Le billet rouge. English

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  _VIZETELLY'S SIXPENNY SERIES OF AMUSING AND ENTERTAINING BOOKS._

  XIII.

  THE RED LOTTERY TICKET.

  BY FORTUNE DU BOISGOBEY.

  LONDON: _VIZETELLY & CO., 42 CATHERINE STREET, STRAND,_ 1887.

  THE RED LOTTERY TICKET.

  I.

  One day early in April, the month when the lilacs flower and when womenbegin to display light apparel, a cab could be seen crossing the bridgewhich spans the Seine between the Faubourg St. Germain and the Louvre,and which is known to the Parisians as the Pont des Saints Peres. Thevehicle was going at a quiet trot, and it was driven by a jovial jehu,who hummed a song as he cracked his whip and jerked his reins. Bothwindows were down, and from each of them came a cloud of bluishsmoke--the smoke of the cigars of two young fellows who were gailychatting inside, and who, although they came from the so-called "LatinQuarter" of Paris, were quite unlike the students immortalised byGavarni's pencil. They were, indeed, dressed with careful taste, anddisplayed none of the questionable manners which may be acquired in thedrinking dens of the Boulevard St. Michel. One of them, a fair-hairedyoung fellow with soft blue eyes, was named George Caumont, and was theson of a Norman cattle breeder, who lived on his land, saving up hiscash, and making his only child an allowance of three thousand francs ayear, so that he might complete, in Paris, the study of law which he hadcommenced at Caen. The other, a dark young man with curly moustaches anda bold expression of face, was the son of a petty nobleman of Perigord,who had left him a heavily mortgaged estate with a somewhathigh-sounding name. He was called Adhemar de Puymirol, and lived upon asmall allowance made him by an aunt who wished him to become a doctor.

  He and George Caumont had met shortly after their arrival in Paris, andtheir acquaintance had speedily become intimacy, for they had the sameambition and much the same tastes. They both regarded their presentsituation as a probationary one, hoping sooner or later to contract abrilliant marriage; and they governed themselves accordingly, merelyattending the courts and the clinical lectures when they had nothingbetter to do, and just occasionally passing an examination in order notto discourage Papa Caumont and Aunt Besseges. But everything comes to anend, and with their relatives grumbling and their creditors barkingloudly, there were days when the thought of the future filled them withdismay. Still, on this beautiful spring morning, everything seemedtinged with a roseate hue, and they even laughed at the enforceddeparture for the provinces apparently so near at hand. "Leave Paris!"said Adhemar, gazing at the scene around him. "Never, George; I wouldrather give lessons in anatomy to freshmen than go and bury myself inPerigord to doctor my aunt's farmers."

  "And I," sighed George, "would rather act as a college tutor than devotethe rest of my life to cattle breeding. We are at the end of our tether,unfortunately, and if we don't meet two rich girls before the close ofthe term, we shall be obliged to decamp, for Paris will be too hot forus."

  "Ah, well, we will go to one of the watering-places where heiresses aremet."

  "You are always so confident!"

  "That is the only way to succeed. If our friend Pierre Dargental hadbecome discouraged, we shouldn't now be going to celebrate the close ofhis bachelor life at lunch. Dargental is no better than we are, and yethe has found a widow of title worth more than a million francs."

  "And all he brings her on his side will be his debts--some three hundredthousand francs."

  "Oh! in this part of the world, a man shrewd enough to obtain credit tothat amount can aspire to anything--"

  "Except to the hand of an honest woman," replied George. "There are somepretty hard stories about this Countess de Lescombat's behaviour afterher first husband's death."

  "Well, they say she accepted Dargental's offer of marriage before herperiod of mourning expired. She consoled herself a little too soon,perhaps, but that is a matter of no consequence, after all."

  "All the same, I should much prefer a less wealthy and more innocentgirl to a rich lady of rank, with a very doubtful reputation."

  "But one can't always have one's choice in such matters. Dargental isabout to enter a very wealthy set. He will introduce us to it, and weought to succeed in finding what we want there. So it does not become usto find fault with him."

  "Will any of his old flames be at lunch to-day?" inquired George.

  "I believe that Blanche Pornic, the actress, is the only favoured one."

  "She is very amusing."

  "Yes; and thoroughly good-hearted."

  The vehicle had crossed over the Place du Carrousel, and was now behindfive or six others, which had formed into a line to pass through thenarrow passage conducting into the Rue de Rivoli. "Five minutes totwelve!" exclaimed Puymirol, glancing at his watch. "They will be attable by the time we reach the Lion d'Or. Why doesn't this idiot of acabman drive faster?"

  "It isn't his fault. The block prevents him from doing so. There are atleast half a dozen traps ahead of us."

  As George spoke, he put his head out of the window, and saw that thepassage would not be free for several minutes. Three or fourpedestrians, tired of waiting, had turned to retrace their steps; andamong them Caumont noticed a man wearing a broad-brimmed hat, pulleddown over his eyes, and a full black beard concealing the lower part ofhis face. At a distance of ten paces behind him came two unprepossessingindividuals, who seemed anxious not to lose sight of this beardedindividual. Caumont rather lightly concluded that they were detectiveswatching the fellow, but as he had no personal interest in the matter heagain ensconced himself in his corner and said to his friend: "Have alittle patience. We shall soon move on." As he spoke, he turned, andfailed to see that the bearded man rested his hand for an instant on thedoor of the vehicle, and then without glancing at the occupants, droppedsomething that fell upon Puymirol's boot.

