THE CATASTROPHE
Such are the facts that, with an almost incredible talent for investigation, had been collected and prepared by the stout man with the jovial face who had taken Prosper under his protection, M. Verduret.
Reaching Paris at nine o'clock in the evening, not by the Lyons road as he had said, but by the Orleans train, M. Verduret hurried up to the Archangel, where he found the cashier impatiently expecting him.
"You are about to hear some rich developments," he said to Prosper, "and see how far back into the past one has to seek for the primary cause of a crime. All things are linked together and dependent upon each other in this world of ours. If Gaston de Clameran had not entered a little cafe at Tarascon to play a game of billiards twenty years ago, your money-safe would not have been robbed three weeks ago.
"Valentine de la Verberie is punished in 1866 for the murder committed for her sake in 1840. Nothing is neglected or forgotten, when stern Retribution asserts her sway. Listen."
And he forthwith related all that he had discovered, referring, as he went along, to a voluminous manuscript which he had prepared, with many notes and authenticated proofs attached.
During the last week M. Verduret had not had twenty-four hours' rest, but he bore no traces of fatigue. His iron muscles braved any amount of labor, and his elastic nature was too well tempered to give way beneath such pressure.
While any other man would have sunk exhausted in a chair, he stood up and described, with the enthusiasm and captivating animation peculiar to him, the minutest details and intricacies of the plot that he had devoted his whole energy to unravelling; personating every character he brought upon the scene to take part in the strange drama, so that his listener was bewildered and dazzled by his brilliant acting.
As Prosper listened to this narrative of events happening twenty years back, the secret conversations as minutely related as if overheard the moment they took place, it sounded more like a romance than a statement of plain facts.
All these ingenious explanations might be logical, but what foundation did they possess? Might they not be the dreams of an excited imagination?
M. Verduret did not finish his report until four o'clock in the morning; then he cried, with an accent of triumph:
"And now they are on their guard, and sharp, wary rascals too: but they won't escape me;
I have cornered them beautifully. Before a week is over, Prosper, you will be publicly exonerated, and will come out of this scrape with flying colors. I have promised your father you shall."
"Impossible!" said Prosper in a dazed way, "it cannot be!"
"What?"
"All this you have just told me."
M. Verduret opened wide his eyes, as if he could not understand anyone having the audacity to doubt the accuracy of his report.
"Impossible, indeed!" he cried. "What! have you not sense enough to see the plain truth written all over every fact, and attested by the best authority? Your thick-headedness exasperates me to the last degree."
"But how can such rascalities take place in Paris, in our very midst, without----"
"Parbleu!" interrupted the fat man, "you are young, my friend! Are you innocent enough to suppose that crimes, forty times worse than this, don't occur every day? You think the horrors of the police-court are the only ones. Pooh! You only read in the Gazette des Tribunaux of the cruel melodramas of life, where the actors are as cowardly as the knife, and as treacherous as the poison they use. It is at the family fireside, often under shelter of the law itself, that the real tragedies of life are acted; in modern crimes the traitors wear gloves, and cloak themselves with public position; the victims die, smiling to the last, without revealing the torture they have endured to the end. Why, what I have just related to you is an everyday occurrence; and you profess astonishment."
"I can't help wondering how you discovered all this tissue of crime."
"Ah, that is the point!" said the fat man with a self-satisfied smile. "When I undertake a task, I devote my whole attention to it. Now, make a note of this: When a man of ordinary intelligence concentrates his thoughts and energies upon the attainment of an object, he is certain to obtain ultimate success. Besides that, I have my own method of working up a case."
"Still I don't see what grounds you had to go upon."
"To be sure, one needs some light to guide one in a dark affair like this. But the fire in Clameran's eye at the mention of Gaston's name ignited my lantern. From that moment I walked straight to the solution of the mystery, as I would walk to a beacon-light on a dark night."
The eager, questioning look of Prosper showed that he would like to know the secret of his protector's wonderful penetration, and at the same time be more thoroughly convinced that what he had heard was all true--that his innocence would be more clearly proved.
"Now confess," cried M. Verduret, "you would give anything in the world to find out how I discovered the truth?"
