The Red Lottery Ticket

These words had scarcely passed Blanche's lips, when her maid entered the room. "Excuse me, madame," she said, "but there is a lady here who insists upon seeing you – the Countess de Lescombat she calls herself."

Blanche and George were both overcome with astonishment. The former hesitated. Her first impulse was to close her doors in the face of the woman whom she so bitterly hated, but she changed her mind. "Show her in," she cried to her maid, who instantly turned to obey the order.

"I had better go," remarked George.

"No, no," replied Blanche. "It is just because you are here that I consent to see her. I want you to hear what she says, for I am satisfied that she has come here about the letters. Go in there, and don't come out until I call you." As she spoke, she pushed George into an adjoining boudoir, the entrance of which was screened by a heavy hanging of silken fabric. George let her do so; the curtain fell; and he considered that he had a perfect right to remain thus concealed, and listen to the conversation which was now about to take place. It was, indeed, needful he should know what part these women had really played in an affair which was costing his friend Puymirol so dear. Presently he heard Blanche ask, in a soft voice: "To what am I indebted for the honour of your visit?"

"Can't you guess?" replied Madame de Lescombat, in a quiet tone, at once steady and well modulated.

"No," replied Blanche, curtly, "though I understand very well that your coming must be due to some pressing need of my assistance."

"I require no one's assistance, I assure you. I have simply an explanation to ask of you."

"It must be of a decidedly dangerous nature, for you to take the trouble to come here in person."

"I am in the habit of attending personally to all matters of a personal nature."

"You are quite right, madame. It is always dangerous to write."

There was a pause, and the two rivals exchanged anything but friendly glances. Blanche had somewhat the advantage, however, for she was at home, and the countess, who had called, must speak the first. "We need not waste any more time on preliminaries," she said, quietly. "I came to speak of Pierre Dargental, I admit it. That man betrayed us both, and he has been justly punished. A man cannot trifle with a woman's honour during years with impunity. Chastisement comes sooner or later. Still, I foresee certain misfortunes which may result from his death."

"I do not understand you," replied Blanche, coldly.

"You think I came here as an enemy," resumed the countess. "What would you say if I told you that Dargental once boasted to me of possessing a letter from you, which he had only to show to have you sent before the assizes?"

"The assizes!" repeated Blanche, scornfully. "Pierre made such a boast as that! If he had sent me there, he would have been obliged to accompany me."

"He is beyond the reach of justice now, for he is dead," replied Madame de Lescombat, "but you are still alive."

"This time, I understand. Why do you use all this circumlocution to tell me that he had the cowardice to show and give you the letter you speak of?"

"And if that were true?"

"I no more fear you than I feared him. He could not denounce me without ruining himself, for what I did was done to save him, and he alone profited by it. With you, madame, the case is very different. If you venture to send my letter to the public prosecutor I shall send him yours."

"Mine!" exclaimed the countess.

"Yes, madame, you cannot have forgotten that you once sent Pierre an impassioned missive in which you spoke of a terrible secret you had confided to him. You placed yourself at his mercy to prove your love."

"And this letter is in your possession?"

"Why shouldn't Pierre have taken the same precautions against you as he took against me? It was not so easy to subjugate me as you, however, for I was in a position to defend myself if he had ventured to attack me."

"I also can defend myself," murmured Madame de Lescombat.

"I hope you will not be reduced to that extremity. Now, let us speak plainly. You did not come here out of kindness of heart to offer to restore me my letter; but I will tell you why you did come. You knew that Pierre had your letter, and you anxiously asked yourself if he might not have entrusted it to me. Well, your ruse has proved successful. You know what to think now. What do you propose?"

"I think we ought to come to an understanding."

"I think so, too," replied Blanche. "We have nothing to gain by war, so let us conclude a treaty of peace. We can exchange letters. Give me mine, and I'll give you yours."

"I haven't yours about me," murmured the countess, visibly embarrassed.

"I am surprised that you left it at home. When a person goes to battle she ought not to forget her weapons."

"I had no idea that our conversation would take such a turn."