  "What is that?" cried Adhemar, "what scoundrel ventures to bombard us inthis style?"

  "I have no idea," replied George, and on hastily turning again, hecaught a fresh glimpse of the bearded man, whose back only was nowvisible, for he had passed them, and was slowing proceeding across thePlace du Carrousel. Just then the cab moved on, and in an instant thepedestrians were left far behind. "Whatever the article is it must havebeen thrown in by a man who just passed us," resumed George; "and hemust have done so with extraordinary swiftness and dexterity, for hismovement escaped my notice entirely."

  Meanwhile Puymirol had picked up from the bottom of the cab a handsomepocket-book, which, with his friend's assent, he now began to open. "Theman who threw that in here," said George, "must be a thief, who in hisanxiety to escape arrest, and to get rid of the stolen article, droppedit into our cab. When pickpockets find themselves in danger of capture,they very often resort to that device."

  "Well," rejoined Puymirol, "at least there isn't the slightest vestigeof a bank-note inside, as you can see for yourself. Nor are there anyvisiting-cards, nothing but papers, and not many of them. In thiscompartment there are some lottery tickets, just look: The TunisianLottery, the Amiens Lottery, and the Lottery of the Decorative ArtSociety. And here on the other side there are some letters."

  "Letters!" repeated George. "So much the better. We shall perhaps findin them some clue that will enable us to discover the person from whomthe pocket-book was stolen."

  "You don't know whether it was stolen," remarked Adhemar. "Besides, whowould think of stealing lottery tickets?"

  "True, but it perhaps contained money, which the thief extracte
d beforethrowing away; besides, a letter is sometimes of great value to itswriter."

  "Hum, these ones were written by women. There are three of them--each ina different handwriting, and, strange to say, not one of them signed,not even with a Christian name. The owner of the pocket-book must havehad uncommonly prudent sweethearts. I wonder why he kept these notes inthis case?"

  "Because he intended to make use of them at some future time."

  "You think he was a blackmailer, eh? That's quite possible."

  "That theory would at least explain the robbery. If the women inquestion knew that these specimens of their handwriting had fallen intoour hands, they would be more easy in mind, for we don't know them, andit is not likely that we ever shall."

  "We are not sure of that. Stranger things than that happen in Paris. Butdo you think it advisable for us to take the pocket-book to the lostproperty office at the Prefecture of Police?"

  "No, I think it would be better to burn it with its contents."

  "Why? I feel strongly inclined to preserve it. One never knows what mayhappen, and it would afford me infinite satisfaction to discover one ofthese unknown correspondents."

  "Do so if you like, but I don't want to mix myself up in any suchaffair. I shall forget the matter, and I beg that you will never remindme of it."

  "Agreed, on conditions that you say nothing about it to any one atlunch. There will be a parcel of chatterers present."

  "You need have no fears of that. I will be as silent as a fish."

  "All right, then. Here we are! I must put these letters out of sight,"said Puymirol, and he stowed the Russian leather-case away in his coatpocket.

  The cab had drawn up in front of the Lion d'Or restaurant in the Rue duHelder, and the two friends alighted, and asked for the room reservedfor M. Dargental's party. The head-waiter replied that the gentlemanreferred to had not yet arrived, though he had ordered lunch to beserved at twelve o'clock precisely; and he then led the friends to anapartment where they found two people waiting. One of them was a paleyoung man, about twenty-eight years of age, as phlegmatic as aScandinavian, and as dissipated as a Russian. Although always ready todrink, to play cards, and to spend his nights in bad company, he neverlaughed and rarely smiled. A good-hearted fellow, however, and popularin the set he mingled with. His name was Charles Balmer, and he wasafflicted with the belief that he was dying from consumption. Beside himin the private room sat Blanche Pornic, the actress, Dargental's oldflame. Tall, and lithe of form to a degree that had won her the surnameof the Reed, she was very charming, with her pale golden hair, her browneyes, sparkling with mischief, her regular features, her gracefulmovements, and her silvery voice--a voice that went straight to one'sheart. When Puymirol and Caumont arrived she and Balmer were complainingof Dargental's non-arrival, and after some comments had been exchangedconcerning his delay, Blanche exclaimed: "We have given him quiteenough grace. Come, Balmer, ring, and tell them to serve us."

  "Nothing would please me better," exclaimed Balmer. "I am as hungry as adog."

  "That is a good sign for a sick man," remarked Puymirol.

  "By no means. What, can it be that you, a medical man, are ignorant ofthe fact that consumptives eat like ogres?"

  "That is all bosh; besides, you are no more a consumptive than I am."

  "I haven't more than two years to live, as I know perfectly well. If youwish to satisfy yourself on the point, you only have to examine mylungs."

  "No, no," cried Blanche. "This is no hospital, and you disgust me withyour medical talk. To table, gentlemen! I will sit opposite Dargental.He isn't here, but I will imagine that he is. Caumont may take a seat onmy right, and Puymirol on my left. And now let us partake of thefunereal repast."

