The Blackmailers: Dossier No. 113

She dared not finish her sentence, for it suddenly occurred to her that if he were a thief it would be for her. But after a few seconds’ reflection her doubts disappeared.

‘No,’ she cried, ‘Prosper has never stolen a half-penny for me. A cashier might steal for the woman he loved, but Prosper does not love me and has never done so.’

‘Beautiful lady,’ protested the polite Fanferlot, ‘you don’t mean that.’

‘I do,’ she replied with tears in her eyes, ‘and it is true. He humours my fancies, but that proves nothing. I am nothing in his life—hardly an accident.’

‘But why—?’

‘Yes,’ Madame Gypsy interrupted, ‘why? You will be clever if you can tell me. I have tried to find out for a year. It is impossible to read the heart of a man who is so far master of himself that what is passing in his heart never mounts to his eyes. People think he is weak, but they are mistaken. This man with blonde hair is like a bar of steel painted like a reed.’

Carried away by the violence of her sentiments, Madame Nina was laying bare her heart to this man whom she believed was a friend of Prosper’s, while the detective was complimenting himself upon his skill in obtaining all this valuable information.

‘It has been said,’ he suggested, ‘that M. Bertomy is a great gambler.’

Madame Gypsy shrugged her shoulders.

‘Yes, that is true,’ she replied. ‘I have seen him win or lose considerable sums without a tremor, but he is not a gambler. He gambles in the same way that he sups and gets drunk—without passion and pleasure, but with a profound indifference which sometimes seems to me almost like despair. Nothing will ever remove the idea from my mind that he has a terrible secret in his life.’

‘Has he never spoken to you of the past?’

‘Did you not hear me tell you that he did not love me?’

Madame Nina began to weep, but after a few minutes her generous impulses told her that it was no time for despair.

‘But I love him,’ she cried, ‘and I must save him. I will speak to his employer and the judges, and before the day is over he will be free, or I shall be prisoner with him.’

This plan, though dictated by the most noble motives, did not meet with the detective’s approval, for he did not propose that the lady should appear till what he considered to be the proper moment. He therefore set to work to calm her and show the weakness of her plan.

‘What will you gain, dear lady?’ he said; ‘you have no chance of success and may be seriously compromised and treated as an accomplice.’

‘What does the danger matter?’ she cried. ‘I don’t think there is any; but if it exists, so much the better: it will give a little merit to a natural effort. I am sure Prosper is innocent, but if by any possible chance he is guilty, I wish to share his punishment.’

Madame Gypsy put on her hat and called upon Fanferlot to accompany her. But he had still several strings to his bow. As personal considerations had no weight with this lady he decided to introduce as an argument Prosper’s own interests.

‘I am ready, lady,’ he replied; ‘let us go. Only, while there is still time, let me tell you we shall probably do M. Bertomy more harm than good by taking a step he did not anticipate when he wrote to you.’

‘Some people,’ the young woman answered, ‘have to be rescued against their will. I know Prosper; he is the man to allow himself to be killed without a struggle—’

‘Excuse me, dear madame,’ the detective interrupted, ‘M. Bertomy does not seem to me that kind of man. I believe he has already fixed upon his line of defence, and perhaps by showing yourself at the wrong time you will destroy his most certain way of justifying himself.’

Madame Gypsy delayed her answer to consider Fanferlot’s objections.

‘But I cannot,’ she said, ‘remain inactive without trying to contribute to his safety.’

The detective, feeling that he had gained his point, said:

‘You have a simple way to serve the man you love, and that is to obey him; that is your sacred duty.’

She hesitated, so he picked up Prosper’s letter from the table and continued:

‘M. Bertomy when he is just about to be arrested writes to you and tells you to go away and hide, if you love him, and yet you hesitate. He has reasons for saying so you may be sure.’

M. Fanferlot had himself guessed the reason as soon as he entered the room, but he was keeping that in reserve.

Madame Gypsy was intelligent enough also to divine the reason.

‘Reasons!’ she began; ‘perhaps Prosper wished our liaison to remain a secret! No. I understand now. My presence here would be a serious charge against him. They would ask how he could give me all these things, and where he obtained the money to do so.’