"Well, as soon as I saw you come in, I guessed the object of your visit; but, as you are not in a position to carry out your part of the compact, we had better let the subject drop."

"You seem to have no confidence in me. Well, as you refuse to give me my letter until I have returned you yours, why not accompany me home? My carriage is at the door. Take my letter, and come with me. The exchange shall take place in my bedroom. Your letter is locked up in my desk there."

"I am greatly obliged to you for your kind offer, but it is impossible for me to leave the house just now. I am expecting a visit."

"Then name some hour at which it will suit you to come and I will remain at home."

"I shall not be at liberty to-day or to-morrow either, and as your carriage is at the door, it would be better for you to go home and fetch the letter."

"Confess that you refuse to accompany me, merely because you are afraid."

"I do confess it," replied Blanche, calmly. "You have a crowd of servants who would not hesitate to take the letter from me by force if you ordered them to do so. To whom could I complain afterwards? The police would laugh in my face, if I ventured to demand redress. No, I shall not be foolish enough to place myself at your mercy."

"Nor will I place myself at your mercy."

"The cases are not the same by any means. This house doesn't belong to me. I am not its only occupant, and my servants are worthy people who would not dare to lay violent hands upon you, a countess. A fine countess, indeed! Octavia Crochard, who used to perform at fairs! Ah! if that were all she ever did! I didn't poison my husband! I did not hire a rascal to murder my lover!"

"What! you have the audacity to accuse me of Dargental's death?"

"I do, and if you persist in holding your head so high, I shall go to the investigating magistrate and tell him so."

"You would make a great mistake, my dear. The murderer has already been discovered – a Monsieur de Puymirol."

"That is absurd! We all know that Puymirol is innocent. The police have made a mistake, that's all; and they would soon realise it if I told the magistrate your story. I should repeat to him the terms of your letter which Pierre showed to me, and which I know by heart. I would even repeat the terms of mine, and confess what I did for Dargental's sake. We should see, then, which of us was in the worst scrape. Take my advice, and don't try and put the blame on Puymirol. He has never been my lover, but he is the intimate friend of my lover's brother-in-law, and if you try to injure him, I swear that you shall repent of it, countess though you are."

George listened to all this with great uneasiness. Madame de Lescombat had just revealed the fact that she was aware of Puymirol's arrest, and that she was inclined to cast upon him the suspicion which she feared might fall upon herself. He was grateful to Blanche for defending Adhémar, and felt a strong desire to interfere, and frighten the countess into strict neutrality. He had the means of doing so in his pocket, as he was the custodian of the letters about which the two rivals were taunting each other. Still he had a lingering fear, that, if he made use of these weapons, they might somehow be turned against Puymirol.

"And now that I see your game," resumed Blanche to the countess, "I shall just prevent it. As soon as you leave the house you mean to go straight to the investigating magistrate and fill his ears with the vilest slander against Puymirol and against me. You shall do nothing of the kind. Before you leave this room you shall write the confession I mean to dictate to you."

"You must be mad!" cried Madame de Lescombat.

"I am nothing of the kind. I am in my own house, and if you refuse to obey me, I shall send word to the commissary of police, and inform him that two old friends of Dargental's have some important revelations to make to him about the murder on the Boulevard Haussmann. He will come and find you here. You may rest assured of that."

"You wretch! do you mean to ruin me?" cried Madame de Lescombat, in consternation.

"Oh! you are not quite so arrogant now. You are afraid of being sent to prison. Ah, well, just state in writing that you came here to entreat me to return you a letter which was written by you to Dargental, and which deeply compromised you."

"No," said the countess, regaining courage. "I will not write a single line. Send for all the commissaries in Paris, and tell them whatever you please. No one will believe you."

"You are very much mistaken. My assertions may not have much weight, but I will produce a witness to support them."

"A witness! what do you mean?" exclaimed Madame de Lescombat, turning perceptibly paler.

Blanche, instead of replying, hastened to the silken curtain, dashed it aside, caught hold of George by the arm, and dragged him into the presence of the now terrified visitor. George was greatly disturbed, for he had not expected this, and did not know what he should say to the countess. He must be careful, at any rate, for an imprudent word might ruin Puymirol. "Who are you, sir?" asked Madame de Lescombat, when she had partially recovered from her alarm.