  "Funereal is the very word," said Adhemar. "The invitations we receivedhad mourning borders."

  "And the bill of fare also," chimed in George.

  "Pierre made a great mistake," remarked Blanche; "such jokes alwaysbring bad luck."

  "The fact that he hasn't come is sufficient proof of that. I wonder ifhe has broken a leg."

  "No, indeed! Dargental is too lucky to meet with any such accident. Hisnoble betrothed must have got wind of this breakfast, and have forbiddenhim to attend it."

  "In that case, he would, at least, have warned you."

  "Do you regret his absence?" asked Blanche, with a glance at Puymirol.

  "How can I when I am near you?"

  "Nonsense! you always will be a provincial. Confine your attention tothese oysters. They are delicious, and this Sauterne is of the bestquality."

  This preliminary chat was soon interrupted by the lively clatter ofknives and forks, and the tinkling of glasses. All the gentlemen of theparty ate and drank heartily, but Blanche, despite her commendatorywords, did not seem inclined to finish her oysters, and only justmoistened her lips in the Chateau Yquem. "What is the matter with you,Blanche?" cried Balmer, between two mouthfuls. "I have seen you eat witha much better appetite. Is Pierre's marriage the cause of this fallingoff? You must have been expecting it for several months, however."

  "I was so well prepared for it that I myself urged him to take the step.And as for being angry, that can hardly be, as I came expressly to lunchwith him. He no longer cares for me; well, no matter, I can only rely onhis wife to avenge me. She has already given conclusive proofs of herability in that direction."

  "Indeed?" inquired Balmer, with an air of pretended innocence.

  "If you don't know her story, I will tell it you," rejoined Blancheabruptly.

  "I know only what Dargental has seen fit to tell us," said Balmer.

  "Well then, once upon a time, as they say in fairy tales, there lived inLyons a silk-worker, who had an illegitimate daughter. She was verybeautiful, but she was no better than her mother. Her father vainlytried to repress her evil tendency, but at the age of fifteen, tired ofbeing whipped and scolded, she eloped with a mountebank, under whosetuition she learned a host of things--circus-riding, trapeze-performing,and so forth."

  "All the elegant accomplishments!" sneered Balmer.

  "Two years afterwards, Octavia Crochard, as she was called, appeared ina new character. A respectable old gentleman who had fallen in love withher sent her to a boarding school at Saint Mande, where she passed ashis niece, every one being ignorant of her antecedents. She was soclever naturally that she soon made up for lost time, and speedilybecame a very accomplished young woman. She even learned how to concealher proclivities, but she was none the better for that. Not longafterwards the old gentleman died, leaving her, in his will, an incomeof twelve thousand francs, on conditions that she took his name."

  "A nice condition! What an idiot he must have been!"

  "Octavia was shrewd enough to behave herself after she left theboarding-school. She engaged a companion or chaperon, and, thanks to therecommendation of the lady-principal of the school which she had justleft, she succeeded in securing an acquaintance with people of position,and before many months had elapsed, she made a conquest of another oldsimpleton, a _blase_ millionaire, who married her shortly afterwards."

  "This is a very interesting story," said Balmer, as he emptied his fifthglass of champagne; "but what has it to do with the countess?"

  "What! haven't you guessed that this same Crochard girl is now known asthe Countess de Lescombat, and will soon take the name of Madamed'Argental?--Dargental with an apostrophe, be it understood, for she hasinsisted that Pierre should make this change in his name. In fact, toplease her, he has purchased the title of marquis somewhere in Italy.Octavia does not wish to marry beneath her station."

  "Have you communicated all this information to your friend Dargental?"

  "No, I have taken good care not to do that. He would imagine I hadinvented the story, and slandered the countess, from jealousy. But hewill hear it from plenty of others, by and by. He already knows thatLescombat bequeathed his entire fortune to his wife only about a monthbefore his death, and he will learn, sooner or later on, that thepretended attack
of apoplexy that killed the count was a plain case ofsuicide. The old nobleman felt so much regret at having despoiled hisnatural heirs that he poisoned himself with prussic acid."

  "But why didn't he alter his will?" inquired George Caumont.

  "He couldn't; Octavia watched him too closely. Besides, she is a perfectCirce, in her power to bewitch men. She has poor Dargental completelyunder her control, for it is evident she has confiscated him thismorning."

  Adhemar and George could not repress a smile. They plainly realised thatBlanche would never forgive Dargental for deserting her. As for thestory about Madame de Lescombat, they thought it advisable to believemerely half of it; but even that was quite enough to make them pity theimprudent man who was about to place himself at the mercy of this wilywidow. However, after all, why should she want to marry him, as he wasnot worth a copper?

  "Are you sure that he is at her house now?" inquired Balmer. "Remember,he may be ill."

  "He lives but a short distance from here, on the Boulevard Haussmann. Wemight send a messenger there to inquire after him," suggested George.

  "I object to that proposal," said Blanche. "He would imagine that Icould not get on without him. Balmer, fill my glass. Gentlemen, I drinkto your sweethearts."

  The toast met with no response, for, at that moment, a waiter entered,bearing a salver upon which a blue envelope was lying. "Here is atelegram which has just arrived for Monsieur Dargental," said theattendant. "Shall I lay it beside his plate?"