The detective bowed his head in assent.

‘Then I must fly at once! Perhaps the police know already and will be here directly.’

‘Oh,’ Fanferlot said, ‘there is plenty of time.’

She rushed out of the room, calling her servants, and told them to put everything into her boxes as quickly as possible. She herself set the example. Suddenly an idea struck her and she went back to Fanferlot.

‘Everything is ready,’ she said, ‘but where am I to go?’

‘M. Bertomy said furnished rooms at the other end of Paris.’

‘But I do not know any.’

The detective seemed to reflect for a moment, and then, making every effort to conceal his joy at the idea, said:

‘I know a hotel where with an introduction from me you would be treated like a little queen, though it is not so luxurious as here.’

‘Where is it?’

‘On the other side of the water, the Hôtel du Grand-Archange, Quai Saint-Michel, kept by Madame Alexandré.

Nina never took long to make up her mind.

‘Here is the ink,’ she said, ‘write the introduction.’

He had finished in a moment.

‘With these three lines, lady,’ he said, ‘you will be well looked after.’

‘Very well! Now I must let Cavaillon know my address. He should have brought the letter—’

‘He could not come,’ the detective interrupted, ‘but I am going to see him and will let him know your address.

Madame Gypsy was about to send for a carriage, when Fanferlot volunteered to procure one for her. He stopped one as it was passing and instructed the driver to wait for a little dark lady, and if she ordered him to drive to the Quai Saint-Michel he was to crack his whip; but if she gave him any other address he was to get down from his box as if to put one of the traces right.

The detective crossed the road, entered a wine-shop opposite, and a minute afterwards the loud cracking of a whip disturbed the quiet street. Madame Nina had gone to the Grand-Archange.

The detective rubbed his hands with glee.

CHAPTER IV

WHILE Madame Nina Gypsy was on her way to the Grand-Archange, Prosper Bertomy was at the police station.

He was kept waiting there for two hours, during which time he talked to the two policemen in whose charge he was. His expression never varied, his face was like marble. At midday he sent for lunch from a neighbouring restaurant, ate it with a good appetite, and drank almost a whole bottle of wine.

During this time ten other officers at least came to look at him, and they all expressed their views in similar terms. They said:

‘He is a stubborn fellow.’

When he was told that a carriage was waiting, he got up quickly, asked permission to light a cigar, and went downstairs. At the door he bought a buttonhole from a flower girl who wished him good luck.

He thanked her and got into the carriage which drove along the Rue Montmartre.

It was a lovely day, and he remarked to his guardians:

‘It is very strange, but I never felt so much like a walk before.’

One of them replied, ‘I can quite believe that.’

At the clerk’s office, while the entries were being made in the gaol book, Prosper answered the questions with disdainful hauteur. But when he was told to empty his pockets, a gleam of indignation shot from his eyes. He would perhaps have been subjected to further indignities but for the intervention of an oldish man of distinguished appearance, wearing a white necktie and gold-rimmed spectacles, who was warming himself at a stove and appeared quite at home. This was a noted member of the detective force, M. Lecoq, whose eyes had been intently fixed upon the cashier, and who had displayed considerable surprise at his entrance.

After the usual formalities had been completed the cashier was removed to a cell, where as soon as he was alone he burst into tears. His pent-up anger got beyond control; he shouted, cursed, blasphemed and beat the walls with his fists.

Prosper Bertomy was not what he appeared to be, he had ardent passions and a fiery temperament. One day at the age of twenty-four he was seized with ambition and a desire to be like the rich men he saw around him. He studied the careers of these financiers and discovered that at first they were worse off than he was, but that by energy, intelligence and audacity they had succeeded.

He swore to imitate them, and from that time he silenced his instincts and reformed not his character, but its outward appearance.

His efforts had not been wasted. Those who knew him said he was a coming man. But here he was in prison, and even if he were not guilty he would be marked as a suspected man.

The following morning—he had just gone to sleep after a sleepless night—he was awakened for his examination.

As the warder conducted him, he said:

‘You are fortunate; you have to deal with a good brave man.’

