The Sharper Detected and Exposed

CHAPTER IX.
SECRET GAMBLING HOUSES—(continued).

School of cheating—Travelling Greeks—Le Service—Formidable manœuvre—Imperceptible signs—The business of the Comtois—The coup de retraite—Abundant harvest—Prodigality and debauch—Fortune takes her reprisal.

The three associates at first always worked together, and made some good hits in several of the gambling houses in the metropolis; but finding at length, that, as the number of Greeks increased, the number of victims lessened, they determined on starting a clandestine hell of their own, at the head of which they placed a very respectable lady of their acquaintance, named Madame de Haut-Castel, familiarly called "la Pompadour."

To Chaffard was deputed the task of recruiting for dupes, and drawing them away from other houses.

This establishment prospered very well for some time, but, one fine day, they perceived that their affairs were entangled.

A good number of habitués, who had been introduced as dupes, after having been cleaned out by the masters of the place, took their revenge on the new recruits, and fleeced them with infinite skill.

Andréas soon suspected, that there was no faith to be placed in the "Fencing-Master," and discovered that he, in conjunction with "la Pompadour," whose admirer and devoted slave he had become, had started a sort of class, for men who had nearly ruined themselves by gambling; to whom, for a handsome douceur, they taught some of their best tricks in cheating.

The two other associates were incensed at this discovery, but dared not show how exasperated they were, fearing, as they did, the sword of Chaffard; so they contented themselves with concealing their disgust, and paying him off in his own coin. They decided to quit Paris; and, giving as a reason, their wish to explore the watering and bathing places during the summer season, they left the establishment in Paris to the care of the "Fencing-Master," with full power to do what he pleased, nay even to dispose of it if he liked.

During their journey, the two rogues invented and arranged, the most cunning and dexterous tricks.

They particularly made a study of a practice well known amongst Greeks, and called "le Service," which is neither more nor less, than a series of almost imperceptible signals.

The following is the way their scheme was carried out.

The two confederates bend their steps towards some watering place, which is known to be frequented by gamblers.

Raymond, "The Marquis," has the principal rôle allotted to him. He arrives; goes to the best hotel, and passes himself off as a rich young heir-presumptive, or an eldest son.

He is careful not to call himself a Russian prince, or an Englishman, as both these characters have been so often assumed by swindlers, that that fact alone would raise suspicion. Indeed, the names of Russian princes and rich English families, are now so well-known to the Greeks, that he could not, without danger, venture to create new names and titles for either of these countries.

At the table d'hôte of the hotel, Raymond, by his polite, easy, and elegant manners, wins golden opinions from the persons around him. After dinner, he joins his new friends, walks out with them, and afterwards goes with them to look on at the gambling-tables.

If he plays, it is with great caution and moderation. He generally contents himself with looking on, that is to say, he watches the play of his future victims, and never attempts a coup, until the arrival of his associate. He is sure not to be long after him, and selects an hotel as far as possible from that of his accomplice.

The two scamps, when they meet, feign not to know one another; they even affect to have no tastes in common.

Andréas walks up to the gambling-table with an air of indifference, makes one or two bets, as if he did not care much whether he won or lost, and refuses to take the cards, under the pretence that he does not know how to play.

But the time arrives, when these gentlemen commence their real game.

They are seated at an écarté-table.

Raymond is playing. At first, to prevent suspicion, he loses several games, and resigns his hand, which, however, when the play is animated and the stakes high, he takes up again.

Andréas is betting on the opposite side, but his bets are so trifling, that it will make little difference to the pair, even should he lose.

This artful accomplice takes up a standing position, behind his victim, and opposite his friend. With his hands behind his back, he seems as if he cared very little about the game. But all the time, he is paying the greatest attention, and working his secret telegraph for the benefit of Raymond.

I will endeavour to explain, in a few words, this formidable system of trickery.

THE SECRET TELEGRAPH.

The number of cards required in the game of Piquet is thirty-two; now all these thirty-two cards, may, by this system, be pointed out by twelve signals, that is to say, eight for the value of the cards, and four for the suits.

At Écarté, the number of signals is still less, as it is only requisite to designate the numbers.

But to make these signals, it is not necessary, as stated by some authors, to use any exaggerated signs, such as to cough, sneeze, blow the nose, or beat a tattoo on the table. They must have a very low estimate of the Greek, if they suppose him capable of these palpable evolutions.

No; the modern Greek would be ashamed of such childish performances. Unfortunately for the dupes, the signals he makes, can only be seen and recognised by his accomplice.

Of this, my readers will be able to judge for themselves, by the following explanatory table:—

If the confederate looks at—

And at the same time that he tells the card, he also tells the colour, by the following signs:

Thus, for instance, if the Greek wishes to tell, that the adversary holds the queen, the knave, and the ace of hearts; he looks successively, at the cards of his adversary, at the stakes, and on the opposite side, holding his mouth slightly open the whole time.

From this it will be seen, that the secret telegraph may be used for all games alike, and put in requisition wherever there are spectators. In fact, nothing is more easy at piquet, than to indicate by the aid of these signals, when you are to take in cards, and when to refuse.

I have only thought it necessary, to give an example of some of the simplest and easiest signs; but I may add, that some sharpers have a large, and varied catalogue of signals, to designate different things, as circumstances require.

This secret telegraph is so nearly imperceptible, that it is difficult to describe, and quite impossible to detect.

The Greek, who is playing, is careful not to win always. After three or four runs of luck, he loses and leaves the table, according to the instructions conveyed by his confederate. This is called "The Retreat."

To cover any losses incurred by this move, the accomplice has taken care to double his bets, and thus to reimburse themselves for their voluntary sacrifice.

Andréas and his friend were, moreover, adepts in every kind of sleight of hand trick, which, in many instances, they rendered still more advantageous, by performing what they termed "Coups en duplicata."

Thus, for example, if they were together at the same bouillotte table, they pretended not to be acquainted with one another, and even looked at each other with cool indifference; thus they could, whilst playing, very well manage to cheat, without exciting suspicion.

