File No. 113, Emile Gaboriau [ink book reader TXT] 📗
- Author: Emile Gaboriau
Book online «File No. 113, Emile Gaboriau [ink book reader TXT] 📗». Author Emile Gaboriau
A triumphant exclamation from M. Verduret interrupted Mme. Gypsy. He was radiant.
“Hein!” he said to Prosper, forgetting his bad humor of a few minutes before; “Hein! What did I tell you?”
“He has evidently——”
“Been afraid to give way to his first impulse; of course he has. He is now seeking for proofs of your assertions. He must have them by this time. Did the ladies go out yesterday?”
“Yes, a part of the day.”
“What became of M. Fauvel?”
“The ladies took me with them; we left M. Fauvel at home.”
“Not a doubt of it!” cried the fat man; “he looked for proofs, and found them, too! Your letter told him exactly where to go. Ah, Prosper, that unfortunate letter gives more trouble than everything else together.”
These words seemed to throw a sudden light on Mme. Gypsy’s mind.
“I understand it now!” she exclaimed. “M. Fauvel knows everything.”
“That is, he thinks he knows everything; and what he has been led to fear, and thinks he has discovered, is worse than the true state of affairs.”
“That accounts for the order which M. Cavaillon overheard him give to his servant-man, Evariste.”
“What order?”
“He told Evariste to bring every letter that came to the house, no matter to whom addressed, into his study, and hand them to him; saying that, if this order was disobeyed, he should be instantly discharged.”
“At what time was this order given?” asked M. Verduret.
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“That is what I was afraid of,” cried M. Verduret. “He has clearly made up his mind what course to pursue, and is keeping quiet so as to make his vengeance more sure. The question is, Have we still time to counteract his projects? Have we time to convince him that the anonymous letter was incorrect in some of its assertions?”
He tried to hit upon some plan for repairing the damage done by Prosper’s foolish letter.
“Thank you for your information, my dear child,” he said after a long silence. “I will decide at once what steps to take, for it will never do to sit quietly and let things go on in this way. Return home without delay, and be careful of everything you say and do; for M. Fauvel suspects you of being in the plot. Send me word of anything that happens, no matter how insignificant it may be.”
Nina, thus dismissed, did not move, but said timidly:
“What about Caldas, monsieur?”
This was the third time during the last fortnight that Prosper had heard this name, Caldas.
The first time it had been whispered in his ear by a respectable-looking, middle-aged man, who offered his protection one day, when passing through the police-office passage.
The second time, the judge of instruction had mentioned it in connection with Gypsy’s history.
Prosper thought over all the men he had ever been connected with, but could recall none named Caldas.
The impassable M. Verduret started and trembled at the mention of this name, but, quickly recovering himself, said:
“I promised to find him for you, and I will keep my promise. Now you must go; good-morning.”
It was twelve o’clock, and M. Verduret suddenly remembered that he was hungry. He called Mme. Alexandre, and the beaming hostess of the Archangel soon placed a tempting breakfast before Prosper and his friend.
But the savory broiled oysters and flaky biscuit failed to smooth the perplexed brow of M. Verduret.
To the eager questions and complimentary remarks of Mme. Alexandre, he answered:
“Chut, chut! let me alone; keep quiet.”
For the first time since he had known the fat man, Prosper saw him betray anxiety and hesitation.
He remained silent as long as he could, and then uneasily said:
“I am afraid I have embarrassed you very much, monsieur.”
“Yes, you have dreadfully embarrassed me,” replied M. Verduret. “What on earth to do now, I don’t know! Shall I hasten matters, or keep quiet and wait for the next move? And I am bound by a sacred promise. Come, we had better go and advise with the judge of instruction. He can assist me. Come with me; let us hurry.”
XXIII
As M. Verduret had anticipated, Prosper’s letter had a terrible effect upon M. Fauvel.
It was toward nine o’clock in the morning, and M. Fauvel had just entered his study when his mail was brought in.
After opening a dozen business letters, his eyes fell on the fatal missive sent by Prosper.
Something about the writing struck him as peculiar.
It was evidently a disguised hand, and although, owing to the fact of his being a millionnaire, he was in the habit of receiving anonymous communications, sometimes abusive, but generally begging him for money, this particular letter filled him with an indefinite presentiment of evil. A cold chill ran through his heart, and he dreaded to open it.
With absolute certainty that he was about to learn of a new calamity, he broke the seal, and opening the coarse cafe paper, was shocked by the following words:
“DEAR SIR—You have handed your cashier over to the law, and you acted properly, convinced as you were of his dishonesty.
“But if it was he who took three hundred and fifty thousand francs from your safe, was it he also who took Mme. Fauvel’s diamonds?”
This was a terrible blow to a man whose life hitherto had been an unbroken chain of prosperity, who could recall the past without one bitter regret, without remembering any sorrow deep enough to bring forth a tear.
What! His wife deceive him! And among all men, to choose one vile enough to rob her of her jewels, and force her to be his accomplice in the ruin of an innocent young man!
Comments (0)