He was right. M. Patrigent possessed in a remarkable degree all the qualities necessary for a magistrate. He was keen, firm, unbiased, neither too lenient nor too severe, but a man of inexhaustible patience. This was the man before whom Prosper had to appear.

After walking a considerable distance the warder and his charge entered a long narrow gallery in which were several numbered doors, each of which admitted to the presence of a magistrate.

‘Here,’ the warder said, ‘your fate will be decided.’

The cashier and his guardian sat down upon an oak bench in the gallery which had already numerous occupants, to wait their turn. Groups of witnesses and gendarmes stood talking in low tones in the gallery, and at short intervals a door opened and an usher called out a name or number.

At last the usher called ‘Prosper Bertomy!’

The cashier on leaving the dark gallery suddenly found himself almost blinded by the light from the window of the courtroom.

The courtroom had nothing striking about it. It contained a large desk at which the magistrate sat with his face in shadow and with the light shining full in the faces of the accused and the witness. On his right was his clerk.

Prosper’s attention was, however, fixed upon the magistrate’s face, and he soon realized that the warder was right, for he had an attractive and reassuring face.

‘Take a chair,’ he said to Prosper, who was favourably impressed by this attention and took it as a good omen.

M. Patrigent made a sign to the clerk and said:

‘We are ready to begin, Sigault.’

Turning to Prosper, he asked:

‘What is your name?’

‘Auguste Prosper Bertomy, sir.’

‘How old are you?’

‘I shall be thirty-five on the fifth of May.’

‘What is your occupation?’

‘I am, or rather I was the cashier at the André Fauvel Bank.’

The magistrate stopped to consult his papers and then asked:

‘Where do you live?’

‘At 39, Rue Chaptal for the last four years. Before that I lived at No. 7, Boulevard des Bategnolles.’

‘Where were you born?’

‘At Beaucaire, in the Department du Gard.’

‘Are your parents alive?’

‘I lost my mother two years ago, but my father is still alive.’

‘Does he live in Paris?’

‘No, sir, he lives at Beaucaire with my sister, who married an engineer of the Midi Canal.’

Prosper replied to the last question in a troubled voice. There are times in a man’s life when the remembrance of his relations consoles him, but there are also times when he wishes to be alone in the world.

M. Patrigent noted his emotion and continued:

‘What is your father’s profession?’

‘He was, sir, employed on the Midi Canal; now he has retired.’

‘You are accused of stealing 350,000 francs from your employer. What have you to say?’

‘I am innocent, sir; I swear I am innocent!’

‘I hope so,’ M. Patrigent said, ‘and you can count on my assistance in proving your innocence. Have you any facts to mention in your defence?’

‘Sir, what can I say? I can only invoke my whole life.’

The magistrate interrupted. ‘Let us be precise; the robbery was committed in such a way that suspicion can only rest upon M. Fauvel and you. Can you throw suspicion on anyone else?’

‘No, sir.’

‘You say you are innocent, so M. Fauvel must be the criminal.’

Prosper made no answer.

‘Have you,’ M. Patrigent insisted, ‘any reason to think your employer robbed himself? Tell me it, however trifling it may be.’

As he made no reply the magistrate said:

‘I see you still need time for reflection. Listen to the reading of your evidence, and after you have signed it you will return to prison.’

The cashier was overwhelmed by these words. He signed the statement without hearing a word of the reading and staggered so on leaving the courtroom that the warder told him to lean upon him and take courage.

His examination was a formality carried out in obedience to the law, which ordered that a prisoner was to be examined within twenty-four hours of his arrest.

Had Prosper remained an hour longer in the gallery, he would have heard the same usher call out ‘number three’.

The witness who was number three was sitting on the bench in the person of M. Fauvel. He was a changed man. His ordinary benevolence had disappeared and he was full of resentment against his cashier.

He had hardly answered the usual questions before he launched out into such recriminations and invectives against Prosper that the magistrate had to silence him.

‘Let us take things in their proper order,’ he said to M. Fauvel, ‘and please confine yourself to answering my questions.

‘Did you doubt your cashier’s honesty?’

‘Certainly not; and yet a thousand reasons might have led me to do so.’

‘What reasons were they?’