Instead of each cheating to win for himself, as might be supposed, they artfully contrived that the one who had the deal, and held the cards, should have bad cards and lose, whilst his confederate had all the luck, and won.

Sometimes, whilst giving all four kings to his accomplice, the other would also manage, to hand over the four queens to one of their victims, so as to raise his hopes, and induce him to double his stakes.

The villany of these rogues, therefore, could not be suspected, as the dealer never was the winner.

It was at Boulogne-sur-Mer, that Andréas and Raymond fixed themselves, to carry on their criminal performances. The people there, were rich and prosperous, and the harvest was abundant; though it was rather lessened by their gains being shared with Achille Chauvignac, the swindler par excellence of the place, who pointed out to them where the best game lay.

I must here pause to say a few words.

Hearing so much said of the enormous profits gained by swindlers, the reader will, naturally enough, conceive, that in the end, all Greeks must of necessity become millionaires and capitalists.

Far from it; notwithstanding their great profits, this reprobate class never prospers; on an average, out of every hundred Greeks, 99+1 die in want. The explanation is easy.

The recruits of "modern Greece," without exception, are men whose debauchery and prodigality have brought them to ruin.

Nothing would be more difficult, than to make a sharper thrifty and economical. They are all dissolute, prodigal, and ostentatious, according to their means.

These gentlemen, far from proportioning their expenses to their incomes, think not of the future, and live in extravagant luxury. They have horses, carriages, mistresses, &c., &c., and each one endeavours to outdo all his acquaintance in his expenditure.

It is hardly credible, but nevertheless true, that a sharper sometimes loses money at play. These men, blasés with the successes which they themselves have created, sometimes sigh for the excitement caused by real play. To obtain it, they rush to the roulette or rouge-et-noir table. In these two games the Greek finds retributive justice, and fortune takes a sure revenge for many former deeds of wrong.

CHAPTER X.
THE DOCTOR DUPED.

The false capitalist—The rogue is bled—More confederates arrive—A good hand—The fleecing—The doctor bled.

After quitting Boulogne, our two heroes intended to have gone into the South of France, but their plans were changed by a proposal made to them by Chauvignac.

There was a physician, living at St. Omer, who had an irresistible love of gambling, and the proposal made by Chauvignac was, that they should relieve him of some thousands of francs.

Chauvignac was to give them all the information necessary, and for this, he asked a third of the profits; only, as he was the intimate friend of the doctor, it was agreed that he must not appear in the affair.

The two performers in this drama, were not long in making their arrangements.

A few days afterwards, they arrived at the Hôtel d'Angleterre, the best in the place.

Andréas passed himself off for a rich Parisian capitalist, who, charmed by the beauty of the place, and the simple manners of the country, wished to purchase an estate in the neighbourhood. He was accompanied by a friend, who had come to give him his opinion and advice in this affair.

They made several excursions, visited all the places that were for sale, but ended by finding nothing on a scale grand enough to suit the would-be proprietor.

At the termination of their searches, the millionaire announced that he was going to return to the capital, and was on the point of departing, when he was suddenly taken very ill.

According to his wishes, the best medical man in the place, the friend of Chauvignac, was sent for.

On his arrival, the son of Esculapius began asking various questions, to find out what was the nature of his patient's malady.

"Ah! Sir," replied Andréas in a mournful voice, "I cannot tell you what has caused this illness, which compels me to keep my bed; all I know is, that I suffer horribly in my head. I have unhappily every reason to fear, from the symptoms, a return of a brain fever, of which I have already had several attacks."

"Calm yourself," said the doctor, "we will try and ward off the evil, this time, by bleeding you copiously."

"Do so, if you please," responded the rascal, "I place myself in your hands."

Andréas was accordingly bled, and soon afterwards declared he already felt better.

"I will come again, and see you to-morrow," said the doctor, on taking leave of the sham invalid.

"Oh! pray come back again to-day, for I feel I require incessant watching and care."

The doctor promised, and returned in fact some hours later.

He felt the pulse of the patient, and found it still so high, that he recommended a severe regimen, and the most absolute quiet and repose.

No sooner was the doctor gone, than Andréas proceeded to take off a ligature, which he had bound round his arm to increase the beating of his pulse, and, whilst waiting for the return of his victim, made a hearty meal.

Several days passed in this manner, during which, Raymond never quitted the bedside of his friend; he was as devoted as a Sister of Charity. It was thought advisable under such serious circumstances, to send for two other members of the family, who were introduced to the doctor as nephews of the sick man, but who were, in reality, nothing more nor less than two sharpers, who were brought from Paris to suit the purposes of the two schemers, and were paid ten francs a day for their services.

Their business was, to second and assist the manœuvres of their master and chief.

The severity of the attack was overcome, and Andréas appeared to be approaching convalescence.

To amuse the invalid, his two soi-disant nephews, and his friend, used to play at cards, at a table placed close beside his bed.

The game was animated, and the gold coins were rolling about on the floor. They were so rich in this family!

"I say, doctor," exclaimed Andréas one evening, "I think a game of cards would do me good, and go far to restore me. You have a lucky face; will you do me the kindness to hold a hand of cards at écarté for me? I stake ten napoleons."

The doctor, to oblige his patient, as well as to enjoy his favourite amusement, hastened to comply.

He was most fortunate in the cards he held; he won six consecutive times, and placed sixty napoleons in the hands of his patient. "I am most happy," added he, "in having so successfully performed the mission you confided to me, but whether it is your good luck, or mine, that has been the cause of it, I cannot tell."

"Good Heavens! Dear doctor," exclaimed Andréas, "the only way to be certain of this, is to play for yourself; I will bet on you, as I believe you to be the lucky man."

The doctor did not require to be asked twice; he played, and again had luck beyond belief. In fact, in a short time he had won a hundred napoleons (£80).

"You certainly bring me luck," said Andréas to his partner; "but I have had enough for this evening; I am tired and want repose."

