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

francs from a poor old woman, a newspaper-vender?  What did he want with the money?  Try his luck once more, no doubt.”

He was seated, his elbow upon the arm of the chair, his head resting upon his hands, thinking; and the contraction of his features indicated an extraordinary tension of mind.

Suddenly he drew himself up.

“But why,” he exclaimed, “why wander in idle conjectures?  What do we know about Favoral?  Nothing.  One entire side of his existence escapes us,—that fantastic side, of which the insane prodigalities and inconceivable disorders have been revealed to us by the bills found in his desk.  He is certainly guilty; but is he as guilty as we think? and, above all, is he alone guilty?  Was it for himself alone that he drew all this money?  Are the missing millions really lost? and wouldn’t it be possible to find the biggest share of them in the pockets of some accomplice?  Skilful men do not expose themselves.  They have at their command poor wretches, sacrificed in advance, and who, in exchange for a few crumbs that are thrown to them, risk the criminal court, are condemned, and go to prison.”

“That’s just what I was telling my mother and sister, sir,” interrupted Maxence.

“And that’s what I am telling myself,” continued the old lawyer.  “I have been thinking over and over again of last evening’s scene; and strange doubts have occurred to my mind.  For a man who has been robbed of a dozen millions, M. de Thaller was remarkably quiet and self-possessed.  Favoral appeared to me singularly calm for a man charged with embezzlement and forgery.  M. de Thaller, as manager of the Mutual Credit, is really responsible for the stolen funds, and, as such, should have been anxious to secure the guilty party, and to produce him.  Instead of that, he wished him to go, and actually brought him the money to enable him to leave.  Was he in hopes of hushing up the affair?  Evidently not, since the police had been notified.  On the other hand, Favoral seemed much more angry than surprised by the occurrence.  It was only on the appearance of the commissary of police that he seems to have lost his head; and then some very strange things escaped him, which I cannot understand.”

He was walking at random through the parlor, apparently rather answering the objections of his own mind than addressing himself to his interlocutors, who were listening, nevertheless, with all the attention of which they were capable.

“I don’t know,” he went on.  “An old traveler like me to be taken in thus!  Evidently there is under all this one of those diabolical combinations which time even fails to unravel.  We ought to see, to inquire—”

And then, suddenly stopping in front of Maxence,

“How much did M. de Thaller bring to your father last evening?” he asked.

“Fifteen thousand francs.”

“Where are they?”

“Put away in mother’s room.”

“When do you expect to take them back to M. de Thaller?”

“To-morrow.”

“Why not to-day?”

“This is Sunday.  The offices of the Mutual Credit must be closed.”

“After the occurrences of yesterday, M. de Thaller must be at his office.  Besides, haven’t you his private address?”

“I beg your pardon, I have.”

The old lawyer’s small eyes were shining with unusual brilliancy.  He certainly felt deeply the loss of his money; but the idea that he had been swindled for the benefit of some clever rascal was absolutely insupportable to him.

“If we were wise,” he said again, “we’d do this.  Mme. Favoral would take these fifteen thousand francs, and we would go together, she and I, to see M. de Thaller.”

It was an unexpected good-fortune for Mme. Favoral, that M. Chapelain should consent to assist her.  So, without hesitating,

“The time to dress, sir,” she said, “and I am ready.”  She left the parlor; but as she reached her room, her son joined her.

“I am obliged to go out, dear mother,” he said; “and I shall probably not be home to breakfast.”

She looked at him with an air of painful surprise.  “What,” she said, “at such a moment!”

“I am expected home.”

“By whom?  A woman?” she murmured.

“Well, yes.”

“And it is for that woman’s sake that you want to leave your sister alone at home?”

“I must, mother, I assure you; and, if you only knew—”

“I do not wish to know, any thing.”

But his resolution had been taken.  He went off; and a few moments later Mme. Favoral and M. Chapelain entered a cab which had been sent for, and drove to M. de Thaller’s.

Left alone, Mlle. Gilberte had but one thought,—to notify M. de Tregars, and obtain word from him.  Any thing seemed preferable to the horrible anxiety which oppressed her.  She had just commenced a letter, which she intended to have taken to the Count de Villegre, when a violent ring of the bell made her start; and almost immediately the servant came in, saying,

“It is a gentleman who wishes to see you, a friend of monsieur’s, —M.  Costeclar, you know.”

Mlle. Gilberte started to her feet, trembling with excitement.

“That’s too much impudence!” she exclaimed.  She was hesitating whether to refuse him the door, or to see him, and dismiss him shamefully herself, when she had a sudden inspiration.  “What does he want?” she thought.  “Why not see him, and try and find out what he knows?  For he certainly must know the truth.”

But it was no longer time to deliberate.  Above the servant’s shoulder M. Costeclar’s pale and impudent face showed itself.

The girl having stepped to one side, he appeared, hat in hand.  Although it was not yet nine o’clock, his morning toilet was irreproachably correct.  He had already passed through the hair-dresser’s hands; and his scanty hair was brought forward over his low fore-head with the usual elaborate care.

He wore a pair of those ridiculous trousers which grow wide from the knee down, and which were invented by Prussian tailors to hide their customers’ ugly feet.  Under his light-colored overcoat could be seen a velvet-faced jacket, with a rose in its buttonhole.

Meantime, he remained motionless on the threshold of the door, trying to smile, and muttering one of those sentences which are never intended to be finished.

“I beg you to believe, mademoiselle—your mother’s absence—my most respectful admiration—”

In fact, he was taken aback by the disorder of the girl’s toilet, —disorder which she had had no time to repair since the clamors