  "Hand it here!" cried Balmer, seizing hold of the missive. "A telegramis not a letter, and it will certainly do no harm for me to open thisone. It will perhaps explain why Pierre has left us in the lurch, afterinviting us here." He tore open the envelope as he spoke, and he hadscarcely glanced at the contents, than he exclaimed triumphantly: "It isfrom the countess! You see that he is not at her house."

  "Let me see it," said Blanche, holding out her hand; and, glancing atthe missive, she added: "It is from her. Listen, gentlemen: 'My dearPierre--I should be very sorry to curtail your farewells to your friendsof both sexes, but I should be greatly obliged to you if you would cometo my house immediately after the lunch.' Both sexes! that is a dig atme. This countess has a very easy style, and she is as prudent as aserpent, for she has merely signed her christian name, Octavia, for fearof compromising herself, I suppose."

  As the actress spoke, she passed the telegram to her left-handneighbour. Puymirol, on examining it, at once perceived that it was nota genuine telegram, but one of those communications, the sender of whichpens as many words as he pleases upon a slip of paper; he then seals thelatter up, and it is despatched by the pneumatic tube service to anypart of Paris. The handwriting of this particular "telegraphic-note" wastherefore the countess's, not a clerk's, and Adhemar noted that it waspeculiarly firm and decided in character.

  "Well," said Blanche, "as the countess hasn't kept Pierre a prisoner, Ibegin to think that he must be playing a trick on us."

  "Unless some misfortune has befallen him," suggested Puymirol.

  "A misfortune will befall him when he marries, there is no doubt ofthat; but Dargental has no business to treat us like nobodies. If youtake my advice, we will each pay a share of the bill and decamp."

  "Speak for yourself, I am still thirsty," growled Balmer. "You can go ifyou like, but I intend to have my coffee and season it with a fewglasses of cognac."

  "Then you can settle the bill, and I will send you my share of it assoon as I learn the amount. I am going. Who loves me, follows me!" saidBlanche, rising from table.

  Adhemar and George followed her example. "I shall pass Dargental's dooron leaving here, and I will hand his doorkeeper that pneumatictelegram," remarked Adhemar, placing the missive in his pocket besidethe pocket-book thrown into the cab.

  Balmer declining to move, the three others now went downstairs together.Blanche then sprang into a cab which stood outside the restaurant anddrove off, saying, "Come and see me one of these days. I should like tohear the end of this affair."

  "What do you think of it all?" said Caumont to Adhemar, as soon as theactress had gone.

  "I think," replied Puymirol, "that the countess is an adventuress,Blanche a viper, and Dargental a fool."

  "Why, not long ago, you proclaimed him to be shrewdness personified!"

  "I must confess that that opinion seems erroneous. But let us go toDargental's place; we shall, perhaps, find the solution of the enigmathere. It isn't far off."

  The house in which Dargental lived stood on the Boulevard Haussmann.They soon reached the door, and the house-porter, on being questioned byAdhemar, replied that he believed that M. Dargental was at home. At allevents, he had not seen him pass out. Dargental's rooms were situated onthe second floor, to which the two friends duly climbed. Puymirol rang,but no one answered the summons, and the bell was pulled three timesmore, but without any better success. The two friends were, indeed,about to go off disappointed, when a servant in livery, carrying apackage under his arm, appeared upon the landing. This servant wasDargental's valet, and he knew Puymirol and Caumont by sight. "I fearthat the marquis has gone out," he remarked. On hearing this title,which Dargental had never borne before, the two friends exchanged asmile. "He was to lunch out to-day," continued the valet, "and he wasalready dressed when he sent me off on an errand at about eleveno'clock."

  "It was with us that he meant to lunch, and we haven't seen anything ofhim," said Caumont.

  "If you gentlemen would like to come in, I have the key," now suggestedthe servant.

  "Very well, open the door, then."

  The valet thereupon ushered them into an ante-chamber which they hadtraversed more than once. "Is there a fire in the house?" inquiredPuymirol. "There is a strong smell of smoke here."

  "Of powder, rather," muttered Caumont.

  The valet, apparently quite as surprised by the smell as they were,opened the dining-room door, crossed the threshold, looked in, and thensuddenly recoiled, exclaiming, in evident terror: "My God! my master isdead! Monsieur le marquis has killed himself!"

  Puymirol pushed the valet aside, and rushed into the room. It was butdimly lighted by stained glass windows, and Puymirol did not at firstperceive Dargental, upon whom the valet's eyes had chanced to fall justas he crossed the threshold. Madame de Lescombat's unfortunate lover wassitting, or rather reclining, in a large arm-chair. Seen from adistance, he seemed to be asleep. Puymirol hastened forward, took holdof his hand, found that it was icy cold, and then perceived that hisface was livid, his eyes half closed, and his mouth distorted. "Open thewindow, quick, quick!" he cried, and Caumont, forestalling the valet,instantly obeyed the order.

  In the full light it was seen that stains of blood tinged Dargental'sshirt front, which was torn and scorched by a bullet in the vicinity ofthe heart; his waistcoat was unbuttoned, the lapels of his coat werepushed back and creased, while on the floor at his feet gleamed theshining barrel of a revolver. "My master! my poor master!" groaned thevalet.