"We hope that these gentlemen will forgive us for winning and walking off with their money. To-morrow, if you like, we will play again, and, with your aid, I hope we shall clear out my two nephews, which will, perhaps, cure them for their passion for play. If you succeed, doctor, the cure will be one of the best you have ever made."

It was not philanthropy, but his immense luck, and love of gambling, which made the doctor keep his appointment.

He came the next evening at the usual hour, and found the nephews already there.

To fulfil his duties as physician, he felt the pulse of his patient, and found him so much better, that without more ado, he pronounced himself ready to begin their game.

The table was placed, as on the previous evening, close to the bedside of the patient, to enable him to join in the amusement.

In order to plunder the poor doctor more speedily, they allowed him at first to gain a few napoleons.

This voluntary loss is in the language of sharpers called the "bait," and allows them to double their stakes without causing suspicion, enabling them to gain their ends more easily and quickly.

As soon as the stakes rose, and the play was for nothing less than bank-notes, the luck immediately turned.

The doctor, hitherto so lucky, suddenly found himself losing everything. At the end of the evening, he was a loser to the extent of thirty thousand francs (1200l.).

All along it is easy to perceive, there had been but one victim. The losses of Andréas had been but imaginary, and were only assumed, to prevent suspicion on the part of his victim, and would of course be returned to him by his accomplices.

Having bled the doctor as far as they could venture to do (for he was not very wealthy), and prudence also preventing their proceeding further, in case the police might put a finish to the scheme, they thought it advisable to decamp.

The following morning, therefore, the invalid felt himself sufficiently reinstated in health to prosecute his long delayed journey, so, paying the doctor for his attendance, he quitted the town as quickly as possible.

CHAPTER XI.
THE PASTE RING.

The amateur of precious stones—What a beautiful diamond!—A sovereign cure—Ah! if I were a rogue—A false paste ring!—The game is played—The tell-tale stamp investigation—The wanderer by night—The mysterious tripot—The sharper caught in a trap—Recriminations—The message—The false commissary of police—The Rue de Jerusalem—Unexpected dénoûement.

It was some time after this, that our two heroes arrived at Lyons, and lost no time in making inquiries regarding the various clubs in that town, and the sort of people who were members of them. Amongst others, one club was particularly mentioned, in which most of the members were gamblers.

They heard that a gentleman named Béroli belonged to it, who was a great amateur in precious stones.

Béroli had a mania for making clever bargains, as he called them, which means, that he often obtained a fine stone cheap, from those who were not such great connoisseurs as himself.

Such transactions would be called cheating, but that in these days, it is quite allowable, if not honest, for buyers and sellers to try to take each other in. Do we not daily hear a man boast of having, by some deceit, obtained an article from a merchant at cost price, whilst, on the other hand, the vendor rubs his hands at having got rid of a loup de magasin, as a faulty article is called.

In some commercial houses, it is stated, that a premium is paid to the clerk, who disposes of the rococo articles to some credulous customer.

Be that as it may, Béroli's mania for precious stones, put it into the head of Andréas to play him a clever trick.

He requested Raymond to get himself introduced, and work his way into the club, of which Béroli was a member, whilst he (Andréas) went to Paris, to arrange the preliminaries of an affair, of which he at present refused to mention the details, until all was in readiness for his great coup. A fortnight afterwards, thanks to the secret influence of Raymond, Andréas, who had returned from Paris, was proposed and elected by the club, of which his comrade was already a member. The two Greeks were not supposed to know one another, so each was able to proceed with his work unsuspected.

Raymond ransacked the pockets of some rich proprietors, whilst his comrade contented himself, every evening, with playing a few innocent games at écarté with Béroli, whose acquaintance he had made.

The very first day, the amateur observed a magnificent ring on the finger of Andréas.

"What a splendid diamond you have there," said Béroli, with an accent of envy.

"Yes, it is," replied Andréas, carelessly, continuing his play. "Diamonds are trumps. I cut, and my turn-up card is worth nothing; you have the trick."

Béroli, meanwhile, never took his eyes off the precious stone, the dazzling lustre of which seemed to fascinate him.

Each day brought forth fresh expressions of admiration for the stone, to all of which, his opponent apparently remained insensible.

One evening, Béroli was determined to force a reply of some kind or other from Andréas.

"What did you pay for that stone?" said he.

"Are you serious in asking that question, do you really wish to know?"

"Quite serious."

"Then I must explain, that, if I have not before replied to your different exclamations of admiration, it was because I thought you were joking. Now that I know the contrary, I feel bound to tell you, that that superb diamond, which has dazzled you so much, is only paste."

"How do you mean—paste?" said Béroli, with an air of pique. "It is you that are joking."

"No; I assure you I am in earnest."

"Oh! nonsense; let me see it closer." Saying these words, Béroli took up the hand of Andréas, fixed his eyes on the ring, and kept turning it about to make it glitter.

"You may tell others that it is false, but there is no use in telling me so. I can assure you that your stone is a real diamond.

"Very well; I am glad to hear it," rejoined Andréas, feigning the greatest indifference. "Let me see, it is your turn to play."

The two players continued their game, but Béroli appeared distrait, and kept constantly looking at the ring. At length he could no longer restrain himself.

"So certain am I," exclaimed he, "that the stone is of the first water, that I shall be happy to purchase it, if you will let me."

"I will not sell it to you," replied Andréas.

"Why not?"

"Because, in the first place, I do not want to rob you of your money; and in the second, it is a family relic, which I do not wish to part with. One of my uncles left it to me, and he had it from his father. It has been in our family for a hundred years, and is called "the paste ring." I only wear it, because it is considered a charm against headaches, to which I am very subject."

"But if I offered you a good price?" persisted Béroli.

"If you offered me four times its value, I would not part with it."

"Suppose I offered you, not four times, but two or three hundred times, the value you set on the stone?"

Andréas cut short all further colloquy by continuing the game. "Diamonds," said he, "and I have what they call 'la fourchette.' I mark one."

