International Short Stories: French, - [best ebook reader ubuntu txt] 📗

up for another examination. My brother was there. But we could not exchange two words, for he entered the courtroom by one door and I by another. All this was arranged perfectly. The man with the muffler was again brought out. The Judge addressed my brother. ‘Do you recognize the prisoner?’ ‘No.’ ‘Ah! you see he does not know me!’ ‘Be silent!’ said the Judge, and he continued talking excitedly: ‘You know the man?’ ‘Certainly not.’ ‘Think well; you ought to know him.’ ‘I tell you, no.’ ‘I tell you, yes, and that he bought some chlorate of potash from you.’ ‘No!’ ‘Ah!’ cried the Judge, in a passion. ‘Take care, weigh well your words; you are treading on dangerous ground.’ ‘I!’ exclaimed my brother. ‘Yes, for there is your brother; you recognize him, I think.’ ‘Yes, I recognize him.’ ‘That is fortunate. Well, your brother there says that man owes you money for having bought at your establishment—I specify—materials to manufacture explosives.’ ‘But you did not say that.’ ‘No, I wish to re-establish the facts.’ But that Judge would give no one a chance to speak. ‘Don’t interrupt me. Who is conducting this examination, you or I?’ ‘You, Monsieur the Judge?’ ‘Well, at all events, you said the prisoner owed your brother some money.’ ‘That I acknowledge.’ ‘But who told you all this?’ asked my brother. ‘Your son, Joseph!’ ‘Joseph!’ ‘He followed the man for the sake of the money, which he owed you for the drugs.’ ‘I understand nothing of all this,’ said my brother; ‘Neither do I,’ said the man with the muffler; ‘Neither do I,’ I repeated in my turn; ‘Neither do I any more,’ cried the Judge; ‘Or rather, yes, there is something that I understand very well; we have captured a gang, all these men understand one another, and side with one another; they are a band of Anarchists!’ ‘That is putting it too strong,’ I protested to the Judge, ‘I, a landowner, an Anarchist! Can a man be an Anarchist when he owns a house on the Boulevard de la Reine at Versailles and a cottage at Houlgate, Calvados? These are facts.’”

“That was well answered.”

“But this Judge would not listen to anything. He said to my brother, ‘Where does your son live?’ ‘With me in the Rue Montorgueil.’ ‘Well, he must be sent for; and in the meanwhile, these two brothers are to be placed in separate cells.’ Then, losing patience, I cried that this was infamy! But I felt myself seized and dragged through the corridors and locked in a little box four feet square. In there I passed three hours.”

“Didn’t they find your nephew Joseph?”

“No, it was not that. It was the Judge. He went off to his dinner, and took his time about it! Finally, at midnight, they had another examination. Behold all four of us before the Judge! The man with the muffler, myself, my brother and Joseph. The Judge began, addressing my nephew: ‘This man is indeed your father?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘This man is indeed your uncle?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And that man is indeed the Spaniard who purchased some chlorate of potash from you?’ ‘No.’ ‘What! No?’ ‘There,’ exclaimed the fellow with the muffler. ‘You can see now that these men do not know me.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ answered the Judge, not at all disconcerted. ‘Denial again! Let’s see, young man, did you not say to your uncle——’ ‘Yes, Monsieur the Judge, that is true.’ ‘Ah! the truth! Here is the truth!’ exclaimed the Judge, triumphantly. ‘Yes, I told my uncle that the man purchased drugs from us, but that is not so.’ ‘Why isn’t it?’ ‘Wait, I will tell you. Unknown to my family I am a journalist.’ ‘Journalist! My son a journalist! Don’t believe that, Monsieur the Judge, my son is an apprentice in a pharmacy.’ ‘Yes, my nephew is an apprentice in a pharmacy,’ I echoed. ‘These men contradict themselves; this is a gang, decidedly a gang—are you a journalist, young man, or an apprentice in a pharmacy?’ ‘I am both.’ ‘That is a lie!’ cried my brother, now thoroughly angry. ‘And for what newspaper do you write?’ ‘For no paper at all,’ replied my brother, ‘I know that, for he is not capable.’ ‘I do not exactly write, Monsieur the Judge; I procure information; I am a reporter.’ ‘Reporter! My son a reporter? What’s that he says?’ ‘Will you be still!’ cried the Judge. For what newspaper are you a reporter?’ Joseph told the name of the paper. ‘Well,’ resumed the Judge, ‘we must send for the chief editor immediately—immediately, he must be awakened and brought here. I will pass the night at court. I’ve discovered a great conspiracy. Lead these men away and keep them apart.’ The Judge beamed, for he already saw himself Court Counsellor. They brought us back, and I assure you I no longer knew where I was. I came and went up and down the staircases and through the corridors. If anyone had asked me at the time if I were an accomplice of Ravachol, I would have answered, ‘Probably.’”

“When did all this take place?”

“One o’clock in the morning; and the fourth examination did not take place until two. But, thank Heaven! in five minutes it was all made clear. The editor of the newspaper arrived, and burst into a hearty laugh when he learned of the condition of affairs; and this is what he told the Judge. My nephew had given them the particulars of a murder, and had been recompensed for it, and then the young man had acquired a taste for that occupation, and had come to apply for the situation. They had found him clear-headed, bold, and intelligent, and had sent him to take notes at the executions, at fires, etc., and the morning after the editor had a good idea. ‘The detectives were on the lookout for Anarchists, so I sent my reporters on the heels of each detective, and in this way I would be the first to hear of all the arrests. Now, you see, it all explains itself; the detective followed an Anarchist.’”

“And your nephew Joseph followed the detective?”

“Yes, but he dared not tell the truth, so he told me he was one of papa’s debtors.’ The man with the muffler was triumphant. ‘Am I still a Spaniard?’ ‘No, well and good,’ replied the Judge. ‘But an Anarchist is another thing.’ And in truth he was; but he only held one, that Judge, and was so vexed because he believed he had caught a whole gang, and was obliged to discharge us at four o’clock in the morning. I had to take a carriage to return to Versailles—got one for thirty francs. But found my poor wife in such a state!”

“And your nephew still clings to journalism?”

“Yes, and makes money for nothing but to ride about Paris that way in a cab, and to the country in the railway trains. The newspaper men are satisfied with him.”

“What does your brother say to all this?”

“He began by turning him out of doors. But when he knew that some months he made two and three hundred francs, he softened; and then Joseph is as cute as a monkey. You know my brother invented a cough lozenge, ‘Dervishes’ lozenges’?”

“Yes, you gave me a box of them.”

“Ah! so I did. Well, Joseph found means to introduce into the account of a murderer’s arrest an advertisement of his father’s lozenges.”—“How did he do it?”

“He told how the murderer was hidden in a panel, and that he could not be found. But having the influenza, had sneezed, and that had been the means of his capture. And Joseph added that this would not have happened to him had he taken the Dervishes Lozenges. You see that pleased my brother so much that he forgave him. Ah! there is my wife coming to look for me. Not a word of all this! It is not necessary to repeat that there is a reporter in the family, and there is another reason for not telling it. When I want to sell off to the people of Versailles, I go and find Joseph and tell him of my little plan. He arranges everything for me as it should be, puts it in the paper quietly, and they don’t know how it comes there!”