"I thank you for this assurance," replied M. Plancoët, quietly but earnestly, "though I must admit that I was not unprepared for it. Gabrielle has so often spoken of you, and always in such high terms, that I relied as implicitly upon your hospitality as you can rely upon my devotion."
"Monsieur Caumont doesn't doubt that, my dear Roch," interposed Albert. "I have told him all about you. But I have another piece of news for you—one that is much less agreeable in its nature."
"Your mother's intended marriage," said Plancoët, sadly. "That isn't necessary, my boy. She announced it to me this morning. But what about yourself, what have you been doing since I saw you last?—more than six months ago—for our meeting at the door of your mother's house does not count, as you merely said two or three words to me, and then rushed off like a madman."
"Tell you what I have been doing? Being bored to death—that is about all. If you think military life very enjoyable, you are greatly mistaken."
"You doubtless found it very dull while in garrison; but you seem to have been making up for it since your arrival in Paris. Your sister vainly expected you all the morning, and she is very cross with you in consequence."
"We are reconciled. Besides, although I dined at the Lion d'Or yesterday, I shall dine at home this evening."
"At the Lion d'Or!" repeated M. Plancoët, in astonishment. "You dined at the Lion d'Or yesterday?"
"Yes, old fellow. What is there so very astonishing about that? It's a good restaurant. My intended brother-in-law often patronizes it, I'm sure, though he probably goes alone, whereas I was in company with a very pretty woman."
"I don't patronize it often," answered George. "In fact, I have not been there since the day I lunched with my friend Puymirol."
"The gentleman whom Blanche pointed out to me yesterday!" exclaimed the lieutenant. "But she was at that lunch as well. She told me so."
"Yes, there were four of us. She was the only lady."
"And it was the very day of Monsieur Dargental's death. Blanche could talk of nothing else. You may have heard of that gentleman's murder, Plancoët?"
"No—that is to say, yes. It seems to me I did see something about it in the papers," stammered M. Plancoët, with the air of a man suddenly awakening from a dream. "Were you acquainted with him?"
"Not at all, but George, here, knew him well." The friend of the family now looked searchingly at George. "What the deuce is the matter with you to-day?" continued Albert. "You seem to be amazed at everything. Is there anything so very extraordinary in the fact that Caumont should have known that gentleman? His friend Puymirol was also acquainted with him, and so was the lady who dined with me yesterday."
"Speaking of my friend Puymirol," said George, turning to the lieutenant. "I am very uneasy about him, for he didn't return home last night. We live in the same house, you know, No. 14, Rue de Medicis?"
"Oh, he will turn up safely, no doubt. It isn't so strange for a young bachelor to stop out all night in Paris," added Albert, laughing. "By the way, you must bring him to see my mother. She will find a wife for him. But I forgot. She won't have time, as she intends to leave Paris immediately after your wedding."
"Puymirol will be my best man, probably."
"And Plancoët will certainly be one of my sister's witnesses, so that these gentlemen will have an opportunity of making each other's acquaintance. But the prospect does not seem to please you, Roch. You look dreadfully gloomy. Have you anything against the gentleman?"
"I!" exclaimed Plancoët. "Why! this is the first time I ever heard of him."
"Then why do you look so sulky? Ever since you have heard that he is likely to figure at the ceremony, your face has worn the same expression as it assumes when you see Rochas."
"You must be dreaming, my boy. The truth is, your proposal did not strike me very favourably, as I am much too old to serve as Gabrielle's witness. One of your comrades would be much more suitable. The old bring misfortune with them."
"Nonsense! On the contrary, you are a fetish. We have always prospered since we knew you."
"That isn't the opinion of every one," remarked M. Plancoët, pointedly.
George realised that Madame Verdon was the exception referred to, and he thought it time to conclude the interview. He had seen enough of M. Plancoët, and it seemed to him that the worthy man stared at him in a rather objectionable manner; besides, he was anxious to find out if Puymirol had returned home. "Excuse me for leaving you now," he said, pleasantly. "But I shall feel very uncomfortable until I see my friend again, and as I hate suspense, I am going to put an end to it by interviewing my doorkeeper."
"Of course," said Albert, "I also must go home if I want to avoid a scene. My mother is just in the humour to scold me, and Gabrielle may side with her, for she must be impatiently waiting to know what I think of you. She will probably subject me to a close examination; still you need have no fears as regards my replies."
"But where are you going, Roch? Will you accompany me home?"
"It's impossible. I have some business to attend to—"
"As usual. The deuce take me, if I can imagine how you occupy your time. But it is no affair of mine. Good-bye, my dear brother-in-law, I hope to see you again soon."
The two young men exchanged a cordial pressure of the hand, while M. Plancoët contented himself with bowing to Gabrielle's future husband. The salute was very pleasant and deferential, but George somehow fancied that M. Plancoët seemed inclined to hold himself a little aloof, and that there was a slight cloud between them.
They separated, and George then hastened to the Rue de Medicis, where he learnt with no little consternation, that Puymirol had given no sign of life. Some serious accident must certainly have happened to him. In fact, it was a much more terrible matter than George supposed.
V.
After his midnight mishap, Puymirol, still suffering from his fall, slowly and gloomily retraced his steps. What should he do with himself? He was in no humour to go to bed, and the thought occurred to him that he might perhaps still retrieve his losses at the gaming-table. The doors of his own club were closed against him until his outstanding debt was paid, but he knew other places easy of access, for in Paris there are plenty of private gambling-dens to which a man can gain admission by feeing the doorkeeper, as Puymirol was well aware. Thus in his great need, the idea of again trying his luck occurred to him, and he did not lose a moment in carrying it into execution. But, alas, the thirty louis which still remained to him were speedily lost in an establishment of the Chaussée d'Antin; and Puymirol, disheartened and exhausted, left the card-room, and passing into an adjoining apartment flung himself upon a sofa. He felt that irresistible longing to sleep which so often follows upon great crises. His eyes closed in spite of all his efforts to keep them open, and in a few moments he fell into a profound slumber which no one at first disturbed, for at the gaming-table players don't trouble themselves about the wounded. He was still sleeping heavily when he was roughly shaken by a footman; and when he opened his eyes in bewilderment he found that it was broad daylight. "What time is it?" he inquired, with a yawn.
"Past eight o'clock," replied the footman sullenly. "All the other gentlemen left a long while ago; and I must set the room in order. This isn't a lodging house."
Puymirol felt strongly inclined to kick the fellow who had so rudely recalled him to the realities of life, but he restrained his wrath, and rose up without a word. He found his hat and overcoat in the cloak-room, and forthwith left the establishment, having decided to return home at once so as to see George and procure the letters, for his late reverses had discouraged him so much that he was now inclined to accept Madame de Lescombat's offer. He accordingly walked towards the boulevard. Paris was already astir; the passers-by jostled him on the side walk, and vehicles went rapidly to and fro. As he was hastening past a doorway he narrowly escaped stumbling over a boy who was lying there, more than half asleep. At this, he paused, with a muttered oath, and heard the urchin mumble a few words which he did not at first understand. Our friend was not in the best of humours by any means, and he felt highly incensed with the little fellow, whom he suspected of lying in wait to trip up unwary passers-by. "What did you say, you young rascal?" he cried savagely.