As soon as the game was ended, Béroli, who was very tenacious of his reputation as a connoisseur in precious stones, returned to the charge.

"I am so sure of what I aver," continued he, "that I shall always be ready to bargain for your ring, whenever you wish to part with it."

"Ah! if I were a rogue," replied Tête d'Or, "I should part with my paste ring to you, to prove that you must not always be guided by your own judgment."

"Stay," said Béroli, "will you lend me your ring until to-morrow. To make quite sure, I will just show it to a jeweller of my acquaintance."

Andréas acceded to his request with a show of indifference, and they separated.

Béroli went off at once to his friend, to show him the jewel, and ask him the value of it.

The jeweller, after examining it for some time attentively, confirmed Béroli's opinion.

"This stone is of a most beautiful water," said he, "and I should consider it cheap if I got it for twelve thousand francs (480l.)."

The following day, Béroli advanced to Andréas with an air of triumph.

"My dear sir," said he, "I can now state with positive certainty, that your family has been in error for the last hundred years about the value of this ring. What you call paste, is a real diamond. I will give you six thousand francs for it."

To this offer Andréas made no reply.

They sat down to play, but during the game, the indefatigable Béroli incessantly returned to the charge, offering each time a higher price for the ring, to tempt his adversary, and finally made him an offer of nine thousand francs. To all of which Andréas remained silent, contenting himself by shaking his head each time in token of negative.

It was late, and the party was on the point of breaking up, when Béroli suddenly made up his mind.

"Stop," he exclaimed, at the same time placing ten bank-notes, of a thousand francs each, on the table. "This is my last offer. Say yes, and the bargain is struck."

"You are resolved to cheat yourself?"

"Yes, I am," replied the amateur, in a bantering tone, looking again intently on the ring, which he had kept on his finger throughout the evening.

"Well, if you insist on it, you shall have it; only allow me to take out from a secret recess the lock of hair of my worthy uncle, who has been the means of making me get ten thousand francs. I certainly did not anticipate this great good luck. See what it is to be a connoisseur. Here; here is your ring. Thanks."

Early the following day, Béroli again went to his friend the jeweller. "I've got that splendid diamond," said he, addressing him. "Look here; see how beautiful it is! I am sure, that whenever I wish to part with it, I shall always get more than what you offered me."

"Do you think so?" responded the jeweller, taking up the ring, to look more closely at it.

"Stay; what's this?" he exclaimed. "What's this you have brought to show me? This a diamond! why, it is nothing but paste!"

The trick was played, and had succeeded. Under pretence of taking out his uncle's hair, Andréas had cleverly changed the diamond ring, for a paste one precisely similar, which he had had made for the express purpose.

On the following day, the ingenious and clever thief was far away, out of reach of Béroli and all chance of redress.

"Those who are unacquainted with the perseverance and energy of Béroli," observed Raymond, in relating this anecdote to me, "may fancy that the diamond ring is lost to him for ever. Not so."

The amateur, after having been so cruelly deceived, took an oath that he would discover, and be revenged on, his enemy.

On examining the false ring, Béroli first made sure that it bore the goldsmith's mark, proving it to be of pure gold. This was not much consolation, still, it led him to suppose, that the real diamond ring must also, of course, bear the same stamp.

If, muttered Béroli to himself, the two rings have passed through the comptroller's hands, the stones are so large, and of such value, that it is next to impossible he did not remark them.

This simple reflection, was the first step towards the discovery of the real gem.

Furnished with a letter of introduction from his friend, the jeweller, Béroli proceeds to Paris, goes straight to the mint, and presents the ring to the comptroller, who perfectly remembers the two rings in question, and gives the address of the jeweller who manufactured them.

From the latter Béroli learns, that his customer, Andréas, lives at No. 13, Rue Cadet.

Any one else would have handed Andréas over to the police; but caring much more to obtain possession of his ring, than to satisfy the ends of justice, Béroli thinks it more prudent to take the affair into his own hands, and manage it in his own way.

He goes to the concierge, in the Rue Cadet, and slipping a napoleon into his hand, begins by relating to him a romantic tale, well calculated to impose on the man, and make him tell all he wished to know.

Béroli says, that a daughter of a friend of his, residing in the country, has been asked in marriage by his tenant, M. Andréas, and that he has come to find out all he can about him, believing that he could not go to a better source than his friend the concierge.

The man, delighted at the affable manners of his interlocutor, as well as flattered at the confidence reposed in him, reveals, under the seal of secresy, that Andréas has a mistress living with him, and that he often remains from home all night.

This is enough for Béroli; he takes leave of his obliging informant, and, that very evening, places himself as a spy at the gate of his deceiver.

At ten o'clock at night, Andréas comes out, and directs his steps towards an isolated house, at the end of the Rue Pigale.

Béroli follows him, and sees him, and about twenty other men, go into the same house.

Hidden in a doorway close by, Béroli observes all that goes on without being himself seen. He remarks, that every time the bell of the gate is rung, the door is opened by a servant with a light in his hand, who makes a close inspection of the person presenting himself, before he admits him.

The mystery attending the meeting, the absence of a concierge, &c., all lead Béroli to conclude, that this must be one of the secret gambling houses; and what confirms him still more in this opinion, is, that though there are four windows in each story, in the front of the house, not one of them is illuminated. Any one would have supposed it to be uninhabited.

Wishing to have a yet more convincing proof of the correctness of his surmises, he determines to wait until the meeting is over, and employs himself, whilst waiting, in concocting his plan of attack.

About four o'clock in the morning, the door again opens, and a man, after looking up and down the street in a mysterious manner, issues out.

Béroli suddenly confronts him.

"Sir," said he, quickly, so as to give him no time for reflection, "is everybody gone out of this house?"

"Why?" asks the unknown.

"Because the police are close by, and will soon surround it. I came to warn one of my friends, who was to have spent the night here."

"Thanks for the information," replies the unknown, proceeding on his way.

