CHAPTER XXII

MONSIEUR TOULOUSE'S SHOP

Didier had no need to inquire his way in order to find Monsieur Toulouse's shop. The previous night, by a sort of fatality, as has been said, he stopped outside the squalid-looking house and its odd signboard.'

Feeling convinced that it was not in the interests of those masters in the art of blackmail to play him any trick, and being himself prepared to make every possible sacrifice which might at least give him time for reflection, and to decide whether he should adopt a graver course, he was by no means alarmed as to the immediate consequences of his visit.

He understood quite well that, for the purposes of certain business in which he required the cooperation of a man like the Burglar, M. de Saynthine greatly preferred that the work should be done in the semi-darkness of a room at the back of a shop.

Nevertheless Captain d'Haumont took his revolver with him by way of precaution. He felt that his forces were returning to him; and it has been seen in the course of this narrative that his strength was above the common.

It was thus with a confident step that he made his way through the labyrinth of narrow streets in the old town and proceeded straight to Monsieur Toulouse's shop.

The day was closing in. Moreover it grew dark early between the buildings in those mean alleys where two carts could not pass each other. Glimmers of light began to pierce the shop-windows.

At the back of M. Toulouse's shop, in the dusk, stood a candle, by the light of which Didier recognized the Burglar crouching behind his counter like a watch-dog in its kennel. As soon as his eyes fell on the Captain, he came towards him with a profusion of bows, bidding him welcome, and declaring that he was "quite honored by the presence of a hero like Captain d'Haumont." He asked permission to close the door on account of the draught.

Didier did not, at first, answer this contemptible preamble. He took a good look round him at the clothes which stocked the miserable hole, and, observing nothing suspicious, allowed Monsieur Toulouse to lock and bolt the door.

"Now no one will come and disturb us," explained the second-hand clothes dealer.

Had the Burglar been able to see the peculiar movement which was taking place in the street, he might not perhaps have expressed himself in such positive terms. As a matter of fact, a force of police was surrounding the house, and indeed guarding the neighboring streets.

For some time past, robberies, burglaries, attempts at murder, the work of one and the same gang, had followed one upon the other. It was known that the gang's headquarters were in the old town, and that they were assisted by a number of confederates who screened them from police investigation.

The Caid's murder was included in the same series of crimes. A detective-inspector who had often observed him loitering about the streets of Nice, with his rugs on his shoulders, identified his corpse, and wondered what had become of the rugs which the Mohammedan always carried about with him. He discovered identical rugs in Monsieur Toulouse's shop.

The behavior of the Burglar seemed to be suspicious, and the shop was kept under observation. At nightfall men were seen calling on him, slipping into the shop by stealth. In short, the police came to the conclusion that they need not look farther afield to discover the gang's lair, and that if they organized a trap, they would be able to catch the entire fraternity at a single stroke.

The trap was laid for that very evening. Orders were given that visitors should be allowed to enter Monsieur Toulouse's shop, and "nabbed" on the quiet as they came out.

It is quite likely that the police had already seen that afternoon several interesting figures call at the shop, but Didier attracted their curiosity more particularly, because of the care with which he was enveloped in a huge overcoat with the collar turned up, and of the difficulty of seeing even the tip of his nose under his soft felt hat with the brim pressed down over his face.

Though Didier had started off without fear to keep his disagreeable appointment, he was by no means anxious to be recognized as he entered the shop. Thus he had chosen to wear an overcoat and a hat in which he might consider himself safe from observation.

When the Burglar had locked the door, Didier in a calm voice said:

"I may tell you that I am armed, and at the least action which I don't like, I will shoot you all like dogs."

"Oh, my dear Captain, you must have formed a very bad opinion of us since our last meeting. You are armed, you say. Well, I am not armed. I've no weapon in my hands or in my pockets. And I assure you that my friends are not armed any more than I am. We must convince you, my dear Captain, that you are here among friends. No, no, you haven't any better friends in Nice or anywhere else than ourselves."

"Where are the others?" asked Didier. "Don't let us spin out the business. I am not here to please myself."

"If you've come here to please us I think I can promise you that you will leave the place with a light heart, a mind at rest, and free from any feeling of remorse. When a man does what he can, in life, he does what he must. We shan't ask you to do anything you 'can't' do, my dear Captain. Would you mind stepping into the room behind the shop? That's where our friends are waiting for you."

"Lead on."

The Burglar bowed and "led on." Didier followed with his hand in his pocket clutching his revolver, prepared for anything that might happen.

He at once saw, seated at a table, two men whom he recognized. One was the Parisian, who now called himself de Saynthine, and whom he had so roughly handled the previous evening for persecuting Giselle and the other was the Joker, who was dressed in black, looking as serious as a solicitor's clerk. He had before him, on the table, a morocco leather portfolio.