"Buy the official list," sleepily responded the lad, rubbing his eyes.
Seizing the little fellow by his coat collar, Puymirol set him on his feet in the twinkling of an eye. "Do you know," said he, "you very nearly broke my neck, and I have a great mind to call a policeman to take you to the station-house? What do you mean by going to sleep on the pavement?"
"It is not my fault, sir," sobbed the boy. "I dared not go home because I hadn't sold all the lists. Mother would have been sure to beat me. So I ran about the streets all the evening until I couldn't stand it any longer, and then I sat down here to rest, and fell asleep. Don't have me arrested, please don't. I am going to set to work again now, and perhaps I shall manage to sell what I've got left."
Puymirol was really kind-hearted, and the sight of the lad's distress so touched him, that he put his hand in his pocket. He found himself richer than he had supposed, for his pocket happened to contain a quantity of small silver, which had escaped the croupier's rake. "What have you got there?" he asked.
"Why, sir, I'm selling lists of the winning numbers of the Lottery of the Decorative Art Society. They cost only two sous apiece; buy one, sir."
"Well, here are five francs, my lad. You don't look to me as if you had much dinner yesterday. Go and get something to eat, and then go home to bed. You can take the money you have left to your mother, and she won't beat you."
The boy took the money, trying to falter out his thanks; and as Puymirol hastened on, he ran after him, and forced one of the lists of winning numbers into his hand, saying: "Please take it. It may bring you good luck, sir."
In Puymirol's present desperate plight the remark sounded very much like a sarcasm. Still he took the list, and as he went on his way he glanced at it mechanically, and beheld in large figures the number of the ticket which had won the grand prize of one hundred thousand francs.
"Number 115,815!" he murmured. "That is to say, there is now somewhere in Paris, or in the provinces, a fortunate mortal who paid a franc for a scrap of paper which he can now exchange for one hundred thousand francs in bank notes. And this lucky fellow is perhaps a millionaire who has more money than he knows what to do with already, whereas if I had one hundred thousand francs I should consider myself independent for life." So reflecting, Puymirol crumpled the list in his hand, and was about to throw it away, when a new idea flashed through his brain. "Why, I still have those tickets I found in the pocket-book. While I was chasing that rascal last night, I placed them in my waistcoat pocket. What if I should find one of the winning numbers among them? Let me see."
He drew out the little packet of tickets, some two dozen in number, and, stopping short behind a newspaper kiosk, he slowly unfolded them. As he glanced at the topmost ticket he could scarcely believe his eyes, for there was the number—the winning number printed in the centre of it. He read and re-read it, examined it again and again, and compared it, figure by figure, with the list in his other hand; but it was all quite true, he certainly had in his possession No. 115,815, which entitled its owner to the grand prize. He had nineteen francs in his pocket, nothing in his desk, and one hundred thousand francs between his fingers. The shock was so great and so unexpected, that, proof as he had always considered himself against emotion, he was obliged to lean against the newspaper kiosk for support. His brain reeled. But suddenly a fresh thought occurred to him. "Dash it! the ticket isn't mine! It belonged to Dargental. In fact, it is the only piece of property he left for his heirs, if he has any. I have no right to appropriate it. It would be a theft." Puymirol's face lengthened, but he quickly recovered himself. "A theft, no. I did not steal it; I found it, or rather it was thrown to me, which amounted to the same thing as giving it to me."
This sophistry did not deceive him, however. He had invented it to quiet his conscience; but he realised how shallow it was. Then he thought of consulting Caumont, but he felt a presentiment that George would advise him to give up the ticket; and he did not care for advice which he did not intend to follow. But where and how was this grand prize payable? Would it only be necessary to show this triumphant No. 115,815 at the lottery office to convert it into bank notes? One of these questions was answered on the back of the ticket. He there read that the office of the Lottery of the Society of Decorative Arts was at the Palais de l'Industrie, in the Champs Elysées, Door No. 4. Puymirol's position was too desperate for him to indulge in much reflection. He made a nervous gesture as if to say: "I must cross the Rubicon," and then he replaced the tickets in his pocket. However, before going to the lottery office, he must set his toilet right. Still, this was easily managed. There were some Turkish baths hard by, and after indulging in the wholesome luxury of Oriental ablutions, he proceeded in due course to a fashionable barber's, where he was shaved, cosmetiqued, and perfumed, so that he would have been presentable anywhere, although he had not changed his linen. These preparations occupied him until eleven o'clock, and then, after partaking of a light breakfast, which exhausted his remaining funds, he hastened to the Palais de l'Industrie. At door No. 4, which seemed to him very like the gate of Paradise, he found a liveried footman talking with two men whom he took for favourites of fortune, who, like himself, had come to receive their money. He explained why he wished to speak to the secretary, and the attendant having gazed at him with admiring envy, told him to walk upstairs. The two persons who had been waiting, followed in his wake, and they all three entered a large ante-room on the first floor. A clerk rose on seeing them, and Puymirol was about to repeat his statement when one of the other fellows hastily approached the clerk, took him aside, and said a few words to him in a low tone; thereupon the clerk immediately opened a side door, and the man passed out and disappeared.
Turning to Puymirol, the clerk then inquired what he wanted, and on learning that he had come to cash a winning ticket, he at once opened a door leading into the office proper, where Puymirol found two prepossessing-looking gentlemen. One of them sat in an arm-chair, while the other occupied a stool at the end of the same table, and had a large leather case, such as is employed for the conveyance of documents, before him. "To whom have I the honour of speaking?" inquired the gentleman in the arm-chair.
"I am the holder of ticket No. 115,815, which is mentioned as having won one hundred thousand francs at your last drawing."
"I congratulate you, sir. Will you take a seat?"
Puymirol accepted the invitation; but in spite of his gracious reception, he felt ill at ease in the presence of these two persons. When a man has not a clear conscience, he sees danger everywhere, and Puymirol almost fancied himself a culprit arraigned before an investigating magistrate and his secretary. It was necessary to exhibit the ticket, however, so he drew the whole packet from his pocket and handed it to the gentleman in the arm-chair, who unfolded it, and examined the tickets one after another. "Here are some that do not interest us," he remarked: "the Tunisian Lottery, the Amsterdam Lottery."
"Yes," replied Puymirol, "I take a chance or two in all of them, but so far I have never won anything."
The official continued his examination, and finally lighted upon No. 115,815. This he examined closely, first upon one side, and then upon the other, and finally passed it to the gentleman seated at the end of the table. "Excuse this close examination," he remarked to Puymirol. "It not infrequently happens that spurious tickets are presented to us; that is to say, tickets of which the numbers have been altered."
"That is not the case with mine, I suppose?"
"No, sir. It is a little soiled, but it has not been tampered with."
"Then I can draw the amount?"
"There are certain formalities which must be gone through first of all. Will you give me your name and address?"