If, thought Béroli, this man be only one of the dupes, he would have nothing to fear, as he has quitted the gambling house; but his anxiety to be off, proves that he fears the vigilance of the police, so I feel sure he must be one of the gang.

Full of this idea, Béroli follows at a little distance, and when he sees him slacken his pace, he goes up to him, and thus addresses him:—

"I beg your pardon for having made you race in this manner, by giving you false information, but I wished to find out if you were one of us, and I have succeeded in so doing."

"Will you explain yourself, sir, if you please, for I do not understand what you mean."

"I can easily make you comprehend me, by simply stating that I am the colleague of Andréas."

"What has that got to do with it?"

"I wish to make a proposition to you. Would you like to gain two thousand francs without any trouble?".

"Explain yourself."

"Since you say you know Andréas——"

"I beg your pardon, I did not say that."

"Since you know him, I must inform you, that that scamp has played me a most infamous trick."

"He is quite capable of so doing," added the unknown, in a low voice.

"I wish to be revenged, and that is why I ask you to assist me."

"What is there for me to do?"

"Scarcely anything. It is only necessary for you to bring Andréas to a house, which I shall point out to you, under pretext of introducing him into a club, where he will find several victims to dupe. I'll arrange all the rest."

"I am ready," replied the unknown. "When and where is it to be?"

"To-morrow, at No. 22, Rue Meslay, on the second floor."

The following morning, the new associate of Béroli called on Andréas, to make the perfidious proposition to him.

Never doubting his comrade, Andréas accepted the proposal, thinking to make an excellent coup, the more so, as things were going on rather badly in the Rue Pigale.

That very evening, the two Greeks proceeded to the house indicated by Béroli, in the Rue Meslay.

A servant in livery, having admitted them, opened the doors of a drawing-room brilliantly illuminated.

Andréas entered first, without apprehension, but he had no sooner done so, than his companion, following the instructions he had received from Béroli, turned round suddenly, and locked the door.

At the same moment, Béroli, and two athletic-looking men, entered from a door on the opposite side of the room.

"You, doubtless, remember me," exclaimed Béroli, in an austere and determined voice. "You must know what it is that brings me here."

"What do you mean, sir," cried Andréas, feigning the greatest indignation. "First of all, answer me. What sort of ambush is this, into which you have entrapped me? Am I in the midst of thieves, or assassins?"

"Do not speak so loud, sir," replied Béroli, "or you may have reason to regret it. The ambush of which you complain is only a favour to you—a step towards an amicable settlement of the business."

"What do you mean by talking to me about favours?" replied Andréas, "and what do you complain of? You offered me ten thousand francs for a ring, and I accepted your offer. Did I not give you the ring?"

"Yes, you did, but you omit to mention, that the stone you gave me was a false one."

"Ah! Mon Dieu!" coolly replied Andréas. "I am far from denying it. I repeated that to you so often, that you must recollect it. Besides, did you not, when paying me the ten thousand francs, say you knew the stone was false, but that you very much wished to possess it?"

"Do not let us play upon words, sir, but let us come to the point. You are going to give me the ring you cheated me out of."

"To avoid all discussion on the subject, I tell you, once for all, that I have never had any other ring in my possession, than the one I delivered to you."

"If that be the case, you will not mind copying this, and sending it to your mistress?"

"Let me see what it's about," said Andréas, taking the paper from Béroli. He read as follows:—

"My dearest,—I hope to make some money in the house from which I pen these lines, but I require my diamond ring for the affair. Bring it to me yourself, to the address I enclose, and do not entrust it to any one else. The bearer of this note will give you my keys. At eleven o'clock precisely, I shall be at the door awaiting you. Take a carriage, so as to be punctual.

"Andréas.

"22, Rue Meslay."

"Nothing will induce me to write that," exclaimed Andréas.

"I will not solicit you long," said Béroli. "Will you do it, Yes or No?"

"No, a thousand times, no!"

"Baptiste, go and bring the commissary of police," said Béroli, addressing the man on his right. "Go at once, and do not return without him."

"A moment," supplicated Andréas, making a sign to the commissionnaire to stop. "Let us see if we cannot arrange this business; what will you take to end the affair?"

"I will have no arrangements; I require nothing, but that you should copy and sign this letter."

Seeing there was nothing for it but to agree to Béroli's proposal, Andréas began to think, how he could manage to decamp with the ring, as soon as he received it from the hands of his mistress.

So, seating himself at the table, on which all the implements for writing had been previously prepared, and under the eye of Béroli, he copied the missive word for word.

Two hours afterwards, Andréas was set at liberty, and Béroli had obtained possession of the celebrated ring.

This is how it was managed:

The chère amie of Andréas, on receiving his note, hastened in a carriage to the house he had indicated, taking the ring with her; but no sooner did the carriage stop at the door of No. 22, Rue Meslay, than a commissary of police, with his badge of office (the scarf), and accompanied by a sergent-de-ville, opened the door of the carriage and got in, directing the coachman to go to the prefecture of police in the Rue de Jerusalem.

On their way thither, the commissary explained to the fair messenger, that, having been ordered by the police to keep a watch on No. 22, Rue Meslay, he stopped a man coming out of that house, who was the bearer of a letter, and that after reading the contents of it, he had substituted one of the police for the original messenger.

"The law has seized all the property which was in that house, and I am under the painful necessity, madam," continued he, "of arresting you, as being a party concerned in a serious robbery. Allow me to take charge of this article, which otherwise you might make away with." Thus saying, the officer drew the diamond ring from the finger of the lady, though not without some resistance on her part.

The clock of the Palais de Justice was striking midnight, as the carriage drove up to the gate. The night was pitch dark.

"We must ring up the concierge to open the gate," observed the commissary to the sergent-de-ville; at the same time they both got out, and shut the door of the carriage with assiduous care.

Two minutes had scarcely elapsed, when a loud voice exclaimed, "You cannot remain opposite this gate, coachman."

"I know that," replied that individual, "but I am waiting for orders. You have not told me where to drive to, Ma'am," added he, putting down one of the glasses. "Where am I to drive you to?"