M. de Saynthine had risen and, pointing to a chair facing him on the other side of the table, begged Captain d'Haumont to be seated. The Joker nodded slightly, and straightway opened his portfolio, taking from it sundry papers. Pens, paper and an inkstand lay on the table.

"I will sit down when the Burglar, who is standing beside me, has taken his place with you on your side of the table," said d'Haumont, who seemed in no way perturbed.

"Bless me, Captain d'Haumont, my name is Monsieur Toulouse, and I beg you not to forget it, but apart from that there's nothing Monsieur Toulouse wouldn't do to please you." So saying, the Burglar took up his position on the other side of the table; and Didier sat down, placing his revolver in front of him. M. de Saynthine smiled.

"I assure you that this inkstand is all that we shall need," interposed the Joker.

"I'm listening," said Didier, throwing a swift glance round the room. He was placed in such a way that there was no danger from the rear. The room in which he found himself was, like the shop itself, filled with every variety of "reach-me-down." Didier had no need to fear that some confederate was hiding among the toggery. He observed that for the most part it was hanging from the ceiling on iron rods. Moreover it was inconceivable that the Parisian and his gang would admit any other miscreant into the secret.

The room looked out on to a small courtyard, with a glass roof, the high walls of which could be seen. A door with a hatch over it led on to another courtyard. This door was locked. It was through the hatch over the door that Didier caught sight of the courtyard's glass roof. The room was connected with the shop not by a door but by an opening, and, as the two rooms were not on the same level, the shop was reached by means of three worn-out steps.

The Burglar was seated on the Parisian's right, while the Joker was on his left. They looked like a full bench of judges, and as a matter of course the presiding judge, M. de Saynthine, opened the proceedings.

"We need not indulge in unnecessary words," he said. "I will at once come to the point. When Captain d'Haumont left his gold-digging business in Guiana, it was in a particularly prosperous state, so that he was able to bring to Europe with him something like two million francs' worth of gold dust. Arrived in France, Captain d'Haumont married wealth. Madame d'Haumont brought him as her marriage portion, to begin with, her personal fortune which was left to her by her maternal great-aunt, amounting to seven hundred thousand francs."

"Allow me," broke in the Joker. "You have made a slight mistake. To begin with, this personal fortune amounts to"--and he turned the pages of a report until he came to a figure--"exactly seven hundred and forty-five thousand francs. But this fortune was made up of six hundred thousand francs left to Madame d'Haumont by her great-aunt, who disinherited Madame d'Haumont's mother for conduct of which she disapproved; and one hundred and forty-five thousand francs, which came to Madame d'Haumont from M. de la Boulays' brother, who left the remainder of his wealth, amounting to four hundred thousand francs, to M. de la Boulays"--fresh reference to the papers--"to be exact, four hundred and thirty-two thousand, eight hundred francs, free of legacy duty, which four hundred and thirty-two thousand, eight hundred francs and the interest accruing thereon during five years, the amount of which can easily be ascertained, were given by M. de la Boulays absolutely to his daughter. The dowry amounted, therefore, to a grand total of one million, one hundred and seventy-seven thousand, eight hundred francs, without counting the interest in question."

"A very fine wedding present," said M. de Saynthine. "We have only mentioned Madame d'Haumont's fortune to show how matters stand, and to prove that Captain d'Haumont will not be reduced to beggary on the day when he hands over his own property, worth two million francs, to his old companions who worked with him for so many long years, and but for whose devoted and entirely discreet assistance he would be nothing to-day."

Having spoken, M. de Saynthine leaned towards Didier, who maintained a gloomy silence.

"I don't know if I have made myself sufficiently clear," he said.

"Yes," returned Captain d'Haumont. "Unfortunately you have made yourself only too clear."

A pause ensued. The Burglar broke it by remarking:

"We ought to have foreseen it. He's going to bargain."

"No," returned M. de Saynthine, "Captain d'Haumont is not going to bargain. He will reflect that it might have cost him a great deal more. He will appreciate the delicacy which we have shown in allowing him to pay his debt to us without having to lay hands on his wife's property."

"Mlle. de la Boulays' property," interposed Didier, who dared not say Madame d'Haumont, "does not belong to me. I will not touch a sou of Mlle. de la Boulays' money."

"Calm yourself, Captain d'Haumont, seeing that your wife's fortune is not in question, and we are not asking for any part of it," returned M. de Saynthine.