"I certainly would, for it is the darkest of mysteries, marvellous!"
M. Verduret enjoyed Prosper's bewilderment. To be sure, he was neither a good judge nor a distinguished amateur; but he was an astonished admirer, and sincere admiration is always flattering, no matter whence it comes.
"Well," he replied, "I will explain my system. There is nothing marvellous about it as you will soon see. We worked together to find the solution of the problem, so you know my reasons for suspecting Clameran as the prime mover in the robbery. As soon as I had acquired this certainty, my task was easy. You want to know what I did? I placed trustworthy people to watch the parties in whom I was most interested. Joseph Dubois took charge of Clameran, and Nina Gypsy never lost sight of Mme. Fauvel and her niece."
"I cannot comprehend how Nina ever consented to this service."
"That is my secret," replied M. Verduret. "Having the assistance of good eyes and quick ears on the spot, I went to Beaucaire to inquire into the past, so as to link it with what I knew of the present. The next day I was at Clameran; and the first step I took was to find the son of St. Jean, the old valet. An honest man he was, too; open and simple as nature herself; and he made a good bargain in selling me his madder."
"Madder?" said Prosper with a puzzled look; "what did you----"
"Of course I wanted to buy his madder. Of course I did not appear to him as I do to you now. I was a countryman wanting to buy madder; he had madder for sale; so we began to bargain about the price. The debate lasted almost all day, during which time we drank a dozen bottles of wine. About supper-time, St. Jean was as drunk as a bunghole, and I had purchased nine hundred francs' worth of madder which your father will sell to-morrow."
Prosper's astonished countenance made M. Verduret laugh heartily.
"I risked nine hundred francs," he continued, "but thread by thread I gathered the whole history of the Clamerans, Gaston's love-affair, his flight, and the stumbling of the horse ridden by Louis. I found also that about a year ago Louis returned, sold the chateau to a man named Fougeroux, whose wife, Mihonne, had a secret interview with Louis the day of the purchase. I went to see Mihonne. Poor woman! her rascally husband has pounded all the sense out of her; she is almost idiotic. I told her I came from the Clameran family, and she at once related to me everything she knew."
The apparent simplicity of this mode of investigation confounded Prosper. He wondered it had not occurred to him before.
"From that time," continued M. Verduret, "the skein began to disentangle; I held the principal thread. I now set about finding out what had become of Gaston. Lafourcade, who is a friend of your father, informed me that he had bought a foundery, and settled in Oloron, where he soon after suddenly died. Thirty-six hours later I was at Oloron."
"You are certainly indefatigable!" said Prosper. "No, but I always strike while the iron is hot. At Oloron I met Manuel, who had gone there to make a little visit before returning to Spain. From him I obtained a complete history of Gaston's life, and all the particulars of his death. Manuel also told me of Louis's visit; and the inn-keeper described a young workman who was there at the same time, whom I at once recognized as Raoul."
"But how did you know of all the conversations between the villains?" said Prosper. "You seem to be aware of their secret thoughts."
"You evidently think I have been drawing upon my imagination. You will soon see to the contrary," said Verduret good-humoredly. "While I was at work down there, my aids did not sit with their hands tied together. Mutually distrustful, Clameran and Raoul preserved all the letters received from each other. Joseph Dubois copied them, or the important portions of them, and forwarded them to me. Nina spent her time listening at all doors under her supervision, and sent me a faithful report. Finally, I have at the Fauvels another means of investigation which I will reveal to you later."
"I understand it all now," murmured Prosper.
"And what have you been doing during my absence, my young friend?" asked M. Verduret; "have you heard any news?"
At this question Prosper turned crimson. But he knew that it would never do to keep silent about his imprudent step.
"Alas!" he stammered, "I read in a newspaper that Clameran was about to marry Madeleine; and I acted like a fool."
"What did you do?" inquired Verduret anxiously.
"I wrote an anonymous letter to M. Fauvel, informing him that his wife was in love with Raoul--"
M. Verduret here brought his clinched fist down upon the little table near by, with such violence that the thin plank was shivered. His cheerful face in an instant clouded over.
