The Double Life

“‘It is already received,’ replied Emily, turning her back on him.

“‘And by whom?’ exclaimed M” le Superintendent.

“‘Evidently by the one who brought me the necklace-by Cartouche, who has just left here. Should I not pay upon receipt of the necklace? And immediately? I have no credit, myself,’ added she, shouting over the discomfited face of the man of the Rue Quincamprix.

“At the Palais Royal, my dear Adolphe, the jest had the success that you can imagine. It did not matter, the Regent had found out that I had surpassed his instructions, and in his anger he again sent M. d’Argenson to hunt for me. He, however, was again diverted by the attractions of Mlle. Husson. It was a fact, my dear Adolphe, that women were a source of great help to me, and I leaned towards them considerably. But they contributed much to my ruin, also. Knowing of the propriety of my manners, and of my exclusive love for Marceline, you must think how two hundred years changes a man.”

Elated at his narrative, Adolphe laughed at the pleasantry which terminated it. “How two hundred years changes a man!” M. Longuet laughed at it. The supernatural and terrifying antithesis between Cartouche and Longuet, which had plunged him at first into the most melancholy fright, now incited him to make jests. His excuse was that he did not see anything to fear. He only found his case a little odd. He joked about it with Adolphe, and even resolved to no longer keep his true personality from Marceline. She was intelligent and would understand. He imagined that this personality would present dangers to himself and to society, but, behold! it existed no longer in the real condition, but only in his memory, as a vivid picture. He would not have to control Cartouche as he had dreaded; he would only have to ask him from time to time, some anecdote, which would help M. Longuet in conversation. The history of the Regent, M. Law, and of the courtesan, were sure proofs of that condition of the soul. How it had glided from his memory without effort! What evil, then, was there in that? After all, if he had been Cartouche, it was not his fault, and it would be very foolish in him to be angry about it. He even joked about the fortune.

At midnight they made their way back to Paris. As they arrived at the station St. Lazare, M. Lecamus asked him the following question:

“My friend, when you are Cartouche, and you take your walks in Paris, and you see the life of Paris, what astonishes you most? Is it the telephone, or the railway, or the Metro, or the Eiffel Tower?”

Théophraste replied, “No, no. That which astonishes me most when I am Cartouche is the police force.”

CHAPTER XIII

The Cat

IT seems that the destiny which controls the lives of men, takes a diabolical pleasure in preceding the worst catastrophe by the serenest of joys. Thus is it often that we are warned of the tempest by the calm.

Thus in the beginning of the misfortunes of Théophraste, Marceline and Adolphe, there was something which was not of very great importance in itself-the strange behavior of a small black cat.

I have not yet described in detail the apartment occupied by the household of Longuet in the Rue Geronde. It is now necessary to do so. It was a small apartment, rented for twelve hundred francs a year, on passing through the folding-doors of which one entered a vestibule of restricted dimensions, all the furniture of which consisted of a polished oak trunk, which seemed to fill the whole vestibule. Besides the front door, four doors opened into the vestibule: the kitchen door, the dining-room door, to the left; the parlor door, and that of the bedroom, on the right. The parlor and bedroom windows looked out into the street, and those of the kitchen and dining-room looked out into the court. The window of the little room in which M. Longuet had made his office, opened on the street also. This room was between the bedroom and the dining-room, and could be entered by doors from either of these. As to the furniture in this apartment, that in the office is all that need be described. There was a small desk against the wall.

These great misfortunes of Théophraste, Marceline and Adolphe centered around something which was not of great importance in itself: it was only an ornament in the form of a small black cat, which was placed over the patent lock with which the small desk was fastened, thus hiding it.

This little black cat was nothing more than an ingenious silken cushion, which served the double purpose of pin-cushion and pen-wiper. There was also a tea-table in this room.

Upon returning from their trip, Adolphe accompanied Théophraste up the stairway, and as it was late he announced his intention of leaving at once. He ordered his friend to go to bed so that he might get up early the next day to make further researches. He shook his hand with a show of sincerity, and as he went downstairs, looked up to Théophraste, who was holding the lamp for him, and murmured, “Good-bye, till to-morrow.”