  "You can not restore him to life, my lad," said Puymirol, who never losthis presence of mind. "This is no time for weeping. The commissary ofpolice must be warned. Fetch him immediately, and, on your way out, tellthe doorkeeper what has happened, and ask him to come up. We don't careto remain alone with the body. Upon the whole, it will be best for us togo down with you, I think. Our unfortunate friend is beyond all humanaid, and the suicide must be established at once."

  Neither Caumont nor the valet made any objections, and the trio hasteneddownstairs. "My master has shot himself," cried the valet to thedoorkeeper. "These gentlemen can testify that I was not present when theaccident occurred! On returning home, a few moments ago, I found themringing at the door, so I opened it for them with my key."

  "It is really impossible," said the doorkeeper in alarm. "I saw him thismorning, and he seemed to be in the best of spirits. He even warned methat he meant to give up his apartments on account of his approachingmarriage."

  "We didn't come here to talk," interrupted Pu
ymirol. "This fellow isgoing for the commissary of police; you had better come upstairs withus, and remain until he brings some official back with him."

  The doorkeeper assented; the valet hastened off; and the two friends,having again ascended the stairs, this time with the cerberus of thehouse, re-entered the apartments where nothing had been disturbed duringtheir absence. Not caring to approach the body, they all three of themremained in the ante-chamber. "Are you well acquainted with this valet?"Puymirol inquired of the doorkeeper.

  "Yes, sir. He has been in Monsieur Dargental's employ for three years. Iassure you that he is quite incapable of a crime, and fully deserves allthe confidence my unfortunate tenant placed in him. This very morning,Monsieur Dargental gave him a letter for the Countess de Lescombat, hisintended wife. I was standing at my door as he passed out, and Jeanstopped for a moment to chat with me. While we were talking, he said:'Ah! Monsieur Pinchon, I am so attached to my master that--'"

  The sound of footsteps upon the stairs cut M. Pinchon short. The valetwas returning, bringing with him in lieu of the commissary, who wasabsent from his office, that functionary's secretary, an intelligent,wide-awake-looking young man. Having been enlightened on the way by theservant, the secretary walked straight to the body, examined itcarefully but without touching it, and said curtly: "This chair is notin its accustomed place."

  The other chairs were, in fact, arranged in lines along the walls, butthis one stood in the middle of the room, and almost directly oppositethe door. "This is the first time I ever heard of a man sitting down toshoot himself," continued the official.

  "Do you suspect a crime, then?" inquired Puymirol.

  "I have formed no opinion as yet. A doctor will come with thecommissary, and make a report. In the meantime, gentlemen, will you havethe kindness to give me your names and addresses, for it does not seemnecessary that you should be present at the investigation. You will bequestioned later on, if needful."

  "I am named Adhemar de Puymirol; my friend's name is George Caumont, andwe live together, at No. 14, in the Rue de Medicis."

  "Very well," said the secretary, as he entered the names in hisnote-book. "You were very intimate, I believe, with this Monsieur--"

  "Monsieur Pierre Dargental," concluded Puymirol. "We certainly knew himvery well; I especially. He had invited us to lunch with him thismorning in company with Monsieur Charles Balmer, who resides, I believe,in the Rue Auber, and an actress named Blanche Pornic, who lives in theAvenue de Messine."

  "Was the lunch ordered by Monsieur Dargental?"

  "Yes, and we ate it without him. Afterwards we called here, my friendand myself, to ascertain what had become of him, and we were ringing athis door when the valet, who happened to come upstairs, opened it forus."

  "I am aware of that. You must have been greatly surprised on entering.To what cause do you attribute this suicide?"

  "I know no cause for it. Dargental was about to be married; besides, itseems to me very strange that he should have killed himself just as wewere expecting him to celebrate the close of his bachelor life."

  "Yes, and all the stranger as he was quite ready to go out. See, his hathas rolled behind the chair, and his cane has fallen upon the floor. Allthis does not seem to harmonize with the care he appears to have takenin seating himself."

  "That is true. The whole affair is incomprehensible. Dargental must havemomentarily lost his mind."

  "In that case he must have had a revolver in his pocket at the time; butthat weapon there is not one of the sort a man usually carries upon hisperson. It is too large and too heavy for that."

  "All I can say is that the weapon belonged to him. I have often seen ithanging, with others, against the wall of his bedroom. I am certain thatit must bear the name of the dealer who sold it to him--Galland."

  "That point will be verified by the commissary, and the doctor will tellus if the blood could have spouted a distance of two yards from thearm-chair. See, here is a pool of it upon the floor, almost at my veryfeet." Puymirol hastily recoiled, for he perceived, for the first time,that he was almost stepping in it. "One more question, sir," said the'secretary.' "Had Monsieur Dargental any enemies?"

  "Not to my knowledge. On the contrary, he had many friends. Besides, noone could have anything to gain by his death, for he had no fortune."

  "Oh, no," sighed the doorkeeper. "An execution was put in only the otherday by one of his creditors."

  "Nevertheless, he lived in handsome style," replied the secretary, "andit is very probable that he had more or less money in the house or abouthis person; in fact, judging from the apparent disorder of his clothing,it seems more than likely that his pockets were searched after hisdeath. But I will detain you no longer, gentlemen. You will holdyourselves, of course, at the disposal of the authorities--I have youraddress."