"What folly!" he exclaimed, "how could you go and ruin everything?"
He arose from his seat, and strode up and down the room, oblivious of the lodgers below, whose windows shook with every angry stamp of his foot.
"What made you act so like a child, an idiot, a fool?" he said indignantly to Prosper.
"Monsieur!"
"Here you are, drowning; an honest man springs into the water to save you, and just as he approaches the shore you entangle his feet to prevent him from swimming! What was my last order to you when I left here?"
"To keep quiet, and not go out of the hotel."
"Well."
The consciousness of having done a foolish thing made Prosper appear like a frightened school-boy, accused by his teacher of playing truant.
"It was night, monsieur," he hesitatingly said, "and, having a violent headache, I took a walk along the quay thinking there was no risk in my entering a cafe; there I picked up a paper, and read the dreadful announcement."
"Did you not promise to trust everything to me?"
"You were absent, monsieur; and you yourself might have been surprised by an unexpected--"
"Only fools are ever surprised into committing a piece of folly," cried M. Verduret impatiently. "To write an anonymous letter! Do you know to what you expose me? Breaking a sacred promise made to one of the few persons whom I highly esteem among my fellow-beings. I shall be looked upon as a liar, a cheat--I who--"
He abruptly stopped, as if afraid to trust himself to speak further; after calming down a little, he turned to Prosper, and said:
"The best thing we can do is to try and repair the harm you have done. When and where did you post this idiotic letter?"
"Yesterday evening, at the Rue du Cardinal Lemoine. It hardly reached the bottom of the box before I regretted having written it."
"You had better have regretted it before dropping it in. What time was it?"
"About ten o'clock."
"Then your sweet little letter must have reached M. Fauvel with his early mail; probably he was alone in his study when he read it."
"I know he was: he never goes down to the bank until he has opened his letters."
"Can you recall the exact terms of your letter? Stop and think, for it is very important that I should know."
"Oh, it is unnecessary for me to reflect. I remember the letter as if I had just written it."
And almost verbatim he repeated what he had written.
After attentively listening, M. Verduret sat with a perplexed frown upon his face, as if trying to discover some means of repairing the harm done.
"That is an awkward letter," he finally said, "to come from a person who does not deal in such things. It leaves everything to be understood without specifying anything; it is vague, jeering, insidious. Repeat it to me."
Prosper obeyed, and his second version did not vary from the first in a single word.
"Nothing could be more alarming than that allusion to the cashier," said the fat man, repeating the words after Prosper. "The question, 'Was it also he who stole Mme. Fauvel's diamonds?' is simply fearful. What could be more exasperating than the sarcastic advice, 'In your place, I would not have any public scandal, but would watch my wife?' The effect of your letter must have been terrible," he added thoughtfully as he stood with folded arms looking at poor Prosper. "M. Fauvel is quick-tempered, is he not?"
"He has a violent temper, when aroused."
"Then the mischief is not irreparable."
"What! do you suppose--"
"I think that an impulsive man is afraid of himself, and seldom carries out his first angry intentions. That is our chance of salvation. If, upon the receipt of your bomb-shell, M. Fauvel, unable to restrain himself, rushed into his wife's room, and cried, 'Where are your diamonds?' Mme. Fauvel will confess all; and then good-by to our hopes."
"Why would this be disastrous?"
"Because, the moment Mme. Fauvel opens her lips to her husband, our birds will take flight."
Prosper had never thought of this eventuality.
"Then, again," continued M. Verduret, "it would deeply distress another person."
"Anyone whom I know?"
"Yes, my friend, and very well too. I should certainly be chagrined to the last degree, if these two rascals escape, without having obtained complete satisfaction from them."
"It seems to me that you know how to take care of yourself, and can do anything you please."
M. Verduret shrugged his shoulders, and said:
"Did you not perceive the gaps in my narrative?"
"I did not."
"That is because you don't know how to listen. In the first place, did Louis de Clameran poison his brother, or not?"
"Yes; I am sure of it, from what you tell me."