Théophraste closed the door of the apartment with the greatest care, and as he made the second turn to the latch, he said to Marceline, “Now that we are very often in the country, we ought to have extra bolts for safety.”

Théophraste and Marceline searched the apartment before going to bed. They went into the kitchen, into the dining-room, into the parlor, and into the office. Nothing unusual had happened during their absence. Everything was in its usual place.

Having gone to bed, Théophraste lay awake for some time. He amused himself by thinking of Cartouche and all the wonderful things he had done. While he tried to fall asleep, his mind kept continually going back to the same theme. Suddenly he opened his frightened eyes in the darkness, and laid his hand on his wife’s arm, waking her. Then, in a voice so low that he alone knew he had spoken, he said, “Do you hear anything?” Marceline woke with a start, and they both strained their ears. They heard something in the apartment. It was a peculiar sound like the purring of a cat. It seemed as if it came from the office, and they listened intently for some minutes, too frightened to move.

Théophraste, as we have said before, was not a brave man, and he would have given a hundred thousand francs for it to have been daylight. Marceline whispered in his ear, “Go and see what is the matter. You must, Théophraste. Take the revolver from the table drawer.” Théophraste just had the strength to answer, “You know very well it is not loaded.”

They listened again, but the noise had stopped. Marceline hoped that they had been mistaken. Théophraste, quaking with fear, then got out of the bed, and taking the revolver, softly opened the door which led into the office.

The night was clear, and the moon shone across the large blue table-cloth which was spread on the table. Théophraste recoiled. He pushed the door to by pressing his back against it, as if he would hinder whatever he had seen from entering the room. “What is it?” demanded Marceline, raising herself from the pillows. Théophraste, with chattering teeth, answered, “It does not purr any more, but it has moved. It is on the tea-table.”

“What is on the tea-table?”

“The cat!”

“Are you sure it was in its right place last night?” asked Marceline.

“Perfectly sure. I put my scarf-pin on it when I was going to bed.”

“Oh, you only think that you did it,” said Marceline. “Shall I light the lamp?”

“No, no. We can escape in the darkness. If I open the door on the landing we can call the conciergerie.”

“You are not afraid, then?” asked Marceline, who, now that she heard it was the cat, was recovering her senses. “It was an illusion that we had. You must have changed his place last night.”

“After all it is very possible,” said Théophraste. He only wanted to get back to bed.

“Put it in its place,” insisted Marceline. Théophraste decided to do so. He went into the office, and with a hasty, trembling hand took the cat from the tea-table and put it on the desk, and soon found himself back in bed. By this time they had recovered their composure.

They even smiled in the darkness to think that they had been afraid. However, a quarter of an hour elapsed, and they were frightened to hear again the rattle of the ornament. “Oh, it is not possible,” cried Marceline; “we are the victims of hallucination. There is nothing to astonish us after what has happened at the Conciergerie.”

It was Marceline who got up this time. She pulled open the door of the office, and came back at once towards Théophraste, and said with a voice so weak that it seemed far away, “You did not, then, put the cat back on the desk?”

“But I did,” growled Théophraste.

“Well, but it is back on the tea-table.”

“My God!” said the man hiding his head under the coverings.

Marceline was convinced that, in the disordered condition of his mind, he had left the cat on the tea-table. She took it, holding her breath, and put it on the table. The cat rattled audibly again as she did it, but neither Marceline nor Théophraste saw anything in this. Marceline went back to bed again.

Another quarter of an hour passed, at the end of which they again heard the same noise. Then an incredible thing happened. Théophraste turned like a tiger and cried out, “What is it? It is only too true, something unusual is happening.”

CHAPTER XIV

Petito Loses His Ears

WE will now go downstairs to the flat below, into the apartment occupied by Signor and Signora Petito. Signora Petito is saying, “I do not understand M. Longuet’s conduct at the dinner at all. He spoke such vague, peculiar words.”

“Well,” answers Signor Petito, “he has this treasure which may be found in the environs of Paris, and he is thinking of it. It is certainly very interesting, and I would like to find it myself. According to the document, my opinion is that one ought to look either at the side of Montrouge, or at the side of Montmartre. I am inclined to think that it is Montmartre, on acount of the ‘Coq.’ There was a castle ‘Coq de Percherons’ there. You will find it if you look at this plan of old Paris.”

