The Red Lottery Ticket

"On the third floor, mademoiselle."

"But, then, the police are in your place, for, look, there is a commissary with his sash at that open window."

"Oh! my rooms are to the right – on the same floor, it's true," said George, who, to his horror, had recognised the window, where the commissary stood, as that of Puymirol's bedroom.

"Well, let us proceed, then," said Albert. "If we loiter in this way, we shall never reach our destination, and I am anxious to see the Bois at its best."

This proposal was eminently satisfactory to George, who was anxious to get away from the spot as soon as possible. But all his enjoyment was spoiled. His cheerfulness had vanished; however, Gabrielle failed to notice the change, at least, for the time being, as at this moment Albert asked her: "Have you seen Roch since yesterday?"

"No, and I am very much afraid that I shall not see much of him until after my marriage. Monsieur Rochas called this morning expressly to beg mamma not to receive our old friend any longer."

"What business is it of his, pray? and what has he to say against Plancoët, whose little finger is worth more than Rochas's whole body?"

"He pretends that our old friend is a dangerous character. To hear him, one would suppose that poor Roch had committed any number of crimes – Roch who would not harm a mouse, and who has sacrificed himself for others ever since he came into the world."

"Well, no matter," rejoined Albert, "we shall soon be rid of Rochas and have Plancoët all to ourselves. Now, my children, we are upon the macadamized pavement, and we have plenty of room into the bargain, so suppose we trot a little."

They trotted on along the boulevard and up the Champs Elysées without their progress being impeded. But in the Bois there were scores of riders of either sex and also a number of carriages. Albert began disdainfully criticising the horsemanship of those around him, and Gabrielle laughed heartily at his comments, and began to feel surprised that George remained so serious. Such was the throng that all along the Allée des Poteaux they were obliged to walk their horses, which was hardly to Albert's liking. "Come," said he, at last, "I've had enough of this. I don't care to stare for ever at all these fine ladies and swells. Suppose we make for the Allée de Longchamps, and have a canter there. Verdurette is becoming restive."

The suggestion was adopted. They turned their horses' heads in the direction of the lake, but they had hardly proceeded a hundred yards when George saw his friend Charles Balmer approaching on a handsome thoroughbred. Balmer expressed his delight at the meeting by an expressive gesture, and, reining in his horse, he abruptly said to George: "My dear fellow, I must have a talk with you. It's serious. Apologize to your friends, and join me at the chalet at the end of the lake. I will wait for you there." And thereupon he rode off.

"That gentleman is not very polite," exclaimed the lieutenant. "He certainly might have touched his hat to Gabrielle. What did he say to you?"

Gabrielle, who had heard Balmer distinctly, looked at George inquisitively. She did not like to question him, but she awaited his answer with no little anxiety. George, who was greatly embarrassed, reluctantly replied:

"He asked me to join him at the end of the lake; and I would much rather remain with you."

"Is he a friend of yours?" inquired Gabrielle.

"No, merely a club acquaintance."

"But if what he wants to say to you is important, you might leave us, and join us by-and-by at the Porte Maillot," insisted Gabrielle. "Have you any idea what he wants to speak to you about?"

"I have an idea, mademoiselle. He probably wants to give me some information in reference to Puymirol."

"The friend whose absence has caused you so much uneasiness?"

"Yes, mademoiselle. This gentleman is well acquainted with him; and I fancy he knows what has become of him."

"You must go, then."

"Leave you! Oh, no."

"But you need not leave us for long, and who knows but what M. de Puymirol may need you. I should never forgive myself for detaining you if he required your assistance; and this gentleman has perhaps come for you at his request. Go at once, pray."