"There you are! You are much more certain, young man, than I am. Your opinion is mine; but what proof have we? None. I skilfully questioned Dr. C----. He has not the shadow of suspicion; and Dr. C---- is no quack; he is a cultivated, observing man of high standing. What poisons produce the effects described? I know of none; and yet I have studied up on poisons from Pomerania digitalis to Sauvresy aconite."
"The death took place so opportunely----"
"That anybody would be convinced of foul play. That is true; but chance is sometimes a wonderful accomplice in crime. In the second place, I know nothing of Raoul's antecedents."
"Is information on that point necessary?"
"Indispensable, my friend; but we will soon know something. I have sent off one of my men--excuse me, I mean one of my friends--who is very expert and adroit, M. Palot; and he writes that he is on the track. I am interested in the history of this sentimental, sceptical young rascal. I have an idea that he must have been a brave, honest sort of youth before Clameran ruined him."
Prosper was no longer listening.
M. Verduret's words had inspired him with confidence. Already he saw the guilty men arraigned before the bar of justice; and enjoyed, in anticipation, this assize-court drama, where he would be publicly exonerated and restored to position.
Then he would seek Madeleine; for now he understood her strange conduct at the dressmaker's, and knew that she had never ceased to love him.
This certainty of future happiness restored all the self-possession that had deserted him the day he found the safe robbed. For the first time he was astonished at the peculiarity of his situation.
Prosper had at first only been surprised at the protection of M. Verduret and the extent of his investigations: now he asked himself, what could have been his motives for acting thus?
What price did he expect for this sacrifice of time and labor?
His anxiety made him say nervously:
"It is unjust to us both, monsieur, for you to preserve your incognito any longer. When you have saved the honor and life of a man, you should at least let him know whom he is to thank for it."
"Oh!" said M. Verduret smilingly, "you are not out of the woods yet. You are not married either: so you must wait a little longer; patience and faith."
The clock struck six.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed M. Verduret. "Can it be six o'clock? I did hope to have a good night's rest, but I must keep on moving. This is no time to be asleep."
He went into the passage, and, leaning over the balusters, called, "Mme. Alexandre! I say, Mme. Alexandre!"
The hostess of the Archangel, the portly wife of Fanferlot the Squirrel, evidently had not been to bed. This fact struck Prosper.
She appeared, obsequious, smiling, and eager to please.
"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" she inquired.
"You can send your--Joseph Dubois and Palmyre to me as soon as possible. Let me know when they arrive. I will rest a few minutes, and you can awake me when they come."
As soon as Mme. Alexandre left the room, the fat man unceremoniously threw himself on the bed.
"You have no objections, I suppose?" he said to Prosper.
In five minutes he was fast asleep; and Prosper sat by the bed watching him with a perplexed gaze, wondering who this strange man could be.
About nine o'clock someone tapped timidly at the door.
Slight as the noise was, it aroused M. Verduret, who sprang up, and called out:
"Who is it?"
Prosper arose and opened the door.
Joseph Dubois, the valet of the Marquis of Clameran, entered.
This important assistant of M. Verduret was breathless from fast running; and his little rat eyes were more restless than ever.
"Well, patron, I am glad to see you once more," he cried. "Now you can tell me what to do; I have been perfectly lost during your absence, and have felt like a jumping monkey with a broken string.
"What! did you get frightened too?"
"Bless me! I think I had cause for alarm when I could not find you anywhere. Yesterday afternoon I sent you three despatches, to the addresses you gave me, Lyons, Beaucaire, and Oloron, but received no answer. I was almost crazy with anxiety when your message reached me just now."
"Things are getting hot, then."
"Hot! They are burning! The place is too warm to hold me any longer; upon my soul, I can't stand it!"
M. Verduret occupied himself in repairing his toilet, become disarranged by lying down.
When he had finished, he threw himself in an easy-chair, and said to Joseph Dubois, who remained respectfully standing, cap in hand, like a soldier awaiting orders:
"Explain yourself, my boy, and quickly, if you please; no circumlocution."
"It is just this, patron. I don't know what your plans are, or what line you are taking now; but I can just tell you this: that you will have to wind up the affair pretty quickly."
"That is your opinion, Master Joseph?"