Puymirol coloured slightly. "Is this indispensable?" he asked. "I don't care to have my name in the papers. If it became known that I had won this prize," he added, a little nervously, "I should be beset on every side by requests for money. All my impecunious friends would make demands upon my purse, and my hundred thousand francs wouldn't last long."
"Oh! you need have no fears, sir. We shall not publish your name. This isn't the first time that winners have requested us not to give their names, and we have always complied with such requests, although, by doing so, we miss an excellent advertisement for our lottery. You need not, therefore, object to giving us your name and address. They will be recorded upon our books, but no one will be allowed to see them."
"That is all I ask. My name is Adhémar de Puymirol. I am a medical student, and I reside at No. 14 Rue de Medicis."
"Very well, sir, we will make a note of it. I forgot to mention that you would be obliged to give this information, in any case, for no winner can draw a penny of his money without giving a receipt to which his address must be appended."
"I fancied that it would only be necessary to present the ticket at your office so as to obtain the money, but I am ready and willing to give a receipt for it."
The gentleman took no notice of this hint. He seemed to have become suddenly absorbed in the examination of some papers; however, the person whom Adhémar had taken for a secretary, looked up, and, with his eyes fixed searchingly on the applicant's face, he curtly asked: "How old are you?"
"What difference can my age possibly make? I have attained my majority, as you see, and that is all that is necessary to make my receipt perfectly valid."
"Where were you born?"
"What business is that of yours?" replied Adhémar, exasperated by these strange questions.
"You refuse to answer, then?"
"Yes, certainly. I came here to draw the money due to me. I don't intend to be cross examined like some criminal."
"Be careful, I am a commissary of police."
Puymirol turned pale. He realised, at last, that he had plunged blindly into a frightful abyss, and that his imprudence was about to cost him dear. He was resolved to defend himself to the last, however. "I was not aware that the managers of this popular lottery required the assistance of police officials in the performance of their duties," he retorted. "This precaution will hardly favour the sale of tickets, should it become known to the public, and I will take good care to inform people about it."
"You are speaking to a magistrate, remember. Tell me where, and when, you purchased this ticket?"
"At a tobacconist's, probably."
"What tobacconist's?"
"The deuce take me if I can remember. I purchased between twenty and thirty tickets, and in a dozen different places. They are all here on the table."
"Yes, I see you have brought them all. It is strange that the idea of detaching the winning ticket did not occur to you. One can not think of everything, however."
"I brought the package exactly as I took it from my pocket-book."
"Have you that pocket-book about you?"
"No," stammered Puymirol, disconcerted by this question, which he might have foreseen, however. "I left it at home."
"Of course, great as your audacity may be, you would hardly dare to produce that. It bears other initials than yours."
"Produce it if you can," retorted Puymirol, imprudently.
"I understand. You have no fear of its being produced; you have destroyed it."
This time the commissary had made a mistake, and a suspicion that had flashed across Puymirol's mind a few moments before, was effectually dispelled. He had fancied that his assailant of the previous night might have been set upon his track by the police, who had taken forcible possession of the pocket-book, by orders of his superiors. "I do not understand you, unfortunately," said Adhémar. "But let us put an end to this. What are you aiming at?"
"Well, a crime was committed in Paris about a fortnight ago. A well-known gentleman, a man of fashion, was murdered at mid-day, in his rooms. You must have heard of the affair?"
"Yes, through the papers."
"Well, the gentleman's valet was arrested; but, as there was no evidence against him, he has been released. The murderer has not only escaped detection so far, but the motive that prompted the crime has not yet been discovered. All that has been ascertained is that the victim always carried a pocket-book, of which a full description has been given, and that this pocket-book has disappeared."
"All this is very interesting," sneered Puymirol. "The pocket-book probably contained a large sum of money?"
"That is the general supposition, but one can not be sure. One thing, however, is certain; it contained several tickets of this lottery, and among this gentleman's private papers, a list of these tickets was found. It occurred to the investigating magistrate that he might utilise this information in the improbable event of one of these particular tickets winning a prize, and being presented for payment by the murderer. It was one chance in a million, and yet it has occurred. As soon as the investigating magistrate ascertained that one of these tickets had won the grand prize, he gave me orders to come here with two detectives. Now, you must understand the situation. What have you to say?"
"Nothing."
"Your silence is equivalent to a confession of guilt. You admit, then, that you purloined these tickets after killing the man who had them about his person?"
"I admit nothing of the kind."
"Oh! it is patent that you took them from the body of your victim; and you had the courage to open the pocket-book immediately after murdering that unfortunate man. Look at this ticket. The mark of your bloody fingers is still upon it."
As the commissary spoke he spread the ticket out upon the table and pointed to a couple of pale red stains upon the back of it and which Puymirol had not perceived when he had looked at the ticket on the boulevard. However he made no attempt to refute the commissary's arguments. He had decided to defend himself in a different way. "So you really accuse me of murder and robbery?" he asked.
"I have merely stated the facts and the conclusions one must naturally draw from them. It is for you to prove that my deductions are false. Now, do you still persist in declaring that you purchased the tickets in a cigar shop?"
"No," was Adhémar's reluctant response. "I found them in a cab a fortnight ago."
"And you kept them until now?"
"I attached very little importance to the occurrence. Lottery tickets are seldom of any value."
"Before the drawing, perhaps so; but afterwards when one of them has won a prize, it is very different."
"I admit that I yielded to the temptation of trying to profit by what seemed almost a godsend; I had no idea of doing so until this morning, however, when a list of the winning numbers happened to fall into my hands. I had the tickets in my pocket at the time, and impelled by a very natural curiosity to compare them with the list, I saw that the first prize had been won by No. 115,815. I yielded to the temptation which I regret, and I am certainly sufficiently punished."
"Why did you not inform Monsieur Robergeot of the finding of these tickets?" inquired the commissary, after a prolonged pause.
"Who is Monsieur Robergeot?"
"The investigating magistrate who sent for you on the day after the murder. I have his report here. You see I know everything."
"But I had no reason to suppose that this ticket had ever belonged to Dargental. The magistrate said nothing that would lead me to think so. He only asked me what I saw on entering the room in which the body was lying, and what I thought of the valet's connection with the affair."
"At that time the memorandum had not been found. But from what you say, the tickets were in your possession when you were first examined."
Puymirol bit his lip, but it was too late to retract this imprudent admission. "Yes," he replied at last. "They had been in my possession since the previous day, though at the time I forgot all about them."
"You picked them up in a cab you said. In that case, it is natural to suppose that the murderer dropped them there, or that he left them there intentionally. He certainly did not murder Monsieur Dargental to obtain possession of them. However, where did you take this cab?"
"At the cab-stand near my house outside the Luxembourg."
"And it took you where?"
"To the Lion d'Or restaurant where Dargental had asked me to meet him. He was giving a lunch that day to several friends."
"At what hour did you reach the restaurant?"
"About noon."
"And the crime must have been committed at about eleven o'clock. It is strange that the murderer should have driven back to the Odéon almost to your very door."
Puymirol made no reply. He felt that he was not capable of contending with the commissary. "Did you take the number of this cab?" added the official.