  "Certainly, sir," said Puymirol, who had had quite enough of this covertexamination. George Caumont was also anxious to get away, for this talkin the presence of his friend's lifeless body made him sick at heart.The valet was about to beat a retreat with them, but the dismissal wasnot for him, for the secretary remarked drily: "Remain. The commissarywill want to talk with you."

  "I hope you have no further need of me," now said the doorkeeper.

  "Yes, I have, but I shall not keep you long."

  M. Pinchon's dismay was pitiful to behold, and the two friends hastilyavailed themselves of the permission to depart. "What do you think ofthis catastrophe?" inquired Puymirol, as soon as they reached thestreet.

  "I really don't know what to think of it, and I must admit that I shallmake no attempt to solve the mystery. The authorities will take chargeof that."

  "Well, Dargental did me many good turns, and I should like to avenge hisdeath, for I really believe he was murdered."

  "Indeed! But whom do you suspect? And what do you suppose was the objectof the crime? Robbery?"

  "No, he had nothing but debts. The porter, you recollect, told us thathis furniture had been attached. Some woman committed the murder. Awoman who was or who had been in love with him."

  "Then she killed him from jealousy, you think?"

  "Jealousy or revenge, which amounts to about the same thing. It musthave been one of his recent flames, probably the last one."

  "What, Blanche Pornic? But she lunched with us."

  "It is just because she lunched with us that I suspect her. She came tothe restaurant merely to prove an _alibi_. She may very well have killedDargental at eleven o'clock and yet have reached the Lion d'Or beforenoon. Balmer can tell us at what hour she arrived. Besides, she may havehired some other person to commit the crime in her stead. By the way,have you forgotten what she said during lunch? Despite her sweet wordsone could guess that she hated Dargental."

  "Indeed! why should she hate him?"

  "Because he was going to marry Madame de Lescombat. She could notforgive him for preferring the countess to herself. And by the way, ifthe inquiry proves that Dargental has really been murdered, Blanchewould be delighted should her rival be accused of the crime."

  "Well, she certainly didn't act in the right way to divert suspicionfrom herself. It is strange that she should have treated us to thatnarrative of the countess's career quite unsolicited; and if she is asshrewd as you pretend--"

  "Did you notice her strange manner during the repast, and her abruptdeparture afterwards? She heard us say that we were going to Dargental'sto find out what had become of him, and she did not care to await theresult. She knew the cause of his absence only too well."

  "You may call these indications, if you like," replied George, "stillthey hardly prove that Mademoiselle Pornic instigated the murder, and Idon't think her capable of such baseness. Dargental must have committedsuicide."

  "Oh, a man doesn't kill himself like that with his hat on his head and acane in his hand. It occurs to me now that his shirt was not scorched asmuch as it would have been if the pistol had been placed against it. Theshot must have been fired from a distance of a few yards, and Darge
ntalprobably fell just where we saw the pool of blood. The murdererafterwards raised him up and seated him in the arm-chair."

  "That's possible," muttered George, somewhat shaken in his convictions.

  "Ah, you are coming round to my way of thinking, at last. Well, I returnto my first injunction. Look for the woman. Where is the woman?"

  "Well, if you feel so positive that a woman is mixed up in the affair,"said Caumont, after a long pause, "I am surprised that you don't thinkof that countess whose first husband ended so badly."

  "That's absurd!" exclaimed Puymirol. "The first husband committedsuicide, and his widow certainly had no reason to make away with the manshe meant to take as his successor."

  "You know nothing about that."

  "Mademoiselle Pornic's inuendoes will rankle in your mind, I see. Youcertainly place a deal of confidence in that venomous creature."

  "I might retort that you seem to feel a great deal of confidence in thecountess. Do you think of offering yourself as a substitute forDargental?"

  "No, but the countess is no worse than many other women, and yoursuspicions are too ridiculous to be entertained for a moment. Don't yourecollect that telegram in which Madame de Lescombat said: 'I don't wishto interfere with your farewell entertainment to your friends of bothsexes, but come and see me immediately afterwards.' So she must haveknown that Dargental was breakfasting with one or more of his oldflames, and feeling no jealousy on that account, she had no grievanceagainst him."

  "Did she really say 'your friends of both sexes?'"

  "Those were the very words, my dear fellow, as you shall see foryourself. I put the telegram in my pocket, you recollect, with theintention of giving it to Dargental. Here it is." And Adhemar, afterrummaging in his pocket, drew from it not only the telegram, but alsothe mysterious pocket-book. Then, turning suddenly, he dragged Georgebehind one of the newspaper kiosks on the boulevard, along which theywere now walking. "Didn't Blanche say that Dargental had just beeninvested with the title of marquis?" he asked.

  "Yes, and she must have told the truth, for the valet said, 'Monsieur leMarquis,' in speaking of his master."

  "Blanche also said, did she not, that Dargental had altered his name toD'Argental?"

  "To please the Countess de Lescombat. The news did not surprise me. Forennobling one's self by means of an apostrophe is a very common thing inthese days."

  "Well, look at this pocket-book. Here is a marquis's cornet, and acapital A; that is to say, Marquis d'Argental."