"Yes, patron, because if you wait any longer, good-by to our covey: you will certainly find an empty cage, and the birds flown. You smile? Yes, I know you are clever, and can accomplish anything; but they are cunning blades, and as slippery as eels. They know that they are watched, too."
"The devil they do!" cried M. Verduret. "Who has been committing blunders?"
"Oh! nobody has done anything wrong," replied Joseph. "You know, patron, that they suspected something long ago. They gave you a proof of it, the night of the fancy ball; that ugly cut on your arm was the beginning. Ever since, they have had one eye open all the time. They had begun to feel easier, when all of a sudden, yesterday, ma foi, they began to smell a rat!"
"Was that the cause of your telegrams?"
"Of course. Now listen: yesterday morning when my master got up, about ten o'clock, he took it into his head to arrange the papers in his desk; which, by the way, has a disgusting lock which has given me a deal of trouble. Meanwhile, I pretended to be fixing the fire, so as to remain in the room to watch him. Patron, the man has an eye like a Yankee! At the first glance he saw, or rather divined, that his papers had been meddled with, he turned livid, and swore an oath; Lord, what an oath!"
"Never mind the oath; go on."
"Well, how he discovered the little attentions I had devoted to his letters, I can't imagine. You know how careful I am. I had put everything in perfect order; just as I found things I left them, when, lo and behold! my noble marquis picks up each paper, one at a time, turns it over, and smells it. I was just thinking I would offer him a magnifying-glass, when all of a sudden he sprang up, and with one kick sent his chair across the room, and flew at me with his eyes flashing like two pistols. 'Somebody has been at my papers,' he shrieked; 'this letter has been photographed!' B-r-r-r! I am not a coward, but I can tell you that my heart stood perfectly still; I saw myself as dead as Caesar, cut into mince-meat; and says I to myself, 'Fanfer--excuse me --Dubois, my friend, you are lost, dead;' and I thought of Mme. Alexandre."
M. Verduret was buried in thought, and paid no attention to the worthy Joseph's analysis of his personal sensations.
"What happened next?" said Verduret after a few minutes.
"Why, he was just as frightened as I was, patron. The rascal did not even dare to touch me. To be sure, I had taken the precaution to get out of his reach; we talked with a large table between us. While wondering what could have enabled him to discover the secret, I defended myself with virtuous indignation. I said:
"'It cannot be; M. le marquis is mistaken. Who would dare touch his papers?'
"Bast! Instead of listening to me, he flourished an open letter, and said:
"'This letter has been photographed! here is proof of it!' and he pointed to a little yellow spot on the paper, shrieking out, 'Look! Smell! Smell it, you devil! It is--' I forget the name he called it, but some acid used by photographers."
"I know, I know," said M. Verduret; "go on; what next?"
"Then, patron, we had a scene; what a scene! He ended by seizing me by the throat, and shaking me like a plum-tree, saying he would shake me until I told him who I was, what I knew, and where I came from. As if I knew, myself! I was obliged to account for every minute of my time since I had been in his service. The devil was worse than a judge of instruction, in his questions. Then he sent for the hotel porter, who had charge of the front door, and questioned him closely, but in English, so that I could not understand. After a while, he cooled down, and when the boy was gone, presented me with twenty francs, saying, 'I am sorry I was so sharp with you; you are too stupid to have been guilty of the offence.'"
"He said that, did he?"
"He used those very words to my face, patron."
"And you think he meant what he said?"
"Certainly I do."
The fat man smiled, and whistled a little tune expressive of contempt.
"If you think that," he said, "Clameran was right in his estimate of your brilliancy."
It was easy to see that Joseph Dubois was anxious to hear his patron's grounds for considering him stupid, but dared not ask.
"I suppose I am stupid, if you think so," said poor Fanferlot humbly. "Well, after he had done blustering about the letters, M. le marquis dressed, and went out. He did not want his carriage, but I saw him hire a cab at the hotel door. I thought he had perhaps disappeared forever; but I was mistaken. About five o'clock he returned as gay as a bullfinch. During his absence, I had telegraphed to you."
"What! did you not follow him?"