George was greatly perplexed. The idea of leaving his betrothed so unceremoniously was most distasteful to him; but on the other hand, he suspected that Balmer had something pressing to communicate. Puymirol's safety was, perhaps, at stake, for since George had witnessed the raid upon the house in the Rue de Medicis, he felt almost certain that his friend had been arrested; now, Balmer, as he well knew, was on excellent terms with the investigating magistrate, and might speak a good word for Puymirol if he needed one. "You need not hesitate if the matter is of the slightest importance, my dear fellow," now exclaimed Albert, seeing his prospective brother-in-law's embarrassment. "I can see Gabrielle safely home, without your assistance, and as your conversation with this gentleman may be a lengthy one, we won't wait for you at the Porte Maillot. Vulcan, your steed, is quartered at Tattersall's, so just leave him there in charge of one of the ostlers on your way home."

"And come and see us as soon as you can," added Gabrielle. "I am anxious to hear about your friend." Then to make George feel perfectly at ease, she touched her horse lightly with the whip and cantered away, closely followed by her brother.

George decided not to follow them, but turned his horse's head in the direction which Balmer had taken. In a few moments he had reached the Chalet Café, in front of which sat Balmer, regaling himself with a glass of absinthe, and smoking a huge cigar. Springing to the ground, George intrusted his horse to an urchin, and seated himself beside Balmer, of whom, without the least ceremony, he inquired, "Why do you want to see me?"

"Why?" was the reply. "You must surely have guessed that I want to talk to you about Puymirol. When did you see him last?"

"On the day before yesterday, at the Palais de l'Industrie."

"Have you any idea where he went afterwards?"

"I think he went to Madame de Lescombat's; but he hasn't returned home since, and I feel very anxious about him."

"He has had good reasons for not returning. You will recollect that on the day before yesterday, I told you that my friend Robergeot was in possession of a document which might assist him in discovering Dargental's murderer."

"It seems to me that you did tell me something of the kind," said Caumont.

"Well, the document in question was in reality a small memorandum-book. Dargental, as you know, was an inveterate gambler, but he was also a very methodical man, and so whenever he won or lost any money or made a purchase – such as a lottery ticket, he made a note of the number in this book. He carried several lottery tickets about with him in the pocket-book which the murderer stole from him, and this was recorded in his memorandum-book. So Robergeot said to himself: 'If by any extraordinary chance one of the tickets enumerated in this list should win a prize, the murderer will perhaps be foolish enough to claim the money.' Well, this is exactly what has happened. Ticket No. 115,815, which headed Dargental's list, won a prize of a hundred thousand francs at the last drawing of the lottery of the Decorative Art Society; so Robergeot immediately despatched a commissary of police and two detectives to the lottery office with orders to arrest the holder of the ticket, if he ventured to present himself. He did present himself yesterday morning – and in the person of our friend Adhémar de Puymirol."

"Puymirol!" exclaimed George, "it's impossible!"

"This much, at least, is certain: Puymirol has been in prison for nearly two days now."

"And you haven't told your friend, the magistrate, that Puymirol could not possibly be Dargental's murderer? You know we were breakfasting with him at the very time when the crime was committed."

"Robergeot knows that, but the fact that the missing tickets were in Puymirol's possession can not be disputed. This attempt at fraud on his part surprises you, I see, as much as it does me," continued Balmer; "but I account for it by the fact that Puymirol was most desperately hard up. He owed ten thousand francs at the club, to my certain knowledge, and hadn't a penny to meet his obligations with. He must have lost his senses in consequence, besides, he couldn't know that the authorities had a list of Dargental's tickets, and that the police were lying in wait for him at the lottery office. As regards that matter I can almost excuse him, for, after all, he injured no one as Dargental was dead; and a man whose past life has always been blameless may be forgiven for a momentary weakness. Indeed, if this were the only charge against him, the matter could be hushed up, but there is the murder – "

"But no one can really believe him guilty of that. An incontestable alibi can be established."

"Yes; but it is also necessary to prove that Puymirol had no knowledge of the murder. Now, everything seems to indicate that he was aware of it. If not, how did he come into possession of that pocket-book containing the tickets?"

An answer rose to George's lips. He merely had to relate the adventure on the Place du Carrousel to explain the mystery, but the fear of contradicting some of Puymirol's statements deterred him; besides, he did not care to tell the story to an erratic person like Balmer. He must relate it to the investigating magistrate if there were no other means of saving Puymirol. However, realizing that he, first of all, needed further information, he asked: "How does Puymirol explain the fact that these tickets were in his possession?"