"No. I had no special reason for taking it."
"Excuse me: had you done so, you might have questioned the driver, and have ascertained where he had left the passenger who had dropped the lottery tickets. It is true that you were not anxious to find him, as you had already decided to keep them." Puymirol flushed, and hung his head. To clear himself of the charge of murder he had placed himself in such a position that he could not deny a fraudulent intention. "It is a great pity," continued the commissary. "The driver's testimony would be of great importance, for the magistrate is not obliged to take your word, and if you can produce no witness—Were you alone in the cab?"
This time Puymirol hesitated. It was too great a risk to mention George Caumont's name, for George, who was ignorant of the real situation of affairs, would simply tell the truth, and then the pocket-book, which Puymirol no longer possessed, would come into question; and besides, George would probably hand over the letters. Perhaps he would even tell the magistrate that one of the letters was written by the Countess de Lescombat, and one of the others probably by Blanche Pornic, in which case the least that could happen to Puymirol would be a conviction for perjury; so hoping to avert this new danger by a falsehood, he replied unblushingly: "I was alone."
"There is nothing left for us, then, but to try and find the driver," replied the commissary coldly, "and we may, perhaps, succeed in finding him. We have the exact date, as well as the point of departure, and the place of destination. We will make inquiries at the office of the cab company, and at all the livery stables. If the driver remembers the occurrence he can give us the clue we want."
Puymirol knew perfectly well that the driver would recollect the occurrence, as he had given the mysterious stranger who had purloined the pocket-book full information about it, so seeing that he was getting deeper and deeper into the mire, he decided to make a bold attempt to cut the interview short. "I reproach myself bitterly for having yielded to a temptation for which I blush," he said. "You must blame me very severely, but I hope you will not carry matters to extremes. I belong to a respectable family, and my past life is without a stain. I shall be at your disposal, of course, but I ask your permission to withdraw."
"My powers are more limited than you suppose," said the commissary gravely. "The magistrate will pay due attention to your explanation, but you must give it to him in person. He must now be at the Palais de Justice, and I will accompany you there."
"Nothing would please me better. I thought of calling at his office to-day, and as you are kind enough to accompany me—"
"It is my duty."
The commissary then rang. One of the detectives who had remained in the ante-room entered, and received orders to fetch a cab: then, taking up his case of documents, the commissary left the room in company with Puymirol, whose wonted assurance had nearly deserted him. They found the cab at the door, and entered it, one of the detectives climbing upon the box, and seating himself beside the driver. The journey was a silent one, and ended upon the Quai de l'Horloge, at the entrance to the court-yard of the Conciergerie. "Where are you taking me?" asked Puymirol. "Monsieur Robergeot's office is in the building facing the boulevard."
"You will soon be summoned there," replied the commissary. "But I must see him before you do, and in the meanwhile I must consign you to the dépôt of the Prefecture of Police."
VI.
On the day following Puymirol's arrest—for Puymirol was really and truly arrested—George Caumont, who had passed a very restless and uncomfortable night, was awakened at an early hour by his prospective brother-in-law. "I have come to propose a morning ride, my dear fellow," said Albert. "It is generally a thankless task to arouse a friend from sleep, but when you hear my reasons I am sure that you will forgive me. You know my mare, Verdurette, that enabled me to win a prize at the show. Well, I have come here on her back and a friend of mine has lent me two other mounts,—a very gentle animal suited to a lady, and a hack which would do very well for you. But I must tell you that last night at dinner, my sister obtained my mother's permission to take a ride in the Bois de Boulogne this morning, escorted by her betrothed and by your humble servant. Fortunately Rochas wasn't there to interfere, and it was decided that all three of us should start at half-past nine this morning. So make haste, the three horses are already standing, saddled and bridled, in our court-yard, and Gabrielle is awaiting you on the balcony. However, if the proposal doesn't please you—"
"On the contrary, I should be delighted, only I intended to spend my morning in trying to ascertain what had become of my friend Puymirol."
"What! hasn't he made his appearance yet?" exclaimed Albert, gaily. "To spend two nights out is dissipation, indeed; but I see nothing alarming it. Besides, you can do nothing. Come with us to the Bois. We can spend a couple of hours there very pleasantly, and when you return you will probably find your friend here waiting for you."
George was not convinced, but he could not tell Albert that Puymirol had become involved in dangerous schemes which might have terminated in a catastrophe. "All right," said he, "I should never forgive myself if I disappointed Mademoiselle Verdon. I will dress at once. If you like to smoke a cigar, there are some good ones in that box on the mantel-shelf." And, thereupon, George hastily dressed, and was soon ready to depart.
The house where Madame Verdon resided was only a few steps from the Rue de Medicis, and on turning the corner of the Boulevard Saint-Michel the two friends perceived the mother and daughter on the balcony. The mother was arrayed in a showy morning dress, the daughter in a dark green habit. The three horses were waiting in the court-yard, and George recognised at a glance the animal intended for him, a tall chestnut, with a spirit of mischief in his eyes. Gabrielle hastened down, and soon stood beside the young men. Her eyes were shining, her cheeks rosy, and her lips smiling. She extended her gloved hand to her betrothed, who pressed a respectful kiss upon it, as she gaily said: "So here you are at last. I was becoming so impatient. I began to fear that we should be obliged to abandon our expedition, and I really believe I should have cried with disappointment and vexation."
"I am truly sorry to have kept you waiting, mademoiselle, and—"
"Come, come; there's no time to lose. Let me mount you, Gabrielle," said Albert, and in the twinkling of an eye his sister was in the saddle.
The gentlemen then duly mounted in turn, and having saluted Madame Verdon they rode out of the yard. To reach the Boulevard St. Germain, the best road to the Bois, they had to cross the Rue de Medicis, where George resided, and scarcely were they in sight of that thoroughfare than the lieutenant turned to Caumont, exclaiming: "Why, what a crowd there is about your door! Can the house be on fire?"
It was not a fire, but something unusual was certainly going on. There were now two cabs in front of the house, and a policeman was waving back an eager crowd of people. A presentiment that all this commotion was in some way connected with Puymirol flashed across George's mind. Had his friend been brought home, wounded, dead, perhaps? "Try to find out what the matter is!" urged Albert, whereupon George checked his horse and spoke to a man who was moving away, exasperated by not having seen anything.
"Oh! the fools make such a fuss about nothing!" replied the fellow, shrugging his shoulders. "The police are searching somebody's rooms, that is all."
George was struck dumb with astonishment. What could this mean? Whose apartments were they searching? And as he asked himself this question it suddenly occurred to him that this search might be for the famous letters. The magistrate might have learned that they had fallen into Puymirol's hands, and have decided to institute a search for them. This thought worried George, for these letters were in his rooms, and if he entered the house to make any further inquiries he would certainly be putting his head into the lion's mouth, for the doorkeeper would hardly fail to inform the police of his arrival. In that case, what should he say and do to assist his friend? George did not understand Puymirol's situation, but he realised that an imprudent answer might ruin him. By keeping out of sight he would at least incur no danger of contradicting Puymirol's statements. He, Caumont, was as yet in no way connected with the affair, and in his absence no one would venture to break into his rooms to search for the letters, whereas, if he showed himself, he might be plied with questions to which he could only give unsatisfactory replies, and he might even finally be obliged to let the officials search his apartments. Worst of all, if he should be detained, Gabrielle would learn that her betrothed was mixed up in a most unfortunate affair, and the excursion to the Bois would have to be relinquished, and perhaps the marriage as well. So it was best not to interfere, at least, for the present.