"Where are you to drive me? To the Rue Cadet, where you took me up," said the fair occupant of the carriage, in a tremulous voice.

"Go along, my hearties," exclaimed the Jehu, whipping up his horses, "this is my last fare to-night."

If my readers have not already guessed as much, I will mention for their edification, that the commissary of police and his assistant, were neither more nor less than two of Béroli's friends; and that, instead of ringing up the concierge, as they had stated, favoured by the darkness of the night, they made off, as quickly as they could, carrying the precious ring, which they soon afterwards delivered into the hands of Béroli.

CHAPTER XII.
AN INFAMOUS SNARE.

A young fool—Envy and covetousness—Aphorisms—Insinuations—Confidences—Influencing the game—Honest men are sometimes rogues—Mushrooms and cheating—The Greek moralist—Example of cheating—Initiation—Maxims and manipulations—Temptation—The Belgian capitalist—The cartes biseautées—Easily won—An insolvent gambler—Comedy—The Greek in despair—An infamous scene—Dishonour—Ruin—The faithless trustee—Separation of the philosophers—A virtuous Greek—Golden hopes—A beard again—A demi-millionaire.

The Society of Philosophers generally made Calais the centre of their operations, for the reason that they were often summoned by Achille Chauvignac, who, as my readers may remember, had been the originator of the plot at St. Omer.

Chauvignac was especially indefatigable in such affairs, as, without running the slightest risk, he always shared largely in the profits of these transactions.

So unprincipled was he, that he continually selected his most intimate friends for his victims.

Each gambler was classed as to his means, and also, as to whether he was likely to allow himself to be plucked without remonstrance.

Thus, M. B— was valued at three thousand francs; M. P— at six thousand; M. C— was not worth much, being a bad player; but, at any rate, they put him down at a thousand francs.

The one who was considered the best, that is, the richest dupe, was M. F—, who was estimated at from fifteen to twenty thousand francs.

Andréas and Raymond had gone the round of all the clubs of Calais and Boulogne, but they dared not venture to St. Omer, for fear of being recognised. They sent, in their place, however, two clever sharpers, who originally came from Venice, which city was formerly supposed to be the cradle of roguery.

The Society of Philosophers would not certainly have placed the implicit confidence they did, in these two delegates, had it not been, that they were under the immediate surveillance of Chauvignac, who not only looked after them himself, but arranged a system of espionnage between the two Greeks, so that each of them was overlooked by his companion. His plan was, to address one of them privately thus:

"Do you know, I have not much confidence in your friend; I much fear he will impose on our society; just take a note of his winnings, and watch him. You shall not go unrewarded for this service."

He then went and said precisely the same thing to the other, so that without being aware of it, each Greek was watched by his comrade.

The harvest reaped by the society at St. Omer, was very productive, but the largest share went into the pocket of Chauvignac, who, as may be conceived, was not very particular in the just division of the money entrusted to him.

Whether it was in consequence of this affair, or from some trifling indiscretion on the part of the philosophers, the credit of Chauvignac seemed on the decline. Every one was astonished to see the money he spent,—a man who had literally nothing—and then his constant trips to Paris, without any obvious reason, and his intimacy with men whose characters were not unsullied—all these circumstances combined to make honest men rather shun his society.

Chauvignac was as clever as he was unprincipled; for the latter quality does not prevent a man from possessing talent; the best proof of which is, that a rogue is seldom a fool.

Chauvignac was sharp enough, soon to discover the discredit into which he had fallen, and knowing how prejudicial it would prove to his interests, he immediately set about thinking, how he could reestablish himself in the good graces of society.

Amongst the young fools who shared with him a life of dissipation, he had formed a small club, at the head of which was a young man named Olivier de X——, who was noted for his elegance and his eccentricities.

The family of this wild young fellow, was one of the oldest and most respectable in the country, and much looked-up to.

Chauvignac fixed on this young heir, as a means of regaining his place in the good opinion of his fellow-citizens.

He affected to be on terms of the greatest intimacy with him, when he met him in public places, and addressed him in a loud tone of voice, in the most familiar manner.

But, unfortunately, this apparent intimacy with Olivier, had just the contrary result to what Chauvignac had anticipated: the one lost position, but the other did not gain it.

Olivier began to be shunned, but Chauvignac fared no better. The latter, however, as soon as he perceived this, and he was not long in so doing, bethought himself of making Olivier's credit subservient to his views in another way.

The parents of Olivier were not wealthy, and could do nothing for their son, so his excessive extravagance had brought him into difficulties and debt.

He regarded Chauvignac with envy and admiration; he saw him living like a prince, without any creditors to annoy him.

"How is it," said he to Chauvignac one day, "that you, who have no fortune, can gratify all your tastes and fancies, whilst I, who have some small means, am obliged to be economical, besides which, I am in debt?"

This query was precisely what Chauvignac had been waiting for. He remained, for some moments, without answering his questioner, intending to give more effect to his words; then, with a diabolical smile, he thus addressed him:

"Would you like to be as happy as I am?"

"Can you ask me?"

"All depends on yourself, to be even better off than I am."

"What must I do?" eagerly demanded Olivier.

Chauvignac thought his young neophyte sufficiently prepared, to receive what he had to impart.

"Listen to me," whispered he, in a mysterious voice. "You have doubtless heard the following proverb, old as the world itself: Men are divided into two classes, Dupers and Dupes. Come, speak frankly, to which of these categories would you like to belong?"

"Why you see, you are so abrupt in your question. You come on one so suddenly; it requires reflection."

"Agreed," observed this second Mephistophiles, "we will make the reflections together, and will study the subject, in some individuals of that great and motley crowd, which is termed 'society.'"

The two friends were, at that moment, standing at the door of one of the largest and best cafés in the town.

It was Sunday; the weather was fine, and crowds of pedestrians were lounging up and down before them.

