Part 10

"You have guessed correctly. It was Puymirol. In fact he and I found the pocket-book. Puymirol made a great mistake in trying to profit by one of the lottery tickets it contained, and he has been severely punished for doing so. As for myself, I have made no use of the letters as yet, but I shall, if you force me to do so."

"The letters! There are several, then?"

"There are three."

"Is mine one of them?" asked Blanche, eagerly.

"Yes," was the laconic reply.

"Then, madame here told a falsehood when she said that she had it. I suspected as much," said the actress.

"You also told an untruth," retorted the countess. "And this gentleman doubtless intends to exact hush-money from us."

"I scorn to notice your insults," replied George. "I kept the letters, because I did not know what else to do with them. But now that my friend is compromised, I must take them to the investigating magistrate at once. I shall tell him the whole truth, and though he may blame me, the worst consequences will fall upon the persons who were so deeply interested in regaining possession of their letters. One of them, at least, hasn't shrunk from a crime to recover her property."

"I'm not that one," said Blanche, "and you need no better proof of that, than my earnest approval of your plan, and my wish that you should see the magistrate as soon as possible."

"Do as you please, sir," said the countess, with pretended indifference. "You mean to try and exculpate Monsieur de Puymirol and to inculpate me. I think, however, that you will only aggravate your friend's situation, for this story of the finding and keeping of the pocket-book does not redound to his credit or to yours. Besides, a magistrate won't accuse a person of my rank merely because a letter of hers is shown to him at the same time as letters from other women of greatly inferior position. If the magistrate suspects any one, it will be mademoiselle here, or else the writer of the third letter; that is, unless the three correspondents are only an invention--I shall only believe your story when I have proof of it."

"I will furnish proof," cried George, yielding to a sudden impulse, and as he spoke he drew the letters from his pocket, and spread them out in his hand in the form of a fan. "Do you recognise yours?" he said to the countess.

Madame de Lescombat turned pale, but made no reply. "I recognise mine," answered Blanche, promptly. "It is the one on the right. Madame's is the one to the left. Dargental once showed it to me, and the handwriting is not of a kind that one is likely to forget."

At this moment the door of the room opened and Albert Verdon swept in like a whirlwind. "George!" he exclaimed, in astonishment. "Well, well, I am delighted to see you! But what the deuce are you doing? Are you playing cards with Blanche?"

At sight of a stranger, the countess lowered her veil, and turned towards the door. As she did so, Albert perceived her, and hastily doffing his hat, stammered: "Excuse me, madame. But I thought Blanche was alone with this gentleman, who is my friend, and who will soon be my brother-in-law."

The countess gave him a keen glance and reflected: "So this young fellow is this girl's lover, and Caumont is about to marry his sister. I am saved. Caumont won't dare to hand the letters to a magistrate." Then, instead of replying to Albert's apology, she bowed to the entire company, and left the room. Blanche responded by a gesture that signified "Good riddance," while George remained so entirely taken by surprise, that he lacked the presence of mind to conceal the letters which the young officer had mistaken for playing-cards. "Well, well," said Albert, "why do you all look so strange? Who was that lady dressed in black? You seemed to be acting a tragedy, together."

"You are about right," said Blanche, gaily. "You have just seen the Countess de Lescombat."

"The lady to whom you wished to send me as envoy extraordinary? And she has paid you a visit? Have you signed a treaty of peace?"

"Oh, no; didn't you notice that she went off in a huff?"

"That's true. She looked furious; but you spoke the other day of a letter she refused to return to you. Did she bring it back to you to-day?"

"On the contrary, she came to ask me to return a letter of hers. But don't try to solve the mystery. You will not succeed."

"But I must. If you won't tell me anything, I shall apply to George."

"Oh! he's free to tell you what he likes," rejoined Blanche.