The brother and sister had remained in the middle of the street, watching the crowd with evident curiosity. "Well!" inquired the lieutenant, as soon as George resumed his place on Gabrielle's left, "what is going on?"
"Nothing that can interest you in the least. The police have made a raid upon the apartments of some one in the house, it seems."
"Indeed! Upon whose?"
"I do not know. The only person that I am acquainted with in the house is Puymirol."
"And it can not be his apartments they are searching."
"Nor mine, as I am not there," responded George.
"Where are your windows?" asked Gabrielle.
"On the third floor, mademoiselle."
"But, then, the police are in your place, for, look, there is a commissary with his sash at that open window."
"Oh! my rooms are to the right—on the same floor, it's true," said George, who, to his horror, had recognised the window, where the commissary stood, as that of Puymirol's bedroom.
"Well, let us proceed, then," said Albert. "If we loiter in this way, we shall never reach our destination, and I am anxious to see the Bois at its best."
This proposal was eminently satisfactory to George, who was anxious to get away from the spot as soon as possible. But all his enjoyment was spoiled. His cheerfulness had vanished; however, Gabrielle failed to notice the change, at least, for the time being, as at this moment Albert asked her: "Have you seen Roch since yesterday?"
"No, and I am very much afraid that I shall not see much of him until after my marriage. Monsieur Rochas called this morning expressly to beg mamma not to receive our old friend any longer."
"What business is it of his, pray? and what has he to say against Plancoët, whose little finger is worth more than Rochas's whole body?"
"He pretends that our old friend is a dangerous character. To hear him, one would suppose that poor Roch had committed any number of crimes—Roch who would not harm a mouse, and who has sacrificed himself for others ever since he came into the world."
"Well, no matter," rejoined Albert, "we shall soon be rid of Rochas and have Plancoët all to ourselves. Now, my children, we are upon the macadamized pavement, and we have plenty of room into the bargain, so suppose we trot a little."
They trotted on along the boulevard and up the Champs Elysées without their progress being impeded. But in the Bois there were scores of riders of either sex and also a number of carriages. Albert began disdainfully criticising the horsemanship of those around him, and Gabrielle laughed heartily at his comments, and began to feel surprised that George remained so serious. Such was the throng that all along the Allée des Poteaux they were obliged to walk their horses, which was hardly to Albert's liking. "Come," said he, at last, "I've had enough of this. I don't care to stare for ever at all these fine ladies and swells. Suppose we make for the Allée de Longchamps, and have a canter there. Verdurette is becoming restive."
The suggestion was adopted. They turned their horses' heads in the direction of the lake, but they had hardly proceeded a hundred yards when George saw his friend Charles Balmer approaching on a handsome thoroughbred. Balmer expressed his delight at the meeting by an expressive gesture, and, reining in his horse, he abruptly said to George: "My dear fellow, I must have a talk with you. It's serious. Apologize to your friends, and join me at the chalet at the end of the lake. I will wait for you there." And thereupon he rode off.
"That gentleman is not very polite," exclaimed the lieutenant. "He certainly might have touched his hat to Gabrielle. What did he say to you?"
Gabrielle, who had heard Balmer distinctly, looked at George inquisitively. She did not like to question him, but she awaited his answer with no little anxiety. George, who was greatly embarrassed, reluctantly replied:
"He asked me to join him at the end of the lake; and I would much rather remain with you."
"Is he a friend of yours?" inquired Gabrielle.
"No, merely a club acquaintance."
"But if what he wants to say to you is important, you might leave us, and join us by-and-by at the Porte Maillot," insisted Gabrielle. "Have you any idea what he wants to speak to you about?"
"I have an idea, mademoiselle. He probably wants to give me some information in reference to Puymirol."
"The friend whose absence has caused you so much uneasiness?"
"Yes, mademoiselle. This gentleman is well acquainted with him; and I fancy he knows what has become of him."
"You must go, then."
"Leave you! Oh, no."
"But you need not leave us for long, and who knows but what M. de Puymirol may need you. I should never forgive myself for detaining you if he required your assistance; and this gentleman has perhaps come for you at his request. Go at once, pray."
George was greatly perplexed. The idea of leaving his betrothed so unceremoniously was most distasteful to him; but on the other hand, he suspected that Balmer had something pressing to communicate. Puymirol's safety was, perhaps, at stake, for since George had witnessed the raid upon the house in the Rue de Medicis, he felt almost certain that his friend had been arrested; now, Balmer, as he well knew, was on excellent terms with the investigating magistrate, and might speak a good word for Puymirol if he needed one. "You need not hesitate if the matter is of the slightest importance, my dear fellow," now exclaimed Albert, seeing his prospective brother-in-law's embarrassment. "I can see Gabrielle safely home, without your assistance, and as your conversation with this gentleman may be a lengthy one, we won't wait for you at the Porte Maillot. Vulcan, your steed, is quartered at Tattersall's, so just leave him there in charge of one of the ostlers on your way home."
"And come and see us as soon as you can," added Gabrielle. "I am anxious to hear about your friend." Then to make George feel perfectly at ease, she touched her horse lightly with the whip and cantered away, closely followed by her brother.
George decided not to follow them, but turned his horse's head in the direction which Balmer had taken. In a few moments he had reached the Chalet Café, in front of which sat Balmer, regaling himself with a glass of absinthe, and smoking a huge cigar. Springing to the ground, George intrusted his horse to an urchin, and seated himself beside Balmer, of whom, without the least ceremony, he inquired, "Why do you want to see me?"
"Why?" was the reply. "You must surely have guessed that I want to talk to you about Puymirol. When did you see him last?"
"On the day before yesterday, at the Palais de l'Industrie."
"Have you any idea where he went afterwards?"
"I think he went to Madame de Lescombat's; but he hasn't returned home since, and I feel very anxious about him."
"He has had good reasons for not returning. You will recollect that on the day before yesterday, I told you that my friend Robergeot was in possession of a document which might assist him in discovering Dargental's murderer."
"It seems to me that you did tell me something of the kind," said Caumont.
"Well, the document in question was in reality a small memorandum-book. Dargental, as you know, was an inveterate gambler, but he was also a very methodical man, and so whenever he won or lost any money or made a purchase—such as a lottery ticket, he made a note of the number in this book. He carried several lottery tickets about with him in the pocket-book which the murderer stole from him, and this was recorded in his memorandum-book. So Robergeot said to himself: 'If by any extraordinary chance one of the tickets enumerated in this list should win a prize, the murderer will perhaps be foolish enough to claim the money.' Well, this is exactly what has happened. Ticket No. 115,815, which headed Dargental's list, won a prize of a hundred thousand francs at the last drawing of the lottery of the Decorative Art Society; so Robergeot immediately despatched a commissary of police and two detectives to the lottery office with orders to arrest the holder of the ticket, if he ventured to present himself. He did present himself yesterday morning—and in the person of our friend Adhémar de Puymirol."