They looked at the plan, and after a short silence Signor Petito added, “It is still very vague. For myself, I think that one ought to attach importance to the words ‘Le Four.’”

“My dear, then it is more and more vague,” said his wife, “for there are many furnaces around Paris. There were plaster furnaces, and quicklime furnaces, and many others.”

“My idea,” said Signor Petito, “is that Le Four does not mean ‘the furnaces.’ I remember that there was a space after the word ‘Four,’ on the paper. Pass my dictionary.” Signora Petito, noiselessly, and with great care, brought him the lexicon. They looked over all the words beginning with the syllable ‘Four.’ On account of the article, le, they decided not to pay any attention to feminine words.

Just then the clock on the mantel-shelf struck midnight. Signora Petito got up, and said to the Signor, “Now is the time. We will find some useful information on the floor above. They cannot hear you in your stockinged feet. I will watch behind their door at the head of their stairway. You know there is no danger, they are still in the country.”

Two minutes later a form glided over the landing at M. Longuet’s door, put a key into the lock stealthily, and went into the vestibule. M. Longuet’s apartment was arranged exactly like Signor Petito’s, and so the latter easily found his way into the dining-room. He acted with perfect composure, believing the apartment to be uninhabited. He pushed the office door open. As it was evidently the lock of the desk that he wished to reach. Signor Petito took the ornament which inconvenienced him and placed it on the tea-table. Then he quitted the room noiselessly, and entered the dining-room, from there into the vestibule, for he seemed to hear a voice on the stairway. He was without doubt mistaken, for he listened intently for some time without hearing a sound. When he came back into the office, he found the cat again on the desk, and purring. His hair seemed to stand on end, for the horror which had seized upon him was not to be compared to the horror which had seized upon those in the next room.

Signor Petito remained immovable in the bluish moonlight. With a timid hand he seized the little black cat. The movement caused by this made the cat purr again. Now he understood that in the cat’s pasteboard body there was a little ball, balanced in such a manner that it ingeniously simulated the purring of a cat when it was moved.

How frightened he had been! He felt a fool. All was explained. Did he not remove the cat before returning to the vestibule? Instead of having placed the cat on the table, as he thought, he must have replaced it on the desk. That was a simple explanation, and he paid the strictest attention this time when he placed it on the table.

While he was doing this there was a fresh noise on the stairway. It was only Signora Petito, who had very incautiously sneezed.

Signor Petito went hurriedly and silently back into the vestibule, and when he was reassured, went back into the office again.

The black cat had been returned to the desk again!

He thought that he would die of fright. A miraculous intervention had arrested him on the verge of a great crime, and he uttered a hurried prayer in which he promised heaven never to do it again. However, another quarter of an hour passed, and he attributed these surprising events to his conscience, and returning, placed the cat back again on the table.

Just then the door of the room was violently opened, and Signor Petito fell into the arms of M. Longuet, who did not express the least astonishment.

M. Longuet threw Signor Petito on the floor in disgust, and picking up the ornament, opened the window, and threw it out into the street. During this time, Signor Petito, who had gotten up, could hardly compose his features, for Mme. Longuet, in her chemise, was threatening him with a revolver. He could only stammer, “I beg your pardon, I really thought that you were in the country.”

M. Longuet went up to him, and taking him by one of his ears, said, “Now, my dear Signor Petito, we must talk.”

Marceline lowered the barrel of her revolver, and felt pleased at seeing her husband show such courage.

“You see, my dear Signor Petito,” continued Théophraste, “that I am calm. A little while ago I was getting angry, but it was only at that little cat which was keeping me from going to sleep, and which I have thrown out of the window. Rut be assured, my dear Signor, I shall not throw you out of the window. You have not kept me from sleeping, you have even taken the precaution to put on slippers. Many thanks. But why, my dear Signor, do you make that ridiculous grimace? It is without doubt on account of your ear. I have some good news to tell you which will perhaps put you at ease about your ears. Your ears will make you suffer no more.”