George being thus referred to, felt that he could not remain silent, and so, with the best grace he could muster, he began: "You have a right to know the whole truth, my dear Albert. You recollect that I spoke to you yesterday, and again this morning, about my friend Puymirol, and the anxiety his prolonged absence caused me? Well, he has been arrested on the charge of murdering that Monsieur Dargental, who, as you already know, was formerly one of Blanche's admirers."

"Indeed! arrested!" exclaimed Albert. "How can that be? How can suspicion have fallen on him?"

"Listen to me," said George. "I will explain everything;" and thereupon he gave Albert a substantial account of all he knew; the dropping of the pocket-book into the cab; the lunch at the Lion d'Or; the finding of Dargental's dead body; Puymirol's determination to discover the writers of the letters contained in the pocket-book; his subsequent disappearance, his attempt to cash a winning lottery ticket, his arrest, and the search made in the Rue de Medicis. "It was very foolish on Puymirol's part," he added, "for him to conceive the idea of conducting an investigation instead of reporting the facts to the authorities; but it was in vain that I represented to him that he would place himself in a very dangerous position. He first went to the house of the Countess de Lescombat. Ah! I forgot to tell you that one of the letters found in the pocket-book had evidently come from her."

"And was one of the others from Blanche?" asked Albert.

"Yes," replied Mademoiselle Pornic, promptly, "and I will explain it after you have read it. Monsieur Caumont can show it to you."

"Are the letters in your possession?" asked the young officer, looking searchingly at George.

"I have had them for two days past. Puymirol, before calling upon the countess, intrusted them to my keeping, and I have not been able to return them, as I have not seen him since."

"Read my letter," insisted Blanche.

"Are you willing to show it to me?" inquired Albert.

"Perfectly willing," replied George, "and the two others also. Besides, I want your advice in this matter; but it must be given with a full knowledge of all the circumstances. Here are the letters," he added holding them out. "Begin with Mademoiselle Pornic's. The top one won't be interesting to you, as we have no clue to the writer."

"It is very strange," exclaimed the officer, "but I am almost sure that I recognise the handwriting." And at the same time he turned very pale. George looked at him in surprise, and was suddenly seized with the idea that the third missive must have been written by some one closely connected with his future brother-in-law. Accordingly he hastily slipped it between the others, and lowered his hand. He had not been mistaken, for Albert, in a voice husky with emotion, resumed: "I am wrong of course, but give me the letter. I should like to examine it more closely. Why do you hesitate? You must know who wrote it?"

"No! I swear I don't."

"Then show it to me. I have good eyes, and I saw it only too well. I can't remain in this cruel suspense. Give me the letter, I tell you."

George turned pale in his turn. He felt that matters were becoming serious, and he asked himself anxiously how he could get out of the scrape. "My dear Albert," he said, with an evident effort, "you must see that you are placing me in a very embarrassing position. Give me, at least, an explanation that will relieve me of any responsibility. Convince me that you have some serious reason for reading that letter."

"It is so serious that if you refuse to give it me, I will have no further connection with you."

"But whom do you suppose the writer to be?"

"I won't answer you--I can't."

"Then you must excuse me from yielding to a whim which you don't even take the trouble to justify. You threaten to withdraw your friendship, well, I appeal to your reason. If need be, I will leave the matter to umpires of your own selection."

"I cannot explain here."

"That means you distrust me," exclaimed Blanche. "Ah, well, my friend, don't let me stand in your way. I will leave you alone with Monsieur Caumont, and you can talk without fear of being overheard. There is no one in the adjoining boudoir, and I will go to my dressing room, at the other end of the flat."

George and the young lieutenant were left standing face to face, equally agitated and embarrassed. "You promised to show me that letter if I would name the writer," finally said the officer in a hoarse voice.

"But how can you do that? You scarcely saw the letter, and all feminine handwriting is more or less alike."

"This is so familiar, that I cannot possibly be mistaken. It is as well known to me as my sister's."

"Pray don't speak of your sister in connection with this matter," said George entreatingly.

"Would you rather I spoke of my mother?"

"Your mother! What do you mean?"

"She wrote that letter. I am certain of it."