"Puymirol!" exclaimed George, "it's impossible!"
"This much, at least, is certain: Puymirol has been in prison for nearly two days now."
"And you haven't told your friend, the magistrate, that Puymirol could not possibly be Dargental's murderer? You know we were breakfasting with him at the very time when the crime was committed."
"Robergeot knows that, but the fact that the missing tickets were in Puymirol's possession can not be disputed. This attempt at fraud on his part surprises you, I see, as much as it does me," continued Balmer; "but I account for it by the fact that Puymirol was most desperately hard up. He owed ten thousand francs at the club, to my certain knowledge, and hadn't a penny to meet his obligations with. He must have lost his senses in consequence, besides, he couldn't know that the authorities had a list of Dargental's tickets, and that the police were lying in wait for him at the lottery office. As regards that matter I can almost excuse him, for, after all, he injured no one as Dargental was dead; and a man whose past life has always been blameless may be forgiven for a momentary weakness. Indeed, if this were the only charge against him, the matter could be hushed up, but there is the murder—"
"But no one can really believe him guilty of that. An incontestable alibi can be established."
"Yes; but it is also necessary to prove that Puymirol had no knowledge of the murder. Now, everything seems to indicate that he was aware of it. If not, how did he come into possession of that pocket-book containing the tickets?"
An answer rose to George's lips. He merely had to relate the adventure on the Place du Carrousel to explain the mystery, but the fear of contradicting some of Puymirol's statements deterred him; besides, he did not care to tell the story to an erratic person like Balmer. He must relate it to the investigating magistrate if there were no other means of saving Puymirol. However, realizing that he, first of all, needed further information, he asked: "How does Puymirol explain the fact that these tickets were in his possession?"
"He pretends that he found them in a cab."
"Then he denies having seen anything of the pocket-book?"
"Absolutely; he was searched and it wasn't found on his person; but the strangest thing about it all is that he says he found the tickets on the very day of Dargental's death, and in the cab that took him to the Lion d'Or. He did not notice the number of the vehicle, and he declares he was alone; but it seems to me that you both arrived at the restaurant at the same time."
"It doesn't follow that I drove there with him," replied George, evasively.
"You can tell that to Robergeot, for he will certainly question you. I am surprised that he has not sent for you before now. They are looking for the cab-driver, and will surely find him sooner or later. As for the pocket-book, Robergeot thought that Puymirol might have left it at home, so he ordered his rooms to be searched this morning. I am surprised that you are ignorant of that point, as you both reside in the same house."
"I left home very early. But did the officers find anything suspicious?"
"I don't know yet, but I shall soon; that is, if my friend Robergeot does not begin to distrust me now that things are looking so badly for Puymirol. He knows that we are both well acquainted with him, you especially, and between ourselves, I should not be surprised if your rooms were searched as well, for Robergeot may suspect Puymirol of having concealed the pocket-book there."
"Not with my knowledge and consent," said George.
"Oh! even if Puymirol were guilty, he wouldn't have made you his confidant, of course. Still, if I were in your place, I would find out what occurred in the Rue de Medicis at once, that is, unless you will come and lunch with me."
"No, thank you," replied George. "I shall take your advice, and return home without delay; but I rely upon your assistance in getting Puymirol out of this scrape."
"I will do what I can, but it won't be much I'm afraid; you, on the contrary, may perhaps be able to give evidence which will lead to his speedy release."
"You can at least ask your friend, Monsieur Robergeot, to grant me permission to see Puymirol at the dépôt."
"I will do so, of course; but I doubt if he will consent. But there is nothing to prevent you from calling on him in person if you like. He is at his office every afternoon."
"Is the affair known at the club?"
"Not in all its details, but a rumour of Puymirol's arrest has got about, and as his debts remain unpaid, you have no time to lose if you care to prevent a scandal. If you want to see me again I shall be at the club, between four and seven."
Springing upon his horse, George then galloped off, leaving Balmer to finish his absinthe. Ten minutes later, he left his steed at Tattersall's, and jumping into a cab, ordered the jehu to drive him with all speed to the Rue de Medicis. He took the precaution to alight at some distance from his door, however, so as not to attract the attention of the police, if they should still be about, but he soon had the satisfaction of finding that the crowd had dispersed, and that the vehicles which had brought the officers were no longer there. On entering the house, he went straight to the doorkeeper, who on seeing him, exclaimed: "Ah, sir, what an unfortunate affair! You had no sooner gone out this morning than a magistrate, accompanied by a number of policemen, came here with Monsieur de Puymirol, who was under arrest."
"Puymirol! arrested!" cried George, feigning surprise. "This is incredible! What charge can there be against him?"
"I don't know, sir," replied the porter. "I tried to talk with the policemen who stood on guard in the street, but they wouldn't give me any information."
"But why did they bring Puymirol here?"
"So that he might be present when his apartments were searched, I suppose. They entered his rooms with him, and they rummaged about everywhere, even in the mattresses. I don't know what they were looking for, but I do know that they found nothing, and that they seemed terribly disappointed."
"How did Puymirol look while they searched his place?"
"He looked as if he were saying: 'Amuse yourself; break open the locks, and empty the drawers. You will only have your labour for your pains.' He scarcely deigned to give them an answer when they spoke to him."
"He must be the victim of some mistake. He is quite incapable of any crime."
"That is exactly what I said to the commissary of police, when he asked me for information about your friend."
"Did he say anything about me?" inquired George, eagerly.
"No; your name was not mentioned. He did not even seem to be aware of your existence. If I might venture to give you a little advice, sir, you had better not mix yourself up in this affair. Your friend will get out of the scrape without any assistance; and I have an idea that he prefers to do so; for if he had wanted your help, he would have inquired where you were, or have asked to see you."
This was not a bad argument; at least, it furnished George with abundant food for reflection. On reaching his rooms, he found them exactly as he had left them. He hastened to the desk in which he had locked up the letters. They were still there, and in his perplexity his first idea was to annihilate them. Indeed, he actually lighted a candle with that object. On reflection, however, it occurred to him that although the discovery of these letters, if his—Caumont's—rooms were searched, might aggravate Puymirol's situation, they might also be the means of saving him, by forcing him to tell the truth, instead of maintaining a dangerous silence out of consideration for the Countess de Lescombat, whose reputation was hardly worth defending. Would it not be better to take them to the magistrate? But in that case, both Madame de Lescombat and Blanche Pornic would be mixed up in the affair; and although George cared but little as to what befell the countess, he could not forget that Albert, his prospective brother-in-law, was the actress's admirer, and that he would certainly take her defence. The young officer was indeed so impetuous that he might fight the police agents sent to arrest her, and get himself lodged in jail! And what a blow that would be for Gabrielle. At last in his perplexity, George thought of a plan which seemed tolerably feasible. He resolved to go and see Blanche Pornic. As Albert was to lunch with his mother and sister, there was no fear of meeting him in the Avenue de Messine. "I shall question her, and question her closely," said Caumont to himself. "It will depend entirely upon her answers whether I return her letter to her, or hand it over to the investigating magistrate. At all events I must see that official to-day. The straight road is always the shortest and safest." Thereupon putting the letters in his pocket, George started off upon his campaign.