  "What! you think that this case belonged--"

  "To our friend Pierre. And now I understand his death. He was killed bysome one who wished to regain possession of the letters he kept in thiscase. So the crime was committed, or at least instigated, by a woman."

  "I admire your bold reasoning, though I think it decidedly paradoxical.The scoundrel who stole this pocket-book would not have thrown it intoour cab."

  "You told me yourself that he was closely followed by two persons whoseemed to be watching him. He perhaps feared that he would be arrestedand searched; and he did not know that we were intimate with Dargental.He thought that we should keep the pocket-book, and burn the letterswhich could be of no possible interest to us, and which he was anxiousto get rid of at any cost."

  "Then, according to you, that man intended to return these letters tothe various women they compromised. You must admit that this suppositionis absurd in the extreme."

  "Oh! he was only acting on behalf of _one_ of the women."

  "Which one? There are three letters, but each of them is written in adifferent hand. You said so yourself."

  "I may have been mistaken. I think I will examine them more closely. Letus take a seat in front of that cafe. I see a table in a corner where weshall be comparatively alone."

  George Caumont assented to the proposal, and as soon as the friends wereseated in a little niche in front of the Cafe Americain, Puymirol openedthe pocket-book. "Let us proceed systematically," he remarked. "Here isthe first letter. It is not long, but it is expressive. 'My adored one,'it says, 'I am ready to leave everything to follow you, and tosacrifice, for your sake, all that I prize most in this world, mychildren and my good name. When shall we start? Say the word, and I willjoin you. Take me to the end of the world, and make me your slave. Ishall be only too happy, for I cannot live apart from you.' I haveskipped the kisses. There are too many of them," concluded Adhemar,sneering.

  "My children!" repeated George, ironically. "Then Blanche certainly didnot write that letter. She has no children."

  "Nor has Madame de Lescombat any. But let us examine the next missive:'My friend, I have loved you, I love you still; but if you go on in thisway, I shall no longer love you. I shall even hate you, and I do notconceal from you that there lurks in my heart a feeling that you woulddo well not to arouse. Have you ever seen Sardou's "Hatred" played?Well, I am a Florentine Parisienne, and I should know how to avenge mywrongs, as Italian women revenged theirs in the middle ages. These areno meaningless threats, my dear. To extricate you from a terriblepredicament I once committed an act that might have sent me straight tothe Assizes, and I mean to be rewarded by your devotion. You must choosebetween her and me. You understand me, do you not? I await in reply, notwords, but acts. I shall expect you to-morrow, you bad fellow, whom Ilove so much. Bring me what you swore to return to me, or there will bebitter war.'"

  "The deuce!" exclaimed George, "that woman doesn't bandy words. Ishould think her quite capable of conniving at Dargental's murder toregain possession of a letter in which she owns that she had committed acrime. She does not state what crime, but she may have committedforgery; and if Dargental profited by the deed, as she says clearlyenough, he certainly had good reason to fear her vengeance."

  "Then, if this letter came from Blanche Pornic, you would be inclined tothink that the murder was committed by her orders, and for her benefit?"

  "I would not swear that such was the case; but it would seem veryprobable."

  "Well, I know her; and I am sure that she was the writer of thisthreatening missive. 'You must choose between her and me.' 'Her' isMadame de Lescombat, her rival; and I would wager almost any amount thatthe letter is not a week old. A day or two after it was written,Dargental's intended marriage was announced. He had refused to fulfilhis promise, and Blanche avenged herself accordingly."

  "But if they had quarrelled to that point, he would not have invited herto lunch with us this morning."

  "There is nothing to prove that she did not invite herself, in order tothrow us off the track. But let us pass on to the third letter." Sosaying, Puymirol drew it from the pocket-book, unfolded it, and utteredan exclamation of astonishment. "What is the matter?" asked George.

  Puymirol, instead of replying, proceeded to unfold the telegram, whichhe had drawn from his pocket, with the Russian leather case, and spreadit out upon the table beside the third letter, which he had not yetread. "This last missive certainly comes from Madame de Lescombat," hegrunted. "The handwriting is precisely the same as that of thetelegraphic note."

  "Then Madame de Lescombat was probably as deeply interested as herrivals in regaining possession of her correspondence. You must admitthat."

  "Yes; but as Dargental was about to marry her, he would have returnedher the letter, had she desired it."

  "Who knows? Read it, and let me know your opinion afterwards."

  Puymirol complied, though somewhat reluctantly, for he was afraid hewould be obliged to change his first opinion. He read as follows: "'Myking, my love, my life, I am intoxicated with happiness. What blissfulhours I have spent with you! When will they return? Why did I allow youto depart? I feel a mad desire to hasten after you, and throw myself inthe arms that clasped me so fondly. Before I met you I never knew whatit was to love. Now, however, my happiness is perfect, and I have provedto you how ardent is my affection. I have placed myself in your power byconfiding my great secret to you. In a word, you might ruin me. And if Iwrite this, it is in order that you may have in your
possession aproof, a confession. If I deceived you, if I ceased to love you--But Iam blaspheming! I shall love you until my latest breath. But if I evergive you any cause of complaint, show me no mercy, crush me, deliver meup; I shall have deserved my fate. Oh, when will the day come when Ishall be able to acknowledge you as my lord and master before all theworld? When shall I bear your name? It seems to me that day will nevercome. Eight months longer to wait! Eight months during which we mustconceal our love, and pretend to mourn a being I loathed. And what ifyou learned to love another in the meantime? What if your infatuationshould return for the woman I hate the most because it was she whom youmost loved. Ah! I should die. It would kill me; but I should not diewithout being avenged upon that creature.'"