"Impossible! You must be mistaken."

"I should recognise the hand among a thousand."

"You forget that the writer of this missive instigated Dargental's murder," insisted George, imprudently, "for it seems almost certain that she was the guilty party, since it was neither Blanche nor the Countess de Lescombat; and how can you think Madame Verdon capable of such a crime? You never met Dargental. You never even heard of him prior to your arrival in Paris."

"I have not lived with my mother since I was a child."

"But your sister has never left her, and she only heard of Dargental through the papers. Your mother obtained her information about his death from the same source, and it did not affect her in the least."

"How do you know?"

"We at least know that Madame Verdon is preparing for her approaching marriage. Besides, where could she have found a scoundrel willing to risk his life for her sake, in order to kill Dargental?"

"Rochas is capable of any crime," said Albert. George hung his head. He had not been prepared for this reply, and he felt the horror of the situation more keenly than ever. "I am grateful to you for defending her," continued the young officer, gravely, "but I entreat you not to leave me in this cruel uncertainty. Show me the letter."

"If it comes from her, what shall you do?"

"I don't know; but one thing is certain, my sister must know nothing of this."

"You can depend upon my silence. But really I cannot allow you to read the letter."

"So be it," said Albert, with an evident effort. "I shall be satisfied if you will merely show it to me. A single glance will suffice to dispel my doubts. That is enough," he said, bitterly, as George held it out for his inspection, with a trembling hand. "I can no longer doubt."

"Let me burn it here and now," pleaded George.

"Why burn it? On the contrary, you must keep it. It will help you in proving that your friend is innocent."

"Can you suppose I would show it to the investigating magistrate? I bless the chance that brought you here. But for this conversation with you, I should have handed this correspondence to the magistrate in the hope of saving my friend. Now, I would rather die than show him these letters. If you insist upon my keeping them, instead of destroying them, I will submit to your decision; but I fear that they may be taken from me. The search in Puymirol's apartments may be repeated to-morrow, and this time perhaps in my rooms as well."

"You are right; but I am anxious that you should remain armed. Intrust these letters to some one."

"To whom could I safely intrust them?"

"Place them in an envelope, seal it securely, and intrust the packet to a man who would rather let himself be hacked to pieces than give it up, or even open it--in short, give it to Roch Plancoët."

"I scarcely know him."

"But I know him, and I will send him to you."

"I will do as you wish, but--"

"My decision is formed. My mother must leave France immediately, never to return. I will see that she does so, and I will make Gabrielle understand that from this day forth, she and I no longer have a mother. You must devote yourself to your friend. Save him, if you can, and when he is at liberty, advise him, also, to disappear. If he should be obliged to speak of the letters in order to get himself out of the scrape, he can only denounce Blanche and the countess as he does not know the writer of the other letter. If the magistrate questions you, tell him you have burned them all. Now go. I must invent some story to prevent Blanche from guessing the truth. You may expect a visit from me to-morrow morning. I shall have something fresh to tell you then."

George, overcome with emotion, made no response, but staggered out of the house like a drunken man.

VIII.

Roch Plancoët lived in some modest rooms at the corner of the Rue Royer Collard, but a few steps from the house occupied by Madame Verdon and her daughter. He might have chosen more expensive quarters, for he possessed a small fortune, honestly and laboriously acquired during his long service as superintendent of the Verdon ironworks. But Roch was a philosopher who scorned luxury and adored solitude. He led a quiet life, and he devoted his time and attention almost exclusively to his friends, Gabrielle and Albert--the children of his foster-brother and benefactor. Gabrielle especially was the object of his almost fatherly solicitude. He visited her every day, and her portrait hung in his sitting-room. With her mother, strange to say, he was always very reserved, though he willingly served her when she asked him to do so, which seldom happened, however. The only favour he had ever asked of her, was permission to see her daughter every day, and she had never dared to refuse that, perhaps because she feared him. Roch had held the position of superintendent at the ironworks when she married M. Verdon; and he was too well acquainted with all the incidents of her life, for her to quarrel with him. When she had informed him of her intention to marry M. Rochas, he had replied that she was perfectly free to contract a second marriage if she pleased, and that if she wished to leave her children he would take charge of them. Then, however, had come the announcement of Gabrielle's engagement to George Caumont. George had had the rare good fortune to please Plancoët, and that was a good deal, for the old fellow was very hard to please as far as his favourite's suitors were concerned. However, although Roch had abundant cause for rejoicing at this good news, at least apparently, he returned home thoughtful and preoccupied, and for twenty-four hours merely set foot out of doors to take his meals at a neighbouring restaurant. On the following afternoon, while he was sitting at his window smoking a pipe, Albert Verdon rang at the door. The young officer seemed to be in a state of great excitement, and Roch anxiously asked him: "What is the matter?"