"I am Adhémar de Puymirol's most intimate friend, madame."

"Then you are George Caumont. I have often heard you spoken of, but I never supposed that I should find you here, playing the part of a spy."

"I am no spy, madame. It was against my will that I entered that boudoir, and that I listened to your conversation, but now I don't regret having listened."

"You have the courage of your opinions, I see. Well, have the frankness to tell me what use you intend to make of the information you have thus obtained."

"I shall govern my conduct by yours, madame," replied George, looking searchingly at the countess. "If you dare to accuse my friend of a crime he has not committed, I shall accuse you."

"Oh! I merely mentioned that Monsieur de Puymirol had been arrested because I was told so; but as for bothering myself about his affairs, I take no interest in him whatever."

"Then, why did you ask him to go and see you after the show at the Palais de l'Industrie? He went to your house, I know, and until I learn what passed between you two, I have a right to suppose that he has been compromised through your fault."

"Suppose whatever you like, but allow me to leave this house, unless you mean to assist this person in detaining me here by force."

"That is not my intention, but I think she does right to exact guarantee from you."

"I have no idea of writing anything at her dictation, for I scorn her threats, and I defy you to go and tell a magistrate that you listened at the door, or to repeat the conversation you just heard. Assertions are not facts. As for that letter, if it were in mademoiselle's possession, she would have used it against me long ago. If she has it, let her show it. She boasted to several people about having it; but, plainly enough, it was mere brag."

Madame de Lescombat's blow told this time; for Blanche was utterly unable to produce the famous letter. "I boasted about having seen it!" she replied. "Why, where can you have obtained your information? I have never mentioned your letter to anyone excepting Monsieur Caumont, here."

"It was Monsieur de Puymirol who informed me," said the countess.

"Puymirol!" exclaimed George. "That is false!"

"You might be a trifle less rude, sir," responded Madame de Lescombat, coldly. "Your friend came to my house after the horse show. He alluded to his financial worries – which were no news to me, however – and spoke at some length of Pierre Dargental's tragic death. He gave me to understand that I might find myself seriously compromised, but that it was in his power to save me from any serious trouble. I had no fears of that, however, so I declined his offers, but his manner was so strange and his language so embarrassed, that it occurred to me, that he, himself, was afraid of being compromised, and that he was trying to make me share the responsibility of his own conduct. This explains why the news of his arrest did not surprise me very much." George hung his head, for he was afraid that this account of the interview might be true. "This is what I shall tell the magistrate, if he questions me," concluded the countess, with an ironical glance at Blanche. "You, sir, and you, mademoiselle, are at liberty to make use of the weapons you pretend to hold. But your threats don't alarm me, for I know that you have no such weapons at all."

"Are you sure of that?" retorted George. He had already forgotten all his prudent resolutions, and longed to speak his mind freely to this audacious creature. "Your language does not intimidate me, madame," he continued. "You deny that you ever wrote Dargental a letter that might ruin you. Well, I myself have seen that letter, and I am satisfied that if the magistrate saw it, he would immediately issue a warrant for your arrest."

"Was it Monsieur de Puymirol that showed it to you?"

"You have guessed correctly. It was Puymirol. In fact he and I found the pocket-book. Puymirol made a great mistake in trying to profit by one of the lottery tickets it contained, and he has been severely punished for doing so. As for myself, I have made no use of the letters as yet, but I shall, if you force me to do so."

"The letters! There are several, then?"

"There are three."

"Is mine one of them?" asked Blanche, eagerly.

"Yes," was the laconic reply.

"Then, madame here told a falsehood when she said that she had it. I suspected as much," said the actress.

"You also told an untruth," retorted the countess. "And this gentleman doubtless intends to exact hush-money from us."

"I scorn to notice your insults," replied George. "I kept the letters, because I did not know what else to do with them. But now that my friend is compromised, I must take them to the investigating magistrate at once. I shall tell him the whole truth, and though he may blame me, the worst consequences will fall upon the persons who were so deeply interested in regaining possession of their letters. One of them, at least, hasn't shrunk from a crime to recover her property."