‘M. Bertomy, my cashier, gambled and sometimes lost large sums. On one occasion, with one of my clients, he was mixed up in a scandalous gaming affair, which began with a woman and ended with the police.’

‘You must admit, sir,’ the magistrate said, ‘you were ­imprudent, if not culpable, to entrust your cash to such a man.’

‘But, sir,’ M. Fauvel replied, ‘he was not always like it. Till a year ago he was a model. He resided in my house and I believed him to be in love with my niece Madeleine.’

M. Patrigent had a way of knitting his brows when he thought he had made a discovery.

‘Perhaps that was the reason of his departure?’ the magistrate asked.

‘Why,’ the banker replied with a surprised look, ‘I would have willingly given him my niece’s hand, and she is a pretty girl with money.’

‘Then you can see no motive in your cashier’s conduct?’

‘Absolutely none,’ the banker replied, after a little thought. ‘I always thought he was led astray by a young man he knew at that time, M. Raoul de Lagors.’

‘Who is he?’

‘A relative of my wife’s, a charming fellow, but rich enough to pay for his amusement.’

The magistrate did not seem to be listening, he was adding Lagors to his long list of names.

‘Now,’ he resumed, ‘you are sure the robbery was not committed by anyone in your house?’

‘Quite sure, sir.’

‘Your key was never out of your possession?’

‘Very rarely; and when I did not carry it, it was in one of the drawers in my desk.’

‘Where was it on the evening of the robbery?’

‘In my desk.’

‘But then—’

‘Excuse me, sir,’ M. Fauvel interrupted, ‘but may I mention that with a safe like mine the key counts for little. One must know the word at which to set the five movable buttons.’

‘Did you tell anyone the word?’

‘No, sir. Besides, Prosper changed the word when he felt so disposed. He used to tell me and I often forgot.’

‘Had you forgotten it on the day of the robbery?’

‘No; the word was changed the previous evening, and its strangeness struck me.’

‘What was it?’

‘Gypsy. G-y-p-s-y.’ (The banker spelt it.)

This word M. Patrigent also wrote down.

‘One more question, sir,’ he said. ‘Were you at home the evening of the robbery?’

‘No, sir; I dined and spent the evening with a friend. When I returned, about one o’clock, my wife was in bed and I retired at once.’

‘You are not aware of the sum of money in the safe?’

‘No. My orders were that only a small sum should be kept there.’

M. Patrigent was silent. The important fact to him seemed to be that the banker was not aware there was 350,000 francs in the safe, and Prosper exceeded his duty in withdrawing it from the bank. The conclusion seemed obvious.

Seeing that he was not to be asked any more questions, the banker considered it a good opportunity to say what he had on his mind.

‘I consider myself above suspicion,’ he began, ‘but I shall not sleep in peace till the robbery is brought home to my cashier. The sum is quite a fortune, and I shall be glad if you will examine my business affairs and see that I have no object in robbing myself.’

‘That will do, sir,’ the magistrate interposed; ‘sign your statement, please!’

After the banker had gone, the clerk remarked:

‘It is a very obscure affair; if the cashier is firm and clever it will be difficult to convict him, I think.’

‘Perhaps,’ the magistrate replied, ‘but I will examine the other witness.’

Number four witness was Lucien, M. Fauvel’s eldest son. He was a fine fellow of twenty-two, who said he was very fond of Prosper and looked upon him as an honest man.

He said he could offer no explanation as to why Prosper should commit the theft. He was sure he did not gamble as much as people made out and did not live beyond his means.

With regard to his cousin Madeleine he said:

‘I always thought Prosper loved Madeleine and would marry her. I always attributed Prosper’s departure to a quarrel with her, but I felt sure they would make it up.’

Lucien signed his statement and withdrew.

Cavaillon was the next to be examined. He was in a pitiful state, but determined to repair the mistake he made the previous day if possible.

He did not exactly accuse M. Fauvel, but he said he was a friend of the cashier, and as sure of his innocence as of his own. But unfortunately he had no evidence to support his statement.

Six or eight of the bank staff also made statements, but they were not important.

One of them gave a detail which the magistrate noted. He made out that he knew that Prosper had made a good deal of money on the Stock Exchange through M. Raoul de Lagors.