"Ah! my poor friend, you are the only person to whom I can tell the truth," replied Albert. "You know all about my mother's conduct. Well, I have just seen a letter written by her to a lover--"

"To Rochas?" asked Plancoët, eagerly.

"No, no--to that man Dargental whom I spoke to you about, and who was killed in his rooms a fortnight ago." On hearing this Plancoët staggered back to the-wall. "Yes," resumed Albert fiercely, "to a scamp who traded on women! A professional black mailer! Ah! the truth is so horrible that on making this discovery I at first thought of flinging myself into the Seine."

"You haven't seen your mother since?" asked Plancoët.

"No, I lacked the courage; I wanted to ask your advice. Come, tell me, did you ever know that my mother carried on an intrigue with that man Dargental?"

"I know all that your mother has done since she became a widow," replied Plancoët, gravely, and then after a little pressing from Albert he proceeded to tell the poor fellow the story of Madame Verdon's profligacy. She had been Dargental's mistress for a time, but he had deserted her for Madame de Lescombat whom he hoped to marry, not, however, without having extorted large sums of money from her, by threatening her with the publication of her correspondence. In fact, only shortly before his death, he had threatened to send her letters to Gabrielle.

Albert was crushed by the sad narrative. At last, however, he mustered strength enough to inform Plancoët of Puymirol's arrest, of the scene at Blanche's house, and the attendant discovery, and of Caumont's present willingness to confide the letters to his keeping. "You must take them," said the young fellow, "and go and see my mother--force her to leave Paris in three days' time, and make her promise to marry M. Rochas abroad, without delay. If she refuses, you may tell her that she will certainly be implicated in the murder of M. Dargental."

"And if she consents?"

"Then you can burn the letters or keep them as you like. But come now, George is waiting for us to hand you the notes."

Roch's face had abruptly assumed an expression of resolution. He did not raise any objection but quietly followed Albert to the Luxembourg Gardens where Caumont indeed was waiting. "My dear fellow," said young Verdon to his future brother-in-law, without more ado, "we are all of the same mind. You know my intentions, and my old friend Roch will see that they are carried out. Will you therefore give him the envelope containing the letters?"

George handed it to Plancoët, who accepted the trust without hesitation. "Are they all here?" he inquired.

"Yes, all three of them," replied the lieutenant. "Break the seal and see for yourself, if you like."

"That is unnecessary; your word is sufficient. But I should be greatly obliged to Monsieur Caumont if he would tell me how his friend Monsieur de Puymirol is getting on."

"His situation remains unchanged. He has been subjected to repeated examinations, but the magistrate has so far come to no decision."

"And your friend has said nothing about the letters?" inquired Plancoët.

"No; and yet, I fancy they would be the only means of saving him."

"Then why doesn't he mention them?"

"Probably because he doesn't wish to compromise the Countess de Lescombat. Perhaps, also, he doesn't want to mix me up in this unfortunate affair. If he spoke of the letters the magistrate would instantly suspect that he had intrusted them to me."

"And do you think that he will remain silent until the end?--that he will let himself be sent before the assizes rather than speak out."

