forgot; find out what they thought to-night on the 'street' aboutthe Mutual Credit affair, and what they said of the arrest of oneSaint Pavin, editor of 'The Financial Pilot,' and of a banker namedJottras."

  "Can I take a carriage?"

  "Do so."

  The agent started; and he was not fairly out of the house, when thecommissary, opening a door which gave into a small study, called,"Felix!"

  It was his secretary, a man of about thirty, blonde, with a gentleand timid countenance, having, with his long coat, somewhat theappearance of a theological student. He appeared immediately.

  "You call me, sir?"

  "My dear Felix," replied the commissary, "I have seen you, sometimes,imitate very nicely all sorts of hand-writings."

  The secretary blushed very much, no doubt on account of Maxence, whowas sitting by the side of his employer. He was a very honestfellow; but there are certain little talents of which people do notlike to boast; and the talent of imitating the writing of others isof the number, for the reason, that, fatally and at once, it suggeststhe idea of forgery.

  "It was only for fun that I used to do that, sir," he stammered.

  "Would you be here if it had been otherwise?" said the commissary."Only this time it is not for fun, but to do me a favor that Iwish you to try again."

  And, taking out of his pocket the letter taken by M. de Tregarsfrom the man in the restaurant,

  "Examine this writing," he said, "and see whether you feel capableof imitating it tolerably well."

  Spreading the letter under the full light of the lamp, the secretaryspent at least two minutes examining it with the minute attention ofan expert. And at the same time he was muttering,

  "Not at all convenient, this. Hard writing to imitate. Not asalient feature, not a characteristic sign! Nothing to strike theeye, or attract attention. It must be some old lawyer's clerk whowrote this."

  In spite of his anxiety of mind, the commissary smiled.

  "I shouldn't be surprised if you had guessed right."

  Thus encouraged,

  "At any rate," Felix declared, "I am going to try."

  He took a pen, and, after trying a dozen times,

  "How is this?" he asked, holding out a sheet of paper.

  The commissary carefully compared the original with the copy.

  "It is not perfect," he murmured; "but at night, with the imaginationexcited by a great peril--Besides, we must risk something."

  "If I had a few hours to practise!"

  "But you have not. Come, take up your pen, and write as well asyou can, in that same hand, what I am going to tell you."

  And after a moment's thought, he dictated as follows:

  "All goes well. T. drawn into a quarrel, is to fight in the morningwith swords. But our man, whom I cannot leave, refuses to go ahead,unless he is paid two thousand francs before the duel. I have notthe amount. Please hand it to the bearer, who has orders to waitfor you."

  The commissary, leaning over his secretary's shoulder, was followinghis hand, and, the last word being written,

  "Perfect!" he exclaimed. "Now quick, the address: Mme. la Baronnede Thaller, Rue de le Pepiniere."

  There are professions which extinguish, in those who exercise them
,all curiosity. It is with the most complete indifference, andwithout asking a question, that the secretary had done what he hadbeen requested.

  "Now, my dear Felix," resumed the commissary, "you will please getyourself up as near as possible like a restaurant-waiter, and takethis letter to its address."

  "At this hour!"

  "Yes. The Baroness de Thaller is out to a ball. You will tell theservants that you are bringing her an answer concerning an importantmatter. They know nothing about it; but they will allow you to waitfor their mistress in the porter's lodge. As soon as she comes in,you will hand her the letter, stating that two gentlemen who aretaking supper in your restaurant are waiting for the answer. It maybe that she will exclaim that you are a scoundrel, that she does notknow what it means: in that case, we shall have been anticipated, andyou must get away as fast as you can. But the chances are, that shewill give you two thousand francs; and then you must so manage, thatshe will be seen plainly when she does it. Is it all understood?"

  "Perfectly."

  "Go ahead, then, and do not lose a minute. I shall wait."

  Away from Mlle. Lucienne, Maxence had gradually been recalled tothe strangeness of the situation; and it was with a mingled feelingof curiosity and surprise that he observed the commissary actingand bustling about.

  The good man had found again all the activity of his youth, togetherwith that fever of hope and that impatience of success, whichusually disappear with age.

  He was going over the whole of the case again,--his first meetingwith Mlle. Lucienne, the various attempts upon her life; and he hadjust taken out of the file the letter of information which had beenintrusted to him, in order to compare the writing with that of theletter taken from his adversary by M. de Tregars, when the lattercame in all out of breath.

  "Zelie has spoken!" he said.

  And, at once addressing Maxence,

  "You, my dear friend," he resumed, "you must run to the Hotel desFolies."

  "Is Lucienne worse?"

  "No. Lucienne is getting on well enough. Zelie has spoken; butthere is no certainty, that, after due reflection, she will notrepent, and go and give the alarm. You will return, therefore,and you will not lose sight of her until I call for her in themorning. If she wishes to go out, you must prevent her."

  The commissary had understood the importance of the precaution.

  "You must prevent her," he added, "even by force; and I authorizeyou, if need be, to call upon the agent whom I have placed on duty,watching the Hotel des Folies, and to whom I am going to send wordimmediately."

  Maxence started off on a run.

  "Poor fellow!" murmured Marius, "I know where your father is. Whatare we going to learn now?"

  He had scarcely had time to communicate the information he hadreceived from Mme. Cadelle, when the first of the commissary'semissaries made his appearance.

  "The commission is done," he said, in that confident tone of a manwho thinks he has successfully accomplished a difficult task.

  "You know the name of the individual who sought a quarrel with M.de Tregars?"

  "His name is Corvi. He is well known in all the tables d'hote,where there are women, and where they deal a healthy little gameafter dinner. I know him well too. He is a bad fellow, who passeshimself off for a former superior officer in the Italian army."

  "His address?"

  "He lives at Rue de la Michodiere, in a furnished house. I wentthere. The porter told me that my man had just gone out with anill-looking individual, and that they must be in a little cafe onthe corner of the next street. I ran there, and found my twofellows drinking beer."

  "Won't they give us the slip?"

  "No danger of that: I have got them fixed."

  "How is that?"

  "It is an idea of mine. I just thought, 'Suppose they put off?'And at once I went to notify some policemen, and I returned tostation myself near the cafe. It was just closing up. My twofellows came out: I picked a quarrel with them; and now they arein the station-house, well recommended."

  The commissary knit his brows.

  "That's almost too much zeal," he murmured. "Well, what's done isdone. Did you make any inquiries about the Saint Pavin and Jottrasmatter?"

  "I had no time, it was too late. You forget, perhaps, sir, that itis nearly two o'clock."

  Just as he got through, the secretary who had been sent to the Ruede la Pepiniere came in.

  "Well?" inquired the commissary, not without evident anxiety.

  "I waited for Mme. de Thaller over an hour," he said. "When shecame home, I gave her the letter. She read it; and, in presence ofa number of her servants, she handed me these two thousand francs."

  At the sight of the bank notes, the commissary jumped to his feet.

  "Now we have it!" he exclaimed. "Here is the proof that we wanted."