Other People's Money by Emile Gaboriau (superbooks4u txt) 📖

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

It was after four o’clock when M. de Tregars was at last permitted to return home.  He had minutely, and at length, arranged every thing with the commissary:  he had endeavored to anticipate every eventuality.  His line of conduct was perfectly well marked out, and he carried with him the certainty that on the day which was about to dawn the strange game that he was playing must be finally won or lost.  When he reached home,

“At last, here you are, sir!” exclaimed his faithful servant.

It was doubtless anxiety that had kept up the old man all night; but so absorbed was Marius’s mind, that he scarcely noticed the fact.

“Did any one call in my absence?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.  A gentleman called during the evening, M. Costeclar, who appeared very much vexed not to find you in.  He stated that he came on a very important matter that you would know all about:  and he requested me to ask you to wait for him to-morrow, that is to-day, by twelve o’clock.”

Was M. Costeclar sent by M. de Thaller?  Had the manager of the Mutual Credit changed his mind? and had he decided to accept the conditions which he had at first rejected?  In that case, it was too late.  It was no longer in the power of any human being to suspend the action of justice.  Without giving any further thought to that visit,

“I am worn out with fatigue,” said M. de Tregars, “and I am going to lie down.  At eight o’clock precisely you will call me.”

But it was in vain that he tried to find a short respite in sleep.  For forty-eight hours his mind had been taxed beyond measure, his nerves had been wrought up to an almost intolerable degree of exaltation.

As soon as he closed his eyes, it was with a merciless precision that his imagination presented to him all the events which had taken place since that afternoon in the Place-Royale when he had ventured to declare his love to Mlle. Gilberte.  Who could have told him then, that he would engage in that struggle, the issue of which must certainly be some abominable scandal in which his name would be mixed?  Who could have told him, that gradually, and by the very force of circumstances, he would be led to overcome his repugnance, and to rival the ruses and the tortuous combinations of the wretches he was trying to reach?

But he was not of those who, once engaged, regret, hesitate, and draw back.  His conscience reproached him for nothing.  It was for justice and right that he was battling; and Mlle. Gilberte was the prize that would reward him.

Eight o’clock struck; and his servant came in.

“Run for a cab,” he said:  “I’ll be ready in a moment.”

He was ready, in fact, when the old servant returned; and, as he had in his pocket some of those arguments that lend wings to the poorest cab-horses, in less than ten minutes he had reached the Hotel des Folies.

“How is Mlle. Lucienne?” he inquired first of all of the worthy hostess.

The intervention of the commissary of police had made M. Fortin and his wife more supple than gloves, and more gentle than doves.

“The poor dear child is much better,” answered Mme. Fortin; “and the doctor, who has just left, now feels sure of her recovery.  But there is a row up there.”

“A row?”

“Yes.  That lady whom my husband went after last night insists upon going out; and M. Maxence won’t let her:  so that they are quarreling up there.  Just listen.”

The loud noise of a violent altercation could be heard distinctly.  M. de Tregars started up stairs, and on the second-story landing he found Maxence holding on obstinately to the railing, whilst Mme. Zelie Cadelle, redder than a peony, was trying to induce him to let her pass, treating him at the same time to some of the choicest epithets of her well-stocked repertory.  Catching sight of Marius,

“Is it you,” she cried, “who gave orders to keep me here against my wishes?  By what right?  Am I your prisoner?”

To irritate her would have been imprudent.

“Why did you wish to leave,” said M. de Tregars gently, “at the very moment when you knew that I was to call for you?”

But she interrupted him, and, shrugging her shoulders,

“Why don’t you tell the truth?” she said.  “You were afraid to trust me.”

“Oh!”

“You are wrong!  What I promise to do I do.  I only wanted to go home to dress.  Can I go in the street in this costume?”

And she was spreading out her wrapper, all faded and stained.

“I have a carriage below,” said Marius.  “No one will see us.”

Doubtless she understood that it was useless to hesitate.

“As you please,” she said.

M. de Tregars took Maxence aside, and in a hurried whisper,

“You must,” said he, “go at once to the Rue St. Gilles, and in my name request your sister to accompany you.  You will take a closed carriage, and you’ll go and wait in the Rue St. Lazare, opposite No. 25.  It may be that Mlle. Gilberte’s assistance will become indispensable to me.  And, as Lucienne must not be left alone, you will request Mme. Fortin to go and stay with her.”

And, without waiting for an answer,

“Let us go,” he said to Mme. Cadelle.

They started but the young woman was far from being in her usual spirits.  It was clear that she was regretting bitterly having gone so far, and not having been able to get away at the last moment.  As the carriage went on, she became paler and a frown appeared upon her face.

“No matter,” she began:  “it’s a nasty thing I am doing there.”

“Do you repent then, assisting me to punish your friend’s assassins?” said M. de Tregars.

She shook her head.

“I know very well that old Vincent is a scoundrel,” she said; “but he had trusted me, and I am betraying him.”

“You are mistaken, madame.  To furnish me the means of speaking to M. Favoral is not to betray him; and I shall do every thing in my power to enable him to escape the police, and make his way abroad.”

“What a joke!”

“It is the exact truth:  I give you my word of honor.”  She seemed to feel easier; and,