"All the same, allow me to say," broke in the Joker, "that Captain d'Haumont is wrong in saying that his wife's property does not belong to him. It belongs to him as much as it belongs to her. He can dispose of it in its entirety, because Captain and Madame d'Haumont were married under the law of community of property between husband and wife. Captain d'Haumont wanted this community of property converted into the law of acquisition whereby the property belongs to the husband and wife jointly, but Madame d'Haumont, with an unselfishness which one cannot too highly praise, insisted on the former course, and M. de la Boulays himself had to give way to her. Moreover, he did so all the more readily inasmuch as he knew that he was dealing with a perfectly honest man who would know how to manage with care and economy their mutual interests."

"You are wasting words," growled the Burglar. "Captain d'Haumont has got to make up his mind. Is it to be yes or no?"

"I am prepared to give you everything that belongs to me," said Captain d'Haumont. The three men at these words were quivering with delight when he added: "Unfortunately for your expectations, which I consider excessive, I do not possess more than one hundred and fifty thousand francs."

Slightly nonplussed by this declaration, the three confederates burst into laughter.

"What a good joke!" jeered the Burglar. "Who's going to believe that humbug?"

M. de Saynthine intervened:

"I thought that I said what I had to say with sufficient clearness," he observed. "Two million francs for us, and honor, fame, happiness, security, love and one million francs for you."

"One million, one hundred and seventy-seven thousand, eight hundred francs," corrected the Joker. "It strikes me that with the share we are leaving you, you'll have nothing to complain of."

"We are much too generous," declared Monsieur Toulouse, who was beginning to show irritation and struck the table with his fist. "It's obvious that we shall have to resort to extreme measures."

M. de Saynthine placed his hand on Monsieur Toulouse's arm.

"Hold your tongue," he ordered. "We are not here to shout or to be trifled with."

As he uttered these last words he turned to Didier and said:

"Be good enough, Monsieur, to answer us seriously."

"I tell you, with the utmost seriousness, that one hundred and fifty thousand francs are all that I have left. I gave the rest to the State."

This time they stared at him in silent amazement. Captain d'Haumont did not look as if he were "trifling." Nevertheless the Burglar could not refrain from again striking the table with his clenched fist.

"He's getting at us. The thing's impossible," he cried.

"Personally I don't believe a word of it," declared the Joker with a feeble smile.

"He is quite capable of doing such a thing," said the Parisian.

"You can have proof of it whenever you like," declared Didier with an impassive air.

The Joker and the Burglar at once burst into a fit of indignation. They called to mind what the Parisian had told them of the Nut's character, and the rash deeds of which he was capable.

"Oh, the swine! if he's done that, he's robbed us," moaned Monsieur Toulouse.

The Joker rose to his feet and, losing all self-restraint, treated Captain d'Haumont with the familiarity with which he used to treat the Nut.

"Do you think we've come all this way for one hundred and fifty thousand francs?"

"Fifty thousand francs," corrected the Burglar, who knew how to calculate at least as well as the Joker. "Why, we must be dreaming."

"Very well," said the Parisian, who had paused to reflect. "We'll test what you say, and you'll have only yourself to blame if you've lied to us, and it's a bad look-out for you if you've told us the truth."

"It's a certainty that he's telling lies."

"Be quiet," ordered the Parisian. "That's his business. Our business is to receive the money. If you haven't a sou yourself----"

"Then, of course, he must hand over his wife's money."

Didier stood up, pale as death.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going off because I have nothing more to say to you. My hundred and fifty thousand francs are at your disposal. You can take them or leave them. You cannot betray me without ruining yourselves. You won't get another sou. You can think it over. I don't attach any value to my life. You can have the hundred and fifty thousand francs or nothing at all.

"Sit down, Nut, and let's argue the thing out. It would be a pity for all of us if you left us like this," said de Saynthine.

Now they no longer gave themselves airs. They let themselves go without restraint, and were such men as life in a penal settlement had made of them. They used slang and addressed each other in the familiar second person. They had become once again comrades who were ready to come to an understanding or fight to the death. They called him once more the Nut.

Didier was still on his feet.

"You haven't grasped the fact, Nut, that we don't want to blackmail you. There's never any end to blackmail. If we accepted your hundred and fifty thousand francs they would be gone in three months, and the whole thing would begin over again. Nothing is to be done with a hundred and fifty thousand francs between the three of us. It's not enough to make even one honest man! But if you have any common sense, you will get us out of our poverty once for all. We ask you to share with us what property you have, whether it comes from your marriage or from any other source."

"You must hand over a million, and you'll never hear of us again, I promise you," said the Burglar, and he raised his hand as if he were about to take an oath.