"Look," said Chauvignac, "do you see that thin miserable man, with his head bowed down, and his clothes hanging in rags? He is an unfortunate fellow, who has worked all his life to pay off the debts left by his father. He is old: he has hardly bread to put in his mouth. You will observe no one takes any notice of him. Now, look at that stout man, so puffed up with pride and insolence; how pleased he seems with himself, as they say, like a peacock spreading his tail. He has been a merchant, and has made his money by fraud and cheating. He afterwards set up as a banker, and lent money at an usurious interest. He is now a millionnaire. See—he bows with a patronising air to all whom he meets. The first is a dupe, the second a duper."

"Or to speak more plainly," added Olivier, "the first is an honest man, the second a rogue."

"Be it so—I grant you that," continued the tempter, "but now I will give you another example, of which you will not be able to make the same observation.

"You, better than any one else, ought to know an intelligent, generous-hearted, and ambitious young man, who, for want of sufficient means, leads a life of privation and troubles, is overwhelmed with debt, and, if he thinks of playing to retrieve his fortunes, he is sure to lose. Near to him, at this moment, is one of his friends, who, without fixed income or expectations, possesses, nevertheless, a never ending fortune. This man always wins at play, and has not a caprice ungratified.

"The former of these is the dupe, the latter —— is ——"

Here Chauvignac paused, to allow Olivier to finish the phrase.

"What is it you mean?" asked he, beginning to comprehend the purport of the conversation.

"What I mean, is this," replied Chauvignac with a sneer—"To prove to you, that the lucky gamester, whose good fortune you envy, belongs to a society of philosophers, and that these philosophers have certain and easy methods, of turning luck in their own favour."

"But," observed Olivier, his sense of right struggling for mastery in his mind. "To cheat at play is an act of dishonesty."

"On this point, my dear sir, we do not agree; you are in error, and I will prove it to you. First of all, tell me what you call cheating at play?"

"I call winning by underhand tricks, cheating."

"Very well; if that be the case, I will soon show you that the most honest man will not scruple to cheat.

"For instance, do we not daily see men of the strictest probity, seek to turn luck in their favour by various means. One, in placing himself at the table, will sit opposite the hinges, because he believes it to be a lucky spot. Again, if he wins, he will not count his money, fearing to turn his luck. Another believes in the influence of a certain coin, which he mixes with the rest of his money—but which he will never part with. Others, again, wear amulets, made of the dried heart of a black hen, the head of a beetle, or a bit of the cord with which a malefactor has been hung.G

"Just tell me what is the object of these mysterious influences, if it be not, as they say in the criminal courts, "gagner subrepticement le bien d'autrui en faisant tourner à son profit les bénéfices d'une partie.

"In such cases, if the act is not committed, the intention is the same, and ought to be considered as if accomplished.

"Between the above-mentioned actions and ours, the only difference is, that one depends on the mind, the other on the fingers. The moral result is the same.

"Of this you may be sure, that if these honest folks do not go further, it is because they dare not. I will even say more," continued Chauvignac, carried away by his own sophistry. "Take, for instance, one of these heroes of probity, and show him a method of always winning, with a certainty of never being detected, and see if he will not follow it. Believe me, I know a great deal more than I care to tell."

"All that," said Olivier, "proves, at most, that all honest men may not be able to resist temptation; but it does not go to prove, that cheating is not a crime. Besides, it is punishable by law."

"That's true," replied the cunning Chauvignac; "but again, we have no proof that the law is right. I maintain, that, far from being reprehensible, the art of turning aside ill-luck and bettering one's fortune, is a thing which ought to be encouraged."

Olivier could not help smiling.

"I am serious," added Chauvignac. "Yes! The art of winning at play is meritorious. And why? Because it is useful. If the Government had any sense, they would not only encourage cheating, but give a premium for it."

"Then I don't know what morality means."

"Only, because you have not studied pure philosophy, as I have. Hold—to make you understand it better, I will just give you an example.

"How often do we hear of deaths caused by eating mushrooms! Well, if people imagined that all mushrooms were poisonous, of course no one would venture to partake of them.

"It is the same with gambling; if people expected to lose every time they played, few would run the risk of trusting to their luck at cards, and play would become what it ought to be, a mere relaxation and amusement.

"Thus the Greeks would have done more for morality, than all the moralists in the world.

"Therefore, I confess to you, that I, who would not rob any one of a pin, have not only no scruple in doing my best to control fate, but, in cheating, I think I carry out a principle, eminently useful to humanity.

"The art of cheating at play, is to me only high philosophy put in practice."

Young Olivier had listened with the most intense interest, to the eloquent pleading of his friend in favour of cheating, and it was easy to perceive, that his feelings of probity on the subject, were giving way before the subtle sophistry of the tempter, and that he already began to approve of some of the arguments he had heard in its favour.

Chauvignac perceived it, and wishing to continue his work of evil—

"Let us see," added he, in an insinuating manner, "what have we to weigh in your own case? On the one hand, wealth, pleasure, and enjoyment of every description; on the other hand, hard-hearted creditors, misery, and ruin."

"But," observed Olivier at length, quite carried away in spite of himself, "one might be discovered, and then—"

"How weak and childish you are!—Here, come into this café with me, and you shall see how easily these things are done.

"You see yonder big Benoit, with his small annuity. I am going to propose a game of piquet to him, and make him pay for a cup of coffee for each of us. 'Tis a pity he has not more to lose."

Benoit is accosted by these gentlemen. The game and the stake are accepted: the result is not long delayed. In two hands the game was over. Chauvignac and his friend left the café, and once in the street, the former put the finishing stroke to his unworthy maxims.

"There, it is not difficult, you observe," said he. "Oh! how delightful it is to be able to wrestle with fate, by fleecing a set of simpletons, whom that capricious Dame Fortune loves so often to favour."

"Does it take long to learn?" said Olivier, quite bewildered with all he had seen and heard.

"That depends upon circumstances," replied his perfidious friend; "it is with this art, as with the piano, one can soon give pleasure; it depends on the professor, and his method of teaching.