"He pretends that he found them in a cab."

"Then he denies having seen anything of the pocket-book?"

"Absolutely; he was searched and it wasn't found on his person; but the strangest thing about it all is that he says he found the tickets on the very day of Dargental's death, and in the cab that took him to the Lion d'Or. He did not notice the number of the vehicle, and he declares he was alone; but it seems to me that you both arrived at the restaurant at the same time."

"It doesn't follow that I drove there with him," replied George, evasively.

"You can tell that to Robergeot, for he will certainly question you. I am surprised that he has not sent for you before now. They are looking for the cab-driver, and will surely find him sooner or later. As for the pocket-book, Robergeot thought that Puymirol might have left it at home, so he ordered his rooms to be searched this morning. I am surprised that you are ignorant of that point, as you both reside in the same house."

"I left home very early. But did the officers find anything suspicious?"

"I don't know yet, but I shall soon; that is, if my friend Robergeot does not begin to distrust me now that things are looking so badly for Puymirol. He knows that we are both well acquainted with him, you especially, and between ourselves, I should not be surprised if your rooms were searched as well, for Robergeot may suspect Puymirol of having concealed the pocket-book there."

"Not with my knowledge and consent," said George.

"Oh! even if Puymirol were guilty, he wouldn't have made you his confidant, of course. Still, if I were in your place, I would find out what occurred in the Rue de Medicis at once, that is, unless you will come and lunch with me."

"No, thank you," replied George. "I shall take your advice, and return home without delay; but I rely upon your assistance in getting Puymirol out of this scrape."

"I will do what I can, but it won't be much I'm afraid; you, on the contrary, may perhaps be able to give evidence which will lead to his speedy release."

"You can at least ask your friend, Monsieur Robergeot, to grant me permission to see Puymirol at the dépôt."

"I will do so, of course; but I doubt if he will consent. But there is nothing to prevent you from calling on him in person if you like. He is at his office every afternoon."

"Is the affair known at the club?"

"Not in all its details, but a rumour of Puymirol's arrest has got about, and as his debts remain unpaid, you have no time to lose if you care to prevent a scandal. If you want to see me again I shall be at the club, between four and seven."

Springing upon his horse, George then galloped off, leaving Balmer to finish his absinthe. Ten minutes later, he left his steed at Tattersall's, and jumping into a cab, ordered the jehu to drive him with all speed to the Rue de Medicis. He took the precaution to alight at some distance from his door, however, so as not to attract the attention of the police, if they should still be about, but he soon had the satisfaction of finding that the crowd had dispersed, and that the vehicles which had brought the officers were no longer there. On entering the house, he went straight to the doorkeeper, who on seeing him, exclaimed: "Ah, sir, what an unfortunate affair! You had no sooner gone out this morning than a magistrate, accompanied by a number of policemen, came here with Monsieur de Puymirol, who was under arrest."

"Puymirol! arrested!" cried George, feigning surprise. "This is incredible! What charge can there be against him?"

"I don't know, sir," replied the porter. "I tried to talk with the policemen who stood on guard in the street, but they wouldn't give me any information."

"But why did they bring Puymirol here?"

"So that he might be present when his apartments were searched, I suppose. They entered his rooms with him, and they rummaged about everywhere, even in the mattresses. I don't know what they were looking for, but I do know that they found nothing, and that they seemed terribly disappointed."

"How did Puymirol look while they searched his place?"

"He looked as if he were saying: 'Amuse yourself; break open the locks, and empty the drawers. You will only have your labour for your pains.' He scarcely deigned to give them an answer when they spoke to him."

"He must be the victim of some mistake. He is quite incapable of any crime."

"That is exactly what I said to the commissary of police, when he asked me for information about your friend."

"Did he say anything about me?" inquired George, eagerly.

"No; your name was not mentioned. He did not even seem to be aware of your existence. If I might venture to give you a little advice, sir, you had better not mix yourself up in this affair. Your friend will get out of the scrape without any assistance; and I have an idea that he prefers to do so; for if he had wanted your help, he would have inquired where you were, or have asked to see you."