"I have a list of the securities pertaining to Madame d'Haumont," said the Joker in his turn. "A pretty good lot of them could be sold at once, and the others do not present insuperable difficulties. The Nut has the power to do what he likes with these securities. His signature alone is needed. There's no necessity to give any explanation; but if he wants to supply one, it will be easy for him to do so. He has securities which have gone up in value, and he is taking advantage of the fact to sell them. Others have gone down in value, and he wants to get rid of them before they depreciate still further. It's he who has the management of the business. It's his duty to 'reinvest' the money. I'll take it on myself to reinvest it. He has but to give me his signature, and he will see what a good business man I am! Madame d'Haumont will suspect nothing. We shall leave you the land and houses, and your father-in-law's property which you will inherit. You have nothing to complain of. Only you must sit down, old man, and take a pen. We have already jawed too much. Time is passing, and we haven't really done anything yet."

The three of them stared at Didier, who was still on his feet, very pale, his eyes half closed, his revolver in his hand.

They did not fear the revolver. They knew very well that he was incapable of shooting the three of them. He was not a Chéri-Bibi, was not Didier, and then if he were to run away leaving three corpses behind he would not escape a scandal. Moreover, as may be imagined, they would not allow him to have it all his own way.

As they saw him standing, with a set, pale face, before them, and as they closely watched the suppressed desperation to which they had driven him, their fear was lest he should use the weapon against himself. In truth he had a look about him of a man who was about to kill himself.

They instinctively realized it, and the Burglar and the Joker had no need of a swift glance from M. de Saynthine to grasp the position. The latter at once assumed a good-humored air.

"In reality it will be enough if we are agreed in principle," he said. "A day or two will make no difference. The position in which we stand towards each other to-day will be the same to-morrow. And we shall still have at our command the same weapons, so that we can put an end to it if it is unduly protracted. Let Captain d'Haumont show his good will and we shan't fall out. Of course, we can't give Captain d'Haumont away to the police without detriment to ourselves, but we are not concerned with the police. The thought that Madame d'Haumont may remain indefinitely, perhaps for ever, ignorant of things which she need not know--it depends on him--will hasten our old friend's decision. Let him now make the necessary arrangements to transfer securities to the value of one hundred and fifty thousand francs to us, and we will talk about the rest in a week's time."

Didier still clung to the supreme hope of coming to some understanding.

"I must go home now," he said. "I shan't come here again. I will meet M. de Saynthine one evening by appointment, in a suitable and discreet place. He will receive due notice here. Within the next four days we shall either come to a definite agreement or each be free to go his own way."

M. de Saynthine cast a further glance at his assistants.

"Very well, that's agreed," he said. "And may those four days of reflection help you to become sensible. Good-by, Nut. Open the street door, Monsieur Toulouse."

The Burglar made for the shop and Didier followed him.

"Only one way out of it," whispered the Parisian to the Joker.

The Joker had but to stretch out his arm and to press his hand against the wall, and the stairs which led to the shop fell to pieces at the moment when Didier was bearing down upon them with all his weight.

Didier uttered a cry, and hardly knowing what he did, raised his arms in the air and fell. The three men were upon him in a flash. His revolver had dropped on to the shop floor. Thus he was disarmed and in such a position that it was almost impossible for him to shake off the human cluster which was pressing him hard. He gave a hollow groan, to which the others replied by bursting into hideous fits of laughter.

But suddenly the little game took another turn. Didier's moans were answered by a loud shout mingled with a terrible crash.

The glass roof of the courtyard was shattered by an enormous weight, and the door which connected the yard with the back room was battered in at a blow. A human form rolled to the bandits' feet.

The three of them stood up, letting go their prey, with a simultaneous cry: "Chéri-Bibi!"

Seized with an uncontrollable terror they staggered back, but seeing that Chéri-Bibi appeared to be distraught they realized that he was seriously injured, and they leapt at him, while the Parisian fired his revolver point-blank at his chest.

Chéri-Bibi, however, clutched the weapon and the shot struck the wall after grazing his hand, which began to bleed copiously. The bandits were on him like hounds upon the quarry. With ever-increasing hatred for the monster who came among them to interfere in their affairs, they might have torn him to pieces, for Didier was wedged in the cavity in the stairs and was trying in vain to release himself, when they heard the sound of a commotion in the street, the shop door was broken down and the police rushed in.

At the sound of the first blows on the shop front the Parisian, the Burglar and the Joker took refuge at the back of the courtyard and remained in a dark staircase by which, whatever happened, they could make good their escape.

The police followed close upon their heels, passing the two men who lay on the floor without troubling about them for the time being.

Chéri-Bibi and the Nut were left to themselves. They could hear the police-calls in the passages, the staircases, and even in the street.

Chéri-Bibi dragged himself towards the Nut and endeavored to get on his feet, but his leg must have been broken, for he fell to the ground moaning: "_Fatalitas_, my leg has given way!"