"I feel sure of it. He has many faults, but nothing can subjugate or intimidate him. I know him so well that yesterday I made up my mind to interfere and extricate him from his predicament despite himself; but now I can do nothing for fear of involving Albert's mother in the scandal. He is lost!"

Plancoët, visibly agitated, dropped his eyes. "I feel sure that although Madame Verdon may be very guilty she did not instigate Dargental's murder," he said after a short silence.

"Then who could have instigated it--Rochas?"

"I think not. He would not imperil his life to save a woman's honour. But Albert has told you, I suppose, what he wishes me to do?"

"Yes, sir, and I thoroughly approve of his decision."

"And you are still determined to marry Mademoiselle Verdon?"

"More determined than ever, if she will have me."

"But you are aware that two other persons know that the pocket-book has been found, and are acquainted with the contents of the letters intrusted to you by your friend."

"Blanche Pornic will be silent. I can vouch for her," interrupted the young officer. "And Madame de Lescombat also realizes that it is to her interest to do the same."

"I can proceed to act, then," muttered Plancoët, as if talking to himself.

"I trust you will do so without delay," replied Albert. "My mother is now at home and so is Gabrielle, but you can say that you wish to see my mother alone."

"If you have an opportunity of exchanging a few words in private with Mademoiselle Verdon, pray tell her that my feelings are unchanged," said George to Plancoët.

"I will readily promise you that; and now, as you are acquainted with the habits of the investigating magistrate, will you tell me at what hour I should be likely to find him in his office?"

"Oh! my friend Balmer assured me that he would be in his office all day."

"But why do you wish to know that?" interrupted the lieutenant. "I suppose you have no idea of requesting him to release Puymirol?"

"Certainly not," stammered Plancoët.

"Then hasten to my mother's without delay. Now's your time, but when and where shall we see you again?"

"I am afraid the interview will prove a lengthy one."

"Ah, well, George and I will return here at five o'clock. So good-bye for the present, old friend."

"Farewell," replied Plancoët, pressing the hands the two young men held out to him.

With his head bowed down, the old overseer walked slowly towards Madame Verdon's abode. Gabrielle was upon the balcony, and on seeing him she hastened to the door and let him in. "What is happening?" she asked anxiously. "Just now I received a letter from Albert who tells me he shall come and fetch me at nine o'clock to-night to take me to his colonel's sister, in the Rue de Tournon, for he won't let me stay here any longer."

"Listen, my poor girl," replied Roch, "you must do as your brother asks--besides, it is absolutely necessary, for your mother will leave Paris to-morrow."

"To-morrow! but why? That's strange, she surely does not intend to abscond like a criminal?"

"Some transgressions have the same consequence as crimes," said Roch sadly; "believe me--don't try to guess the truth but believe me when I tell you that you must not remain another day under your mother's roof. I swear it by your poor father's memory, by your brother's honour and my own--"

Gabrielle was beginning to understand and tears gathered in her eyes. "Ah!" she murmured in a tone of deep grief.

"But Albert and your future husband will some day tell you more. However, is your mother at home?"

"Yes, in her boudoir."

"Well, I wish to see her and am going there. But before we part let me kiss you and promise me that you will be brave." Then having pressed the poor girl to his heart and imprinted a paternal kiss on her brow he proceeded to Madame Verdon's boudoir.

His interview with the guilty mother was a stormy one--but finally he wrung from her an unwilling compliance with Albert's wishes, and promised her that he would place her letter to Dargental in an envelope and deposit it with his notary, who would hand it to her in exchange for her written consent to Gabrielle's marriage with George Caumont. Then he hastily left the house, returned home, placed Blanche's and Madame de Lescombat's notes in one envelope addressed to George, and Madame Verdon's in another, and after writing some instructions for his notary, he forthwith repaired to the latter's office. When he left it he paused for an instant, but instead of returning to the Luxembourg to acquaint his young friends with the success of his mission, he finally crossed the Pont St. Michel and proceeded towards the Palais de Justice.

IX.