After the witnesses had concluded M. Patrigent sent the usher to find Fanferlot, which he did after some delay. The detective gave an account of the incident of the letter, which he was able to produce, having stolen it from Madame Gypsy, and furnished a number of biographical details he had gathered concerning Prosper and Madame Gypsy.

At the conclusion of the detective’s story M. Patrigent murmured:

‘Evidently the young man is guilty.’

This was not Fanferlot’s opinion, and he was pleased to think the magistrate was upon the wrong track.

After he had furnished all the information possible, the detective was dismissed, the magistrate telling him to keep a careful eye upon Madame Gypsy as she probably knew something about the money.

The next day the magistrate took the evidence of Madame Gypsy and recalled M. Fauvel and Cavaillon. Only two of the witnesses who had been summoned failed to appear; the first was the messenger Prosper sent to the bank, who was ill, and M. Raoul de Lagors.

CHAPTER V

THE first two days of his imprisonment had not seemed very long to Prosper. He had been provided with writing materials and drawn up his defence. After that he became impatient at not being re-examined.

On Monday morning the door of his cell opened and his father, an old man with white hair, entered.

Prosper went forward to embrace him, but his father repulsed him.

‘Keep away,’ he said.

‘You, too,’ Prosper cried. ‘You believe me to be guilty.’

‘Spare me this shameful comedy,’ his father interrupted, ‘I know everything.’

‘But, father, I am innocent, I swear it by my mother’s sacred memory.’

‘Wretch,’ M. Bertomy cried, ‘do not blaspheme! I am glad your mother is dead, Prosper, for your crime would have killed her.’

There was a long silence and then Prosper said:

‘You overwhelm me, father, when I need all my courage and am the victim of an odious plot.’

‘The victim!’ said M. Bertomy. ‘Are you making insinuations against your employer, the man who has done so much for you? It is bad enough to rob him; do not slander him. Was it a lie, too, when you wrote and told me to prepare to come to Paris, and ask M. Fauvel for his niece’s hand for you?’

‘No,’ Prosper said in a faint voice.

‘That is a year ago,’ his father continued, ‘and yet the thought of her could not keep you from bad companions and crime.’

‘But, father, I love her still; let me explain—’

‘That is enough, sir. I have seen your employer and know all about it. I have also seen the magistrate, and he gave me permission to visit you. I have seen your rooms and their luxury, and I can understand the reason of your crime; you are the first thief in the family.’

M. Bertomy, seeing his son was no longer listening to him, stopped.

‘But,’ he continued, ‘I am not come to reproach you. Listen to me. How much have you left of the 350,000 francs you have stolen?’

‘Once more, father, I am innocent.’

‘I expected that reply. Now it rests with your relatives to repair your fault. The day I learned of your crime, your brother-in-law brought me your sister’s dowry, 70,000 francs. I have 140,000 francs besides, making 210,000 francs in all. This I am going to hand to M. Fauvel.’

This statement roused Prosper.

‘Don’t do that!’ he cried.

‘I shall do so before night. M. Fauvel will give me time in which to pay the balance. My pension is 1,500 francs and I can live on 500. I am still strong enough to obtain employment.’

M. Bertomy said no more, stopped by his son’s expression of anger.

‘You have no right, father,’ he cried, ‘to do this. You can refuse to believe me if you like; but an action like that would ruin me. I am upon the edge of a precipice and you want to push me over. While justice hesitates, father, you condemn me without a hearing.’

Prosper’s tones at last made an impression upon his father, who murmured:

‘But the evidence against you is very strong.’

‘That does not matter,’ Prosper replied; ‘I will prove myself innocent or perish in the attempt, whether I am convicted or not. The author of my misfortune is in the house of M. Fauvel and I will find him. Why did Madeleine tell me one day to think no more of her? Why did she exile me, when she loves me as much as I do her?’

The hour granted for the interview had expired. M. Bertomy left his son almost convinced of his innocence. Father and son embraced with tears in their eyes.

The door of Prosper’s cell reopened almost immediately after his father’s departure and the warder entered to conduct him to his examination. This time he went with his head high and a firm step.