This was not a bad argument; at least, it furnished George with abundant food for reflection. On reaching his rooms, he found them exactly as he had left them. He hastened to the desk in which he had locked up the letters. They were still there, and in his perplexity his first idea was to annihilate them. Indeed, he actually lighted a candle with that object. On reflection, however, it occurred to him that although the discovery of these letters, if his – Caumont's – rooms were searched, might aggravate Puymirol's situation, they might also be the means of saving him, by forcing him to tell the truth, instead of maintaining a dangerous silence out of consideration for the Countess de Lescombat, whose reputation was hardly worth defending. Would it not be better to take them to the magistrate? But in that case, both Madame de Lescombat and Blanche Pornic would be mixed up in the affair; and although George cared but little as to what befell the countess, he could not forget that Albert, his prospective brother-in-law, was the actress's admirer, and that he would certainly take her defence. The young officer was indeed so impetuous that he might fight the police agents sent to arrest her, and get himself lodged in jail! And what a blow that would be for Gabrielle. At last in his perplexity, George thought of a plan which seemed tolerably feasible. He resolved to go and see Blanche Pornic. As Albert was to lunch with his mother and sister, there was no fear of meeting him in the Avenue de Messine. "I shall question her, and question her closely," said Caumont to himself. "It will depend entirely upon her answers whether I return her letter to her, or hand it over to the investigating magistrate. At all events I must see that official to-day. The straight road is always the shortest and safest." Thereupon putting the letters in his pocket, George started off upon his campaign.

VII

Blanche Pornic occupied a handsome suite of rooms on the first floor of a stylish house in the Avenue de Messine, and when George arrived there he found her reclining upon a divan, studying a part in a new play in which she was shortly to perform. "So you have come to see me at last!" she exclaimed. "You have done wisely, for I had about made up my mind to pay you a visit, even at the risk of meeting your friend Puymirol, who can't bear the sight of me. Take a seat here, near me," she continued, "I have a host of things to tell you. I know now that the charming young girl, who engrossed your attention the other day at the horse-show, is Albert's sister, and I suppose she has introduced you to her brother."

"Never mind all that," said George, somewhat harshly. "I have come to talk with you about Dargental's death. Do you know who is accused of the murder?"

"His valet, I heard. But that's absurd unless, indeed, the fellow were in the pay of that Madame de Lescombat."

"What! you think it was she who – "

"I haven't the slightest doubt of it. I told you so the other day, you recollect?"

"Upon what is this opinion based?"

"Upon something I have seen, a letter of hers which Dargental himself showed me one day after a quarrel he had with this woman. I'm sure too that he kept it."

"What were its contents?"

"Oh! it alluded to a secret which she had confided to him. She had poisoned her husband, I fancy, and feared that Dargental would denounce her. It was only from fear that she consented to marry him, for though she was crazy about him at first, she finally hated him. And so to escape becoming his wife, she had him murdered, I'm sure of it."

"By whom, pray?"

"By some scoundrel who was no doubt instructed to secure the letter, as Dargental's pocket-book is missing."

"Haven't you yourself ever written to Dargental?"

"Oh! yes I have. A hundred times, as I have already told you. I even confessed to you that he had in his possession a letter which I had often begged him to return to me, and which he had promised to give me during the lunch at the Lion d'Or."

"And did this note contain anything of a compromising nature?"

"Decidedly. For I acknowledged in it that I had committed – well, a crime to do him a service."

"And if this avowal should fall into the hands of an investigating magistrate, what then?"