"I stayed on the spot in case of his return; but one of our friends kept watch on him, and this friend gave me a report of my dandy's movements. First he went to a broker's, then to the bank and discount office: so he must be collecting his money to take a little trip."
"Is that all he did?"
"That is all, patron. But I must tell you how the rascals tried to shut up, 'administratively,' you understand, Mlle. Palmyre. Fortunately you had anticipated something of the kind, and given orders to watch over her safety. But for you, she would now be in prison."
Joseph looked up to the ceiling by way of trying to remember something more. Finding nothing there, he said:
"That is all. I rather think M. Patrigent will rub his hands with delight when I carry him my report. He did not expect to see me any more, and has no idea of the facts I have collected to swell the size of his FILE 113."
There was a long silence. Joseph was right in supposing that the crisis had come. M. Verduret was arranging his plan of battle while waiting for the report of Nina--now Palmyre, upon which depended his point of attack.
But Joseph Dubois began to grow restless and uneasy.
"What must I do now, patron?" he asked.
"Return to the hotel; probably your master had noticed your absence; but he will say nothing about it, so continue--"
Here M. Verduret was interrupted by an exclamation from Prosper, who was standing near a window.
"What is the matter?" he inquired.
"There is Clameran!" cried Prosper, "over there."
M. Verduret and Joseph ran to the window.
"Where is he?" said Joseph, "I don't see him."
"There, at the corner of the bridge, behind that orange-woman's stall." Prosper was right. It was the noble Marquis of Clameran, who, hid behind the stall, was watching for his servant to come out of the Archangel.
At first the quick-sighted Verduret had some doubts whether it was the marquis, who, being skilled in these hazardous expeditions, managed to conceal himself behind a pillar so as to elude detection.
But a moment came, when, elbowed by the pressing crowd, he was obliged to come out on the pavement in full view of the window.
"Now don't you see I was right!" cried the cashier.
"Well," said the amazed Joseph, "I am amazed!"
M. Verduret seemed not in the least surprised, but quietly said:
"The game needs hunting. Well, Joseph, my boy, do you still think that your noble master was duped by your acting injured innocence?"
"You assured me to the contrary, patron," said Joseph in an humble tone; "and your opinion is more convincing than all the proofs in the world."
"This pretended outburst of rage was premeditated on the part of your noble master. Knowing that he is being tracked, he naturally wishes to discover who his adversaries are. You can imagine how uncomfortable he must be at this uncertainty. Perhaps he thinks his pursuers are some of his old accomplices, who, being starved, want a piece of his cake. He will remain there until you come out: then he will come in to find out who you are."
"But, patron, I can go home without his seeing me."
"Yes, I know. You will climb the little wall separating the Archangel from the winemerchant's yard, and keep along the stationer's area, until you reach the Rue de la Huchette."
Poor Joseph looked as if he had just received a bucket of ice-water upon his head.
"Exactly the way I was going, patron," he gasped out. "I heard that you knew every plank and door of all the houses in Paris, and it certainly must be so."
The fat man made no reply to Joseph's admiring remarks. He was thinking how he could catch Clameran.
As to the cashier, he listened wonderingly, watching these strangers, who seemed determined to reinstate him in public opinion, and punish his enemies, while he himself stood by powerless and bewildered. What their motives for befriending him could be, he vainly tried to discover.
"I will tell you what I can do," said Joseph after deep thought. "What is it?"
"I can innocently walk out of the front door, and loaf along the street until I reach the Hotel du Louvre."
"And then?"
"Dame! Clameran will come in and question Mme. Alexandre, whom you can instruct beforehand; and she is smart enough to put any sharper off the track."
"Bad plan!" pronounced M. Verduret decidedly; "a scamp so compromised as Clameran is not easily put off the track; now his eyes are opened, he will be pretty hard to catch."
Suddenly, in a brief tone of authority which admitted of no contradiction, the fat man said:
"I have a way. Has Clameran, since he found that his papers had been searched, seen Lagors?"
"No, patron."
"Perhaps he has written to him?"
"I'll bet you my head he has not. Having your orders to watch his correspondence, I invented a little system which informs me every time he touches a pen; during the last twenty-four hours the pens have not been touched."
"Clameran went