"I'm not that one," said Blanche, "and you need no better proof of that, than my earnest approval of your plan, and my wish that you should see the magistrate as soon as possible."

"Do as you please, sir," said the countess, with pretended indifference. "You mean to try and exculpate Monsieur de Puymirol and to inculpate me. I think, however, that you will only aggravate your friend's situation, for this story of the finding and keeping of the pocket-book does not redound to his credit or to yours. Besides, a magistrate won't accuse a person of my rank merely because a letter of hers is shown to him at the same time as letters from other women of greatly inferior position. If the magistrate suspects any one, it will be mademoiselle here, or else the writer of the third letter; that is, unless the three correspondents are only an invention – I shall only believe your story when I have proof of it."

"I will furnish proof," cried George, yielding to a sudden impulse, and as he spoke he drew the letters from his pocket, and spread them out in his hand in the form of a fan. "Do you recognise yours?" he said to the countess.

Madame de Lescombat turned pale, but made no reply. "I recognise mine," answered Blanche, promptly. "It is the one on the right. Madame's is the one to the left. Dargental once showed it to me, and the handwriting is not of a kind that one is likely to forget."

At this moment the door of the room opened and Albert Verdon swept in like a whirlwind. "George!" he exclaimed, in astonishment. "Well, well, I am delighted to see you! But what the deuce are you doing? Are you playing cards with Blanche?"

At sight of a stranger, the countess lowered her veil, and turned towards the door. As she did so, Albert perceived her, and hastily doffing his hat, stammered: "Excuse me, madame. But I thought Blanche was alone with this gentleman, who is my friend, and who will soon be my brother-in-law."

The countess gave him a keen glance and reflected: "So this young fellow is this girl's lover, and Caumont is about to marry his sister. I am saved. Caumont won't dare to hand the letters to a magistrate." Then, instead of replying to Albert's apology, she bowed to the entire company, and left the room. Blanche responded by a gesture that signified "Good riddance," while George remained so entirely taken by surprise, that he lacked the presence of mind to conceal the letters which the young officer had mistaken for playing-cards. "Well, well," said Albert, "why do you all look so strange? Who was that lady dressed in black? You seemed to be acting a tragedy, together."

"You are about right," said Blanche, gaily. "You have just seen the Countess de Lescombat."

"The lady to whom you wished to send me as envoy extraordinary? And she has paid you a visit? Have you signed a treaty of peace?"

"Oh, no; didn't you notice that she went off in a huff?"

"That's true. She looked furious; but you spoke the other day of a letter she refused to return to you. Did she bring it back to you to-day?"

"On the contrary, she came to ask me to return a letter of hers. But don't try to solve the mystery. You will not succeed."

"But I must. If you won't tell me anything, I shall apply to George."

"Oh! he's free to tell you what he likes," rejoined Blanche.

George being thus referred to, felt that he could not remain silent, and so, with the best grace he could muster, he began: "You have a right to know the whole truth, my dear Albert. You recollect that I spoke to you yesterday, and again this morning, about my friend Puymirol, and the anxiety his prolonged absence caused me? Well, he has been arrested on the charge of murdering that Monsieur Dargental, who, as you already know, was formerly one of Blanche's admirers."

"Indeed! arrested!" exclaimed Albert. "How can that be? How can suspicion have fallen on him?"

"Listen to me," said George. "I will explain everything;" and thereupon he gave Albert a substantial account of all he knew; the dropping of the pocket-book into the cab; the lunch at the Lion d'Or; the finding of Dargental's dead body; Puymirol's determination to discover the writers of the letters contained in the pocket-book; his subsequent disappearance, his attempt to cash a winning lottery ticket, his arrest, and the search made in the Rue de Medicis. "It was very foolish on Puymirol's part," he added, "for him to conceive the idea of conducting an investigation instead of reporting the facts to the authorities; but it was in vain that I represented to him that he would place himself in a very dangerous position. He first went to the house of the Countess de Lescombat. Ah! I forgot to tell you that one of the letters found in the pocket-book had evidently come from her."