VII.
Blanche Pornic occupied a handsome suite of rooms on the first floor of a stylish house in the Avenue de Messine, and when George arrived there he found her reclining upon a divan, studying a part in a new play in which she was shortly to perform. "So you have come to see me at last!" she exclaimed. "You have done wisely, for I had about made up my mind to pay you a visit, even at the risk of meeting your friend Puymirol, who can't bear the sight of me. Take a seat here, near me," she continued, "I have a host of things to tell you. I know now that the charming young girl, who engrossed your attention the other day at the horse-show, is Albert's sister, and I suppose she has introduced you to her brother."
"Never mind all that," said George, somewhat harshly. "I have come to talk with you about Dargental's death. Do you know who is accused of the murder?"
"His valet, I heard. But that's absurd unless, indeed, the fellow were in the pay of that Madame de Lescombat."
"What! you think it was she who—"
"I haven't the slightest doubt of it. I told you so the other day, you recollect?"
"Upon what is this opinion based?"
"Upon something I have seen, a letter of hers which Dargental himself showed me one day after a quarrel he had with this woman. I'm sure too that he kept it."
"What were its contents?"
"Oh! it alluded to a secret which she had confided to him. She had poisoned her husband, I fancy, and feared that Dargental would denounce her. It was only from fear that she consented to marry him, for though she was crazy about him at first, she finally hated him. And so to escape becoming his wife, she had him murdered, I'm sure of it."
"By whom, pray?"
"By some scoundrel who was no doubt instructed to secure the letter, as Dargental's pocket-book is missing."
"Haven't you yourself ever written to Dargental?"
"Oh! yes I have. A hundred times, as I have already told you. I even confessed to you that he had in his possession a letter which I had often begged him to return to me, and which he had promised to give me during the lunch at the Lion d'Or."
"And did this note contain anything of a compromising nature?"
"Decidedly. For I acknowledged in it that I had committed—well, a crime to do him a service."
"And if this avowal should fall into the hands of an investigating magistrate, what then?"
"He would naturally suppose that I instigated Dargental's murder. It might cause me a great deal of trouble, still I think I should succeed in proving my innocence. As for the matter to which I was stupid enough to allude in the letter, would you like to know what it was?" George had not expected to hear Blanche talk in this strain, but he was all ears. "I am not trying to make myself out any better than I really am," she continued, "and I frankly admit that I am capable of almost anything when I am in love with any one; but what I did was simply this. One day Dargental, whom I was then dreadfully in love with, came to me in a state of mind bordering on frenzy. He had just lost forty thousand francs, and he had not a penny left to meet his obligations. This meant expulsion from his club, and utter ruin, for he lived by play. At any other time, I would have given him a cheque upon my banker, as I had often done before, but this happened just after the crash of two years ago, when I feared that I myself was ruined, and a rascally picture dealer had just attached some twenty thousand francs I had in the bank. However, Dargental absolutely needed the money, and I did not know which way to turn. To be sure, I might have asked old Prince Sourine for it—he was an ardent admirer of mine, and worth his millions—but he was furiously angry with me because I had preferred Pierre to him. His signature was good for any amount, and I had numerous specimens of it in my desk, for he was in the habit of writing me the most grandiloquent epistles. Well, Dargental finally proposed that I should forge the prince's signature upon a note which he was sure of being able to discount with this indorsement."
"And you consented?" asked George in amazement.
"I would have done even worse, had he asked me. As it was, I forged the name of Alexis Ivanovitch, Prince Sourine, on the back of the note. Dargental obtained fifty thousand francs by it, and the money brought him good luck. He won immense sums at baccarat shortly afterwards, and was able to take up the note before it became due. But he did not return it to me. He probably wished to retain it as a weapon against me, in case I ever quarrelled with him. However, I finally discovered that he was playing me false with that Madame de Lescombat, so one morning I paid him a visit, and compelled him to burn the note in my presence. But I was fool enough at the time not to ask for the letter in which I had alluded to this affair. When I did remember it, I urged him to return it to me. Did he really intend to give it to me at the Lion d'Or as he promised? I doubt it. At all events, death prevented him from doing so, and I suppose it is locked up somewhere with that note he showed me from Madame de Lescombat, and it would not surprise me to hear that both of them had been found."
"And what if Albert should hear this story?" asked George.
"You surely do not think of telling him!" cried Blanche. "That would be mean. But now I understand. You have my letter, and you have come to sell it to me. How much do you want for it?"
George started up, pale with anger. "Do you take me for Dargental?" he asked, sternly. "You have associated so much with scoundrels of his stamp, that you think all men are like him. I will convince you to the contrary, and you shall bitterly repent having insulted me in this manner."
"Forgive me," replied Blanche. "I care so much for Albert that the fear of losing him upsets me completely. You mustn't tell him about my former infatuation for this unscrupulous man, and that I committed a forgery to save him. I confessed my crime, if crime it be, to you, because I trusted in your honour."
"I did not ask you to do so," said George, quickly.
"That is true. I was imprudent enough to accuse myself, still, I am sure that you won't betray my confidence. If you have my letter, take it to the investigating magistrate, if you like, but not one word to Albert, pray."
"It will be my duty to enlighten him."
"Because you expect to be his brother-in-law? Oh, don't deny it. Mademoiselle Verdon would not have walked about with you, without her mother, if the marriage was not decided upon. But is that any reason for blighting my hopes? I, also, might say things against you—tell Albert that your friend Puymirol isn't much better than Dargental, and that your intimacy with him has got you into no end of scrapes. But I have no idea of doing so. You have never injured me, why should I try to injure you?"
"So be it," said George, who realised the danger of making an enemy of Mademoiselle Pornic; "I will be silent so far as Albert is concerned, but I must reserve my right to act, as I see fit, with other people."
"In other words, you reserve the right to denounce me if you like. That amounts to the same thing. If I were arrested, even temporarily, Albert would be sure to hear of it. What object can you possibly have in ruining me?"
"None, but I can not allow an innocent person to be condemned. The truth is, my friend Puymirol is accused of the crime, he is under arrest, and I can't abandon him."
"No, certainly not, but it will be easy to prove his innocence, and I will help you. I will testify that he was lunching with us when Dargental was killed. The magistrate is aware of this, however, and I don't see how any suspicion can possibly attach to Puymirol. If there must be a victim, why don't you mention the Countess de Lescombat to the magistrate? She, alone, was interested in having Dargental put out of the way."
These words had scarcely passed Blanche's lips, when her maid entered the room. "Excuse me, madame," she said, "but there is a lady here who insists upon seeing you—the Countess de Lescombat she calls herself."