"He would naturally suppose that I instigated Dargental's murder. It might cause me a great deal of trouble, still I think I should succeed in proving my innocence. As for the matter to which I was stupid enough to allude in the letter, would you like to know what it was?" George had not expected to hear Blanche talk in this strain, but he was all ears. "I am not trying to make myself out any better than I really am," she continued, "and I frankly admit that I am capable of almost anything when I am in love with any one; but what I did was simply this. One day Dargental, whom I was then dreadfully in love with, came to me in a state of mind bordering on frenzy. He had just lost forty thousand francs, and he had not a penny left to meet his obligations. This meant expulsion from his club, and utter ruin, for he lived by play. At any other time, I would have given him a cheque upon my banker, as I had often done before, but this happened just after the crash of two years ago, when I feared that I myself was ruined, and a rascally picture dealer had just attached some twenty thousand francs I had in the bank. However, Dargental absolutely needed the money, and I did not know which way to turn. To be sure, I might have asked old Prince Sourine for it – he was an ardent admirer of mine, and worth his millions – but he was furiously angry with me because I had preferred Pierre to him. His signature was good for any amount, and I had numerous specimens of it in my desk, for he was in the habit of writing me the most grandiloquent epistles. Well, Dargental finally proposed that I should forge the prince's signature upon a note which he was sure of being able to discount with this indorsement."

"And you consented?" asked George in amazement.

"I would have done even worse, had he asked me. As it was, I forged the name of Alexis Ivanovitch, Prince Sourine, on the back of the note. Dargental obtained fifty thousand francs by it, and the money brought him good luck. He won immense sums at baccarat shortly afterwards, and was able to take up the note before it became due. But he did not return it to me. He probably wished to retain it as a weapon against me, in case I ever quarrelled with him. However, I finally discovered that he was playing me false with that Madame de Lescombat, so one morning I paid him a visit, and compelled him to burn the note in my presence. But I was fool enough at the time not to ask for the letter in which I had alluded to this affair. When I did remember it, I urged him to return it to me. Did he really intend to give it to me at the Lion d'Or as he promised? I doubt it. At all events, death prevented him from doing so, and I suppose it is locked up somewhere with that note he showed me from Madame de Lescombat, and it would not surprise me to hear that both of them had been found."

"And what if Albert should hear this story?" asked George.

"You surely do not think of telling him!" cried Blanche. "That would be mean. But now I understand. You have my letter, and you have come to sell it to me. How much do you want for it?"

George started up, pale with anger. "Do you take me for Dargental?" he asked, sternly. "You have associated so much with scoundrels of his stamp, that you think all men are like him. I will convince you to the contrary, and you shall bitterly repent having insulted me in this manner."

"Forgive me," replied Blanche. "I care so much for Albert that the fear of losing him upsets me completely. You mustn't tell him about my former infatuation for this unscrupulous man, and that I committed a forgery to save him. I confessed my crime, if crime it be, to you, because I trusted in your honour."

"I did not ask you to do so," said George, quickly.

"That is true. I was imprudent enough to accuse myself, still, I am sure that you won't betray my confidence. If you have my letter, take it to the investigating magistrate, if you like, but not one word to Albert, pray."

"It will be my duty to enlighten him."

"Because you expect to be his brother-in-law? Oh, don't deny it. Mademoiselle Verdon would not have walked about with you, without her mother, if the marriage was not decided upon. But is that any reason for blighting my hopes? I, also, might say things against you – tell Albert that your friend Puymirol isn't much better than Dargental, and that your intimacy with him has got you into no end of scrapes. But I have no idea of doing so. You have never injured me, why should I try to injure you?"

"So be it," said George, who realised the danger of making an enemy of Mademoiselle Pornic; "I will be silent so far as Albert is concerned, but I must reserve my right to act, as I see fit, with other people."

"In other words, you reserve the right to denounce me if you like. That amounts to the same thing. If I were arrested, even temporarily, Albert would be sure to hear of it. What object can you possibly have in ruining me?"

"None, but I can not allow an innocent person to be condemned. The truth is, my friend Puymirol is accused of the crime, he is under arrest, and I can't abandon him."

"No, certainly not, but it will be easy to prove his innocence, and I will help you. I will testify that he was lunching with us when Dargental was killed. The magistrate is aware of this, however, and I don't see how any suspicion can possibly attach to Puymirol. If there must be a victim, why don't you mention the Countess de Lescombat to the magistrate? She, alone, was interested in having Dargental put out of the way."