Having finished his sarcastic talk, Théophraste begged his wife to pass him a cloth, and ordered Signor Petito to go into the kitchen. “Do not be surprised that I receive you in the kitchen. I prize my carpets very much, and you will probably bleed like a pig.”

M. Longuet drew towards him a white wooden table, which he placed in the middle of the kitchen. He asked Marceline to place an oil-cloth over the table, and get him a large bowl. He then asked for a carving set, which he said she would find in the dresser drawer, which stood in the dining-room. Marceline tried to ask for an explanation, but her husband looked at her so coldly and so strangely, that, shuddering, she could only obey. Signor Petito, in a cold perspiration, tried to reach the door of the kitchen, but M. Longuet stood between him and the means of exit, and commanded him to be seated.

“Signor Petito,” said he, in a tone of the most sarcastic politeness, “you have a face which displeases me. It is not your fault; but then it is not mine, either. Certainly you are by far the most cowardly and the most despicable of thieves. But what does that matter? But do not smile, Signor Petito.” It is certain that Signor Petito had no intention of smiling.

“You have ridiculously large ears, and surely with such ears, you dare not pass by the corner of the Guiliere.”

Signor Petito clasped his hands and stammered, “But my wife awaits me.”

“What are you doing, Marceline?” Théophraste cried impatiently. “Do not you see that Signor Petito is in a hurry? His wife is waiting for him. Have you the carving set?”

“I could not find the fork,” answered Marceline in a trembling voice. (The truth was, Marceline did not know what to say, for she believed that her husband had become completely insane, and between Signor Petito the house-breaker, and Théophraste mad, she was in anything but an enviable position.) She had hidden herself behind a cupboard door, and her distress was so extreme, that in turning suddenly, when Théophraste hurled a volley of insults at her, she upset her favorite vase, which made a loud noise, thus adding to the confusion.

Théophraste resorted once more to oaths and insults, and called Marceline in such a tone that she ran to him in spite of herself. The spectacle which awaited her in the kitchen was atrocious. Signor Petito was lying on the wooden table, his eyes bursting from their orbits, a handkerchief in his mouth, which nearly suffocated him. Théophraste had had the time, and was possessed with the extraordinary strength to tie his hands and ankles with cords. Signor Petito’s head hung a little beyond the edge of the table, and under it there was a bowl which M. Longuet had placed there to prevent soiling anything. The latter with palpitating nostrils had caught Signor Petito by the hair with his left hand. In his right he clasped the handle of a notched kitchen knife.

Gnashing his teeth, he cried out, “Strike the flags.”

As he said this he made the first cut at the right ear. The cartilage resisted. Signor Petito’s muffled groans could just be heard. M. Longuet, who was still in his night-shirt, worked like a surgeon bent upon a difficult operation. Marceline’s strength failed her, and she fell upon her knees. Signor Petito, in attempting to struggle, threw the blood from his ears across the kitchen, and Théophraste, letting go his hair, struck him a blow across the head. “Be a little careful,” said he, “you are splashing the blood all over everything.”

The cartilage still resisted, so taking the right ear in his left hand, with a strong blow with the notched knife he tore it away. He placed the ear in a saucer which he had previously placed on the sink, and allowed the water to flow over it. Then he came back to the second ear. Marceline groaned very loudly, but he silenced her with a glance. The second ear was cut off much more easily, and with more dispatch.

By this time Signor Petito had swallowed half of the handkerchief, and was suffocating. Théophraste took the handkerchief out of his mouth and threw it out into the clothes-basket near by. He then untied his ankles and wrists, and signed to him to leave the apartment as soon as possible. He had the forethought to wrap his head in a dish-cloth, so that the blood would not stain the stairway or the janitor’s family. As Signor Petito passed by, in agony, Théophraste put the washed ears into his vest pocket.

“You forgot something,” he said. “What would Signora Petito say if you went back without your ears?” He closed the door. Looking at Marceline, who was on her knees, paralysed with horror, he wiped the bloody knife on his sleeve.

CHAPTER XV

Adolphe Consulted

THEOPHRASTE, the next day, seemed to have forgotten all the incidents of the night before, or at least to attach very little importance to them.