Blanche and George were both overcome with astonishment. The former hesitated. Her first impulse was to close her doors in the face of the woman whom she so bitterly hated, but she changed her mind. "Show her in," she cried to her maid, who instantly turned to obey the order.
"I had better go," remarked George.
"No, no," replied Blanche. "It is just because you are here that I consent to see her. I want you to hear what she says, for I am satisfied that she has come here about the letters. Go in there, and don't come out until I call you." As she spoke, she pushed George into an adjoining boudoir, the entrance of which was screened by a heavy hanging of silken fabric. George let her do so; the curtain fell; and he considered that he had a perfect right to remain thus concealed, and listen to the conversation which was now about to take place. It was, indeed, needful he should know what part these women had really played in an affair which was costing his friend Puymirol so dear. Presently he heard Blanche ask, in a soft voice: "To what am I indebted for the honour of your visit?"
"Can't you guess?" replied Madame de Lescombat, in a quiet tone, at once steady and well modulated.
"No," replied Blanche, curtly, "though I understand very well that your coming must be due to some pressing need of my assistance."
"I require no one's assistance, I assure you. I have simply an explanation to ask of you."
"It must be of a decidedly dangerous nature, for you to take the trouble to come here in person."
"I am in the habit of attending personally to all matters of a personal nature."
"You are quite right, madame. It is always dangerous to write."
There was a pause, and the two rivals exchanged anything but friendly glances. Blanche had somewhat the advantage, however, for she was at home, and the countess, who had called, must speak the first. "We need not waste any more time on preliminaries," she said, quietly. "I came to speak of Pierre Dargental, I admit it. That man betrayed us both, and he has been justly punished. A man cannot trifle with a woman's honour during years with impunity. Chastisement comes sooner or later. Still, I foresee certain misfortunes which may result from his death."
"I do not understand you," replied Blanche, coldly.
"You think I came here as an enemy," resumed the countess. "What would you say if I told you that Dargental once boasted to me of possessing a letter from you, which he had only to show to have you sent before the assizes?"
"The assizes!" repeated Blanche, scornfully. "Pierre made such a boast as that! If he had sent me there, he would have been obliged to accompany me."
"He is beyond the reach of justice now, for he is dead," replied Madame de Lescombat, "but you are still alive."
"This time, I understand. Why do you use all this circumlocution to tell me that he had the cowardice to show and give you the letter you speak of?"
"And if that were true?"
"I no more fear you than I feared him. He could not denounce me without ruining himself, for what I did was done to save him, and he alone profited by it. With you, madame, the case is very different. If you venture to send my letter to the public prosecutor I shall send him yours."
"Mine!" exclaimed the countess.
"Yes, madame, you cannot have forgotten that you once sent Pierre an impassioned missive in which you spoke of a terrible secret you had confided to him. You placed yourself at his mercy to prove your love."
"And this letter is in your possession?"
"Why shouldn't Pierre have taken the same precautions against you as he took against me? It was not so easy to subjugate me as you, however, for I was in a position to defend myself if he had ventured to attack me."
"I also can defend myself," murmured Madame de Lescombat.
"I hope you will not be reduced to that extremity. Now, let us speak plainly. You did not come here out of kindness of heart to offer to restore me my letter; but I will tell you why you did come. You knew that Pierre had your letter, and you anxiously asked yourself if he might not have entrusted it to me. Well, your ruse has proved successful. You know what to think now. What do you propose?"
"I think we ought to come to an understanding."
"I think so, too," replied Blanche. "We have nothing to gain by war, so let us conclude a treaty of peace. We can exchange letters. Give me mine, and I'll give you yours."
"I haven't yours about me," murmured the countess, visibly embarrassed.
"I am surprised that you left it at home. When a person goes to battle she ought not to forget her weapons."
"I had no idea that our conversation would take such a turn."
"Well, as soon as I saw you come in, I guessed the object of your visit; but, as you are not in a position to carry out your part of the compact, we had better let the subject drop."
"You seem to have no confidence in me. Well, as you refuse to give me my letter until I have returned you yours, why not accompany me home? My carriage is at the door. Take my letter, and come with me. The exchange shall take place in my bedroom. Your letter is locked up in my desk there."
"I am greatly obliged to you for your kind offer, but it is impossible for me to leave the house just now. I am expecting a visit."
"Then name some hour at which it will suit you to come and I will remain at home."
"I shall not be at liberty to-day or to-morrow either, and as your carriage is at the door, it would be better for you to go home and fetch the letter."
"Confess that you refuse to accompany me, merely because you are afraid."
"I do confess it," replied Blanche, calmly. "You have a crowd of servants who would not hesitate to take the letter from me by force if you ordered them to do so. To whom could I complain afterwards? The police would laugh in my face, if I ventured to demand redress. No, I shall not be foolish enough to place myself at your mercy."
"Nor will I place myself at your mercy."
"The cases are not the same by any means. This house doesn't belong to me. I am not its only occupant, and my servants are worthy people who would not dare to lay violent hands upon you, a countess. A fine countess, indeed! Octavia Crochard, who used to perform at fairs! Ah! if that were all she ever did! I didn't poison my husband! I did not hire a rascal to murder my lover!"
"What! you have the audacity to accuse me of Dargental's death?"
"I do, and if you persist in holding your head so high, I shall go to the investigating magistrate and tell him so."
"You would make a great mistake, my dear. The murderer has already been discovered—a Monsieur de Puymirol."
"That is absurd! We all know that Puymirol is innocent. The police have made a mistake, that's all; and they would soon realise it if I told the magistrate your story. I should repeat to him the terms of your letter which Pierre showed to me, and which I know by heart. I would even repeat the terms of mine, and confess what I did for Dargental's sake. We should see, then, which of us was in the worst scrape. Take my advice, and don't try and put the blame on Puymirol. He has never been my lover, but he is the intimate friend of my lover's brother-in-law, and if you try to injure him, I swear that you shall repent of it, countess though you are."
George listened to all this with great uneasiness. Madame de Lescombat had just revealed the fact that she was aware of Puymirol's arrest, and that she was inclined to cast upon him the suspicion which she feared might fall upon herself. He was grateful to Blanche for defending Adhémar, and felt a strong desire to interfere, and frighten the countess into strict neutrality. He had the means of doing so in his pocket, as he was the custodian of the letters about which the two rivals were taunting each other. Still he had a lingering fear, that, if he made use of these weapons, they might somehow be turned against Puymirol.
"And now that I see your game," resumed Blanche to the countess, "I shall just prevent it. As soon as you leave the house you mean to go straight to the investigating magistrate and fill his ears with the vilest slander against Puymirol and against me. You shall do nothing of the kind. Before you leave this room you shall write the confession I mean to dictate to you."
"You must be mad!" cried Madame de Lescombat.
"I am nothing of the kind. I am in my own house, and if you refuse to obey me, I shall send word to the commissary of police, and inform him that two old friends of Dargental's have some important revelations to make to him about the murder on the Boulevard Haussmann. He will come and find you here. You may rest assured of that."
"You wretch! do you mean to ruin me?" cried Madame de Lescombat, in consternation.