  "Well, what do you think of that?" asked George.

  "I think that the lady was desperately in love with Dargental, and thatshe was out of her mind when she wrote that letter."

  "It was evidently written just two months after her husband's death, forshe deplores the fact that her happiness must be deferred eight monthslonger, and the law does not allow a woman to marry again until tenmonths of widowhood have expired."

  "But it is at the least two years since Lescombat died of apoplexy."

  "Or of something else. Well, the marriage was deferred for some reasonor other, which is conclusive proof that the courtship was stormy. Thecountess has had plenty of time to change her mind."

  "She did not change it, as she meant to marry Dargental next week."

  "I admit that; but perhaps she was not so much in earnest as formerly.Dargental, in spite of his promises, had not severed his connection withBlanche Pornic, and Madame de Lescombat may have regretted saying, andabove all, writing, so much; she herself could not break the engagement,as he had her completely in his power."

  "And you fancy that she could devise no other means but murder to escapehim. That is absurd, my dear fellow."

  "Less absurd than your suspicions respecting Blanche, for this letter iscertainly from the countess; and we are by no means sure that the othercomes from the actress." Puymirol hung his head. He was obliged toconfess that George was right, though it cost him a struggle to admitit. "However, I don't see," added Caumont, "why we should devote ourattention to this mystery. The authorities will take charge of that. Youhave only to hand the letters to the commissary of police, and state howyou came into possession of them."

  "I shall not do that," said Adhemar quickly. "I don't want to inform onany one."

  "But you talk about avenging Dargental's death."

  "Quite so, and when I learn who the guilty party is, I will decide on mycourse. I shall begin my search after the truth to-morrow. Before doingso, however, I want to know the result of the inquiry now in progress."

  "How will you learn that result?"

  "We shall be summoned as witnesses; and the questions put to us willindicate how the magistrate views the affair. But we can not stay hereforever. Shall we go to the club? Balmer will be there by about fouro'clock; and there are some questions that I should like to ask him. Hewas very intimate with Dargental, so he may be able to enlighten merespecting certain circumstances."

  The two friends thereupon rose up and repaired to their club, asecond-rate establishment in the Avenue de l'Opera hard by. They hadbeen elected members, thanks to Dargental. On arriving, they found thatBalmer had not yet put in an appearance, so they sat down in a corner towait for him. Their thoughts followed very different channels. Puymirol,while regretting Dargental, to whom he was indebted for many littleservices, hoped to profit by his death, without knowing exactly how. Hehad, however, more ambition than scruples, and though he would not havestooped to blackmailing, he did not hesitate about fishing in muddywaters. He said to himself that Madame de Lescombat, whether innocent orguilty of the murder, would give almost anything to regain possession ofher letter, and that she would be disposed to assist any man who mightrestore it to her; now, why should he not be the man? These intentionswere certainly not very laudable; but when a fellow wishes to succeed atany cost, he must not be over fastidious. Caumont, on his side, did notfeel the slightest interest in the countess, and had only undertakenBlanche Pornic's defence from a sense of justice. He had never likedDargental, though he had seen a good deal of him, having been draggedinto his society by Puymirol. He regretted his untimely death, but feltno desire to avenge it; indeed, he was sorry that he had become mixed upin the affair of the pocket-book and the letters. In point of fact, hehad other thoughts in his mind. He had recently met a young lady whom hegreatly admired, and whom he wished to marry.

  While the two friends thus sat side by side on a sofa, smoking insilence, Charles Balmer suddenly appeared looking considerably excited."Do you know what has happened?" he asked, in a husky voice. "I havejust come from Dargental's."

  "We went there in advance of you. He is dead," said Adhemar.

  "He was murdered, my dear fellow. I fell into a nest of detectives,magistrates, and physicians, and I thought for a while that they weregoing to arrest me. They confined themselves to questioning me,however."

  "Have they discovered the culprit?" asked Adhemar.

  "Well, they have arrested the valet, who stoutly denies any knowledge ofthe crime. I know him, and I would stake my life upon his innocence.Besides, Dargental's pocket-book was stolen, and it certainly was notJean who took it, for he was searched, and only thirty-seven sous werefound upon him. They are going to keep him in jail, all the same, but Iam convinced that his innocence will be established sooner or later on."

  "But how do they know that the pocket-book was stolen?"

  "Dargental always carried it in his breast-pocket. Jean himself told thecommissary so, and the pocket was empty. Poor Pierre! when I think howwe blamed him for keeping us waiting! He was just starting off to lunchwith us when he was killed--by whom, no one can tell." With these wordsBalmer left the two friends to approach the card tables and inform theother members present of the violent death which had befallen one of theboldest players of the club.

  "Well," said George to Puymirol, "after what you have just heard, do youstill persist in your determination to usurp the functions of thepolice?"

  "I not only persist in my determination, but I shall begin work thisvery evening," replied Adhemar, taking up his hat. "You can return homeif you like; I mean to call on the countess."