"But, as we are not far from where I live, come in; and whilst we smoke a cigar together, I'll explain a few things to you."

Olivier still rather hesitated to follow him.

"Oh! nonsense! it binds you to nothing; you can do just as you please. It is as well to know a little of everything, and at all events, if you do not like to practise the system yourself, it will put you on your guard when attacked. One never knows what may happen."

Chauvignac would certainly not have taken so much trouble about the matter, if he had not had in view some act of treachery towards his companion. The conversation ended by Olivier accepting the offer held out to him.

Behold them now, seated on a sofa, each with a cigar in his mouth, and Chauvignac with a pack of cards in his hand.

"Look! here is a hand, tell me if you see any signs of cheating in any of the cards?"

The novice examined the cards with great attention, but not being an adept in the art, failed to discover anything.

"You observe nothing in this hand of cards?" said Chauvignac. "They have, however, been subjected to a process that we call biseautage,H or having one end made narrower than the other. This system shows the player what cards he is to retain, and how to class them, in the order he requires for playing."

Chauvignac, joining precept to example, showed his friend the way it was to be done.

"Now," added he, "to prove to you that this trick is not difficult, I will make you do it yourself. Let us sit down at this table, and suppose we are playing for a thousand francs."

Although Olivier had no great talent for sleight of hand, he succeeded in learning from his friend how to gain the whole of the five tricks, twice running, at écarté.

"This trick," said Chauvignac to him, "is one of the first, as well as the most easy, in the art of cheating. In a little while, I shall teach you how to play with prepared cards, and you will, in time, I hope, become an accomplished philosopher."

Olivier made no reply, his mind was in a perfect state of chaos, from the thousand and one thoughts which filled it.

The tempter, judging his victim to be now sufficiently compromised, left him to the temptations which he had suggested to him. He made the excuse of having some visits to pay, and the two friends separated.

Two days afterwards the Professor went to see his pupil.

"Would you like to join me," asked he, "in a little tour of pleasure I am about to make?"

"Your kind proposal is badly timed," replied Olivier. "I am not only without funds just now, but I am trying to obtain a thousand francs, to pay a cursed bill of exchange that I signed, and which falls due this very day."

"Is that all?" said Chauvignac, taking a banknote for the amount out of his pocket-book—"Here it is; but mind, you must return it to me to-morrow."

"You are deranged."

"Perhaps I am, but in my insanity, I am mad enough to offer you another thousand francs, to enable you to go and secure thirty thousand which are awaiting you."

"Pray explain yourself, or else you will turn my brain also!"

"Listen: if ever there was a desperate gambler, it is the Count de Vandermool, a rich Belgian capitalist, and who can well afford to lose a hundred thousand francs (4000l.). He is just now in Boulogne, and intends remaining there a week. We must bleed this millionnaire; nothing will be more easy, as a friend and colleague of mine from Paris, named Chaffard, is already acquainted with him, so all we have to do is to set to work at once.

"You are now one of us. That is well understood, is it not? In a short time you will be able to satisfy your creditors, and to give your mistress a Cashmere shawl."

"But you go too quick," said Olivier in a wavering tone. "Wait a bit, I have not yet said yes."

"I don't ask you to say 'yes' now, you shall say it at Boulogne—make haste, and go and pay your bill; we shall leave this in two hours. The post-horses are ordered, we shall start from my house—be punctual."

The same evening the two philosophers arrive at Boulogne. They alight at the Hôtel de L'Univers, which has been selected for them by their accomplice—by whom they are shortly welcomed.

He tells them they have no time to lose, as the Count has spoken of quitting Boulogne the following day.

The travellers swallow a hasty dinner, make some slight toilette, and bend their steps towards the apartment occupied by the Count, preceded by Chaffard, who introduces them as two friends of his, who have estates in the neighbourhood.

The Count de Vandermool is a man about fifty years of age, he has an open and pleasing countenance; on his breast hang several foreign decorations.

The new arrivals are received by him with the most flattering cordiality; he does more; he invites them to spend the evening with him.

The invitation, it is needless to say, is accepted. The conversation, at first animated, begins to flag a little. The Count proposes a game of cards, which proposal is also eagerly accepted by the three confederates.

Whilst the tables are being arranged, Chauvignac gave his young friend two packs of cards, biseautées, to be substituted for those which should be produced by the Count.

Écarté was the game fixed on, and Olivier was selected to play with the Belgian; the two others having pretended not to know the game, contented themselves by betting one against the other—as their interests were in common, it was of little consequence which won the bet.

Olivier was at first thunderstruck at the assertion of his two friends, that they did not know how to play, but from certain telegraphic signs they made to him, he discovered that it was to prevent suspicion, in case he should win.

The wealthy Count would only play for bank-notes. "Metal," he said, "has not an agreeable odour in a drawing-room."

The young novice, at first confused by being a party to such a snare, neglected for a time to take advantage of the prepared cards, and following the dictates of his conscience, trusted to the chances of fortune.

The capricious goddess, far from being grateful for his trust, forsook him.

In two hands, the only thousand-franc note he possessed fell into the hands of his opponent.

Now it is, that, pressed on by the glances of Chauvignac, as well as anxious to regain his loss, Olivier essays some of the manœuvres which his friend had taught him.

They were easy to execute, for the Count was so near-sighted, that his nose was almost buried in his cards.

Of course the luck now turned, and the bank-notes began to accumulate beside Olivier, who, elated with his success, was indefatigable in his work.

The Count Vandermool was a good-tempered player. His repeated losses did not make him lose his jovial good-humour.

To look at his happy countenance, you would certainly have thought he was the winner.

"I am not in a lucky vein," observed he, good-naturedly, taking a pinch of snuff from a superb gold snuff-box. "In this last trick, I vainly hoped to gain all, and I've got nothing."

Olivier was serious, his mind was not in a state to talk lightly. He continued to handle his cards with feverish eagerness.

Not wishing, however, to seem wanting in politeness towards so noble a host—"You are admirable to-night," said he to him with a faint smile.