"And was one of the others from Blanche?" asked Albert.

"Yes," replied Mademoiselle Pornic, promptly, "and I will explain it after you have read it. Monsieur Caumont can show it to you."

"Are the letters in your possession?" asked the young officer, looking searchingly at George.

"I have had them for two days past. Puymirol, before calling upon the countess, intrusted them to my keeping, and I have not been able to return them, as I have not seen him since."

"Read my letter," insisted Blanche.

"Are you willing to show it to me?" inquired Albert.

"Perfectly willing," replied George, "and the two others also. Besides, I want your advice in this matter; but it must be given with a full knowledge of all the circumstances. Here are the letters," he added holding them out. "Begin with Mademoiselle Pornic's. The top one won't be interesting to you, as we have no clue to the writer."

"It is very strange," exclaimed the officer, "but I am almost sure that I recognise the handwriting." And at the same time he turned very pale. George looked at him in surprise, and was suddenly seized with the idea that the third missive must have been written by some one closely connected with his future brother-in-law. Accordingly he hastily slipped it between the others, and lowered his hand. He had not been mistaken, for Albert, in a voice husky with emotion, resumed: "I am wrong of course, but give me the letter. I should like to examine it more closely. Why do you hesitate? You must know who wrote it?"

"No! I swear I don't."

"Then show it to me. I have good eyes, and I saw it only too well. I can't remain in this cruel suspense. Give me the letter, I tell you."

George turned pale in his turn. He felt that matters were becoming serious, and he asked himself anxiously how he could get out of the scrape. "My dear Albert," he said, with an evident effort, "you must see that you are placing me in a very embarrassing position. Give me, at least, an explanation that will relieve me of any responsibility. Convince me that you have some serious reason for reading that letter."

"It is so serious that if you refuse to give it me, I will have no further connection with you."

"But whom do you suppose the writer to be?"

"I won't answer you – I can't."

"Then you must excuse me from yielding to a whim which you don't even take the trouble to justify. You threaten to withdraw your friendship, well, I appeal to your reason. If need be, I will leave the matter to umpires of your own selection."

"I cannot explain here."

"That means you distrust me," exclaimed Blanche. "Ah, well, my friend, don't let me stand in your way. I will leave you alone with Monsieur Caumont, and you can talk without fear of being overheard. There is no one in the adjoining boudoir, and I will go to my dressing room, at the other end of the flat."

George and the young lieutenant were left standing face to face, equally agitated and embarrassed. "You promised to show me that letter if I would name the writer," finally said the officer in a hoarse voice.

"But how can you do that? You scarcely saw the letter, and all feminine handwriting is more or less alike."

"This is so familiar, that I cannot possibly be mistaken. It is as well known to me as my sister's."

"Pray don't speak of your sister in connection with this matter," said George entreatingly.

"Would you rather I spoke of my mother?"

"Your mother! What do you mean?"

"She wrote that letter. I am certain of it."

"Impossible! You must be mistaken."

"I should recognise the hand among a thousand."

"You forget that the writer of this missive instigated Dargental's murder," insisted George, imprudently, "for it seems almost certain that she was the guilty party, since it was neither Blanche nor the Countess de Lescombat; and how can you think Madame Verdon capable of such a crime? You never met Dargental. You never even heard of him prior to your arrival in Paris."

"I have not lived with my mother since I was a child."

"But your sister has never left her, and she only heard of Dargental through the papers. Your mother obtained her information about his death from the same source, and it did not affect her in the least."

"How do you know?"

"We at least know that Madame Verdon is preparing for her approaching marriage. Besides, where could she have found a scoundrel willing to risk his life for her sake, in order to kill Dargental?"

"Rochas is capable of any crime," said Albert. George hung his head. He had not been prepared for this reply, and he felt the horror of the situation more keenly than ever. "I am grateful to you for defending her," continued the young officer, gravely, "but I entreat you not to leave me in this cruel uncertainty. Show me the letter."