As to Marceline, she was far too agitated to make any direct mention of it. However, she knew Adolphe would be calling at noon and she was resolved to find out the cause of Théophraste’s actions before he came so that she could tell Adolphe the best to act. The thing that struck her most was Théophraste’s sudden show of courage and strength. Before he had shown excessive lack of courage, and he was naturally physically weak. Suddenly, to be seized with all the nerve necessary to meet a burglar and then to have the strength to gag and bind him and cut off his ears, was unnatural. He had always recoiled from the sight of blood, and here he was fairly reveling in it. What could all this mean? He had suddenly turned from a quiet, inoffensive citizen to a ghoul.

It was with these thoughts that she approached Théophraste and demanded an explanation. He at first was loath to tell her, but her entreaties prevailed, and he eventually told her that it was the spirit of Cartouche that had seized him and forced him to do these horrible actions. He told her with a sort of bravado that there had been more than one hundred and fifty assassinations laid to his account.

Marceline was in a terrible state of mind and shrank from him. She declared that nothing in the world would make her live with him. She would apply for a divorce. She thought she had married an honest man, and now she had discovered him to be a thief and murderer. Here were enough grounds for a separation, and she declared her intention of securing it.

At this Théophraste became very melancholy, and entreated her to think of his side of the calamity. He told her how necessary her help was to him, and with Adolphe’s and her assistance he thought he could throw off this evil influence. By this time he had become quite rational, and they decided to consult Adolphe, and if necessary, have him live with them.

Marceline readily acquiesced in this suggestion. Adolphe arrived about 1 o’clock, and she took him into the sitting-room and was soon in earnest and animated council with him. Théophraste went into his office and waited anxiously for them to join him. After some time they returned, and Marceline insisted that Théophraste should do all that Adolphe should ask of him, which he readily consented to do, having confidence in his friend.

Later on in the afternoon Théophraste and Adolphe went for a walk into the city. Théophraste immediately began asking questions as to Adolphe’s progress in the search for the treasures. He, however, was in no mood to tell much. Marceline’s story of the night before had driven all thoughts of the treasure out of his head, and he answered somewhat abruptly that nothing of importance had been found, and that he must think of Théophraste’s health first, before taking any further steps.

It was obvious to Théophraste that Adolphe was evading the subject, and he was determined to find out more of the matter.

He felt that Adolphe had more information, and so pressed him to speak. Adolphe then told how he had discovered that after the war most of the soldiers who had been serving with Cartouche had been discharged, and were left with no means of livelihood, and so, recognizing him as having the talent of a leader, they formed themselves into a party of bandits, and placed him at their head. At this time the police force of Paris was quite inadequate to cope with the many crimes; therefore Cartouche and his comrades resolved to turn their attention to this. He divided his men into troops, and gave them each a quarter, to guard over which he placed an intelligent lieutenant. When anybody was found out after curfew he was politely accosted and requested to turn over a sum of money, or if he had no money on him, to part with his coat. In exchange for this he was given a pass which entitled him to walk through Paris in perfect security at any time he pleased. He would have nothing to fear from Cartouche’s men. If he showed any resistance he was immediately killed. Cartouche had the clergy on his side, and was often able to make good use of them. One priest named Le Ratichon, was even hanged for him.

On reaching the Hotel de Ville, Adolphe stopped and asked Théophraste if he cared to cross the Place de l’Hotel de Ville.

He answered, “If you wish, certainly we will.”

“Have you often crossed the place?” said Adolphe.

“Yes, very often,” replied Théophraste.

“And nothing unusual has happened? Is there any place in Paris which you have some difficulty in passing?”

“Why, no, of course not. What is there to hinder me from going anywhere?”

However, Adolphe’s look made him reflect, and then he recalled having several times walked up the Place de l’Ordson, and when in front of the Institute he changed his mind and retraced his steps. He accounted for this rather by his absent-mindedness than by anything unusual. He recalled that he had never passed through the Rue Mazarine or crossed the Pont-Neuf. Neither had he crossed the Petit Pont. He had always turned at the corner of the Rue Ville du Temple, near the house with the grated windows.