File No. 113 - Emile Gaboriau (large screen ebook reader TXT) 📗

‘Since this thing is inevitable, and it must take place to-day, you had better remain at home, at Vesinet, this evening.’ Raoul replied, ‘Of course.’”

Night was approaching, and the smoking-room was gradually filling with men who called for absinthe or bitters, and youths who perched themselves up on high stools, and smoked their pipes.

“It is time to go,” said M. Verduret; “your master will want you, Joseph; besides, here is someone come for me. I will see you to-morrow.”

The newcomer was no other than Cavaillon, more troubled and frightened than ever. He looked uneasily around the room, as if he expected the whole police force to appear, and carry him off to prison.

He did not sit down at M. Verduret’s table, but stealthily gave his hand to Prosper, and, after assuring himself that no one was observing them, handed M. Verduret a package, saying:

“She found this in a cupboard.”

It was a handsomely bound prayer-book. M. Verduret rapidly turned over the leaves, and soon found the pages from which the words pasted on Prosper’s letter had been cut.

“I had moral proofs,” he said, handing the book to Prosper, “but here is material proof sufficient in itself to save you.”

When Prosper looked at the book he turned pale as a ghost. He recognized this prayer-book instantly. He had given it to Madeleine in exchange for the medal.

He opened it, and on the fly-leaf Madeleine had written, “Souvenir of Notre Dame de Fourvieres, 17 January, 1866.”

“This book belongs to Madeleine,” he cried.

M. Verduret did not reply, but walked toward a young man dressed like a brewer, who had just entered the room.

He glanced at the note which this person handed to him, and hastened back to the table, and said, in an agitated tone:

“I think we have got them now!”

Throwing a five-franc piece on the table, and without saying a word to Cavaillon, he seized Prosper’s arm, and hurried from the room.

“What a fatality!” he said, as he hastened along the street: “we may miss them. We shall certainly reach the St. Lazare station too late for the St. Germain train.”

“For Heaven’s sake, where are you going?” asked Prosper.

“Never mind, we can talk after we start. Hurry!”

Reaching Palais Royal Place, M. Verduret stopped before one of the hacks belonging to the railway station, and examined the horses at a glance.

“How much for driving us to Vesinet?” he asked of the driver.

“I don’t know the road very well that way.”

The name of Vesinet was enough for Prosper.

“Well,” said the driver, “at this time of night, in such dreadful weather, it ought to be—twenty-five francs.”

“And how much more for driving very rapidly?”

“Bless my soul! Why, monsieur, I leave that to your generosity; but if you put it at thirty-five francs—”

“You shall have a hundred,” interrupted M. Verduret, “if you overtake a carriage which has half an hour’s start of us.”

“Tonnerre de Brest!” cried the delighted driver; “jump in quick: we are losing time!”

And, whipping up his lean horses, he galloped them down the Rue de Valois at lightning speed.

X

Leaving the little station of Vesinet, we come upon two roads. One, to the left, macadamized and kept in perfect repair, leads to the village, of which there are glimpses here and there through the trees. The other, newly laid out, and just covered with gravel, leads through the woods.

Along the latter, which before the lapse of five years will be a busy street, are built a few houses, hideous in design, and at some distance apart; rural summer retreats of city merchants, but unoccupied during the winter.

It was at the junction of these two roads that Prosper stopped the hack.

The driver had gained his hundred francs. The horses were completely worn out, but they had accomplished all that was expected of them; M. Verduret could distinguish the lamps of a hack similar to the one he occupied, about fifty yards ahead of him.

M. Verduret jumped out, and, handing the driver a bank-note, said:

“Here is what I promised you. Go to the first tavern you find on the right-hand side of the road as you enter the village. If we do not meet you there in an hour, you are at liberty to return to Paris.”

The driver was overwhelming in his thanks; but neither Prosper nor his friend heard them. They had already started up the new road.

The weather, which had been inclement when they set out, was now fearful. The rain fell in torrents, and a furious wind howled dismally through the dense woods.

The intense darkness was rendered more dreary by the occasional glimmer of the lamps at the distant station, which seemed about to be extinguished by every new gust of wind.

M. Verduret and Prosper had been running along the muddy road for about five minutes, when suddenly the latter stopped and said:

“This is Raoul’s house.”

Before the gate of an isolated house stood the hack which M. Verduret had followed. Reclining on his seat, wrapped in a thick cloak, was the driver, who, in spite of the pouring rain, was already asleep, evidently waiting for the person whom he had brought to this house a few minutes ago.

M. Verduret pulled his cloak, and said, in a low voice:

“Wake up, my good man.”

The driver started, and, mechanically gathering his reins, yawned out:

“I am ready: come on!”

But when, by the light of the carriage-lamps, he saw two men in this lonely spot, he imagined that they wanted his purse, and perhaps his life.

“I am engaged!” he cried out, as he cracked his whip in the air; “I am waiting here for someone.”

“I know that, you fool,” replied M. Verduret, “and only wish to ask you a question, which you can gain five francs by answering. Did you not bring a middle-aged lady here?”

This question, this promise of five francs, instead of reassuring the coachman, increased his alarm.

“I have already told you I am waiting for someone,” he said, “and, if you don’t go away and leave me alone, I will call for help.”

M. Verduret drew back quickly.

“Come away,” he whispered to Prosper, “the cur will do as he says; and, alarm once given, farewell to our projects. We must find some other entrance than by this gate.”

They then went along the wall surrounding the garden, in search of a place where it was possible to climb up.

This was difficult to discover, the wall being twelve feet high, and the night very dark. Fortunately, M. Verduret was very agile; and, having decided upon the spot to be scaled, he drew back a few feet, and making a sudden spring, seized one of the projecting stones above him, and, drawing himself up by aid of his hands and feet, soon found himself on top of the wall.

It was now Prosper’s turn to climb up; but, though much younger than his companion, he had not his agility and strength, and would never have succeeded if M. Verduret had not pulled him up, and then helped him down on the other side.

Once in the garden, M. Verduret looked about him to study the situation.

The house occupied by M. de Lagors was built in the middle of an immense garden. It was narrow, two stories high, and with garrets.

Only one window, in the second story, was lighted.

“As you have often been here,” said M. Verduret, “you must know all about the arrangement of the house: what room is that where we see the light?”

“That is Raoul’s bed-chamber.”

“Very good. What rooms are on the first floor?”

“The kitchen, pantry, billiard-room, and dining-room.”

“And on the floor above?”

“Two drawing-rooms separated by folding doors, and a library.”

“Where do the servants sleep?”

“Raoul has none at present. He is waited on by a man and his wife, who live at Vesinet; they come in the morning, and leave after dinner.”

M. Verduret rubbed his hands gleefully.

“That suits our plans exactly,” he said; “there is nothing to prevent our hearing what Raoul has to say to this person who has come from Paris at ten o’clock at night, to see him. Let us go in.”

Prosper seemed averse to this, and said:

“It is a serious thing for us to do, monsieur.”

“Bless my soul! what else did we come here for? Did you think it was a pleasure-trip, merely to enjoy this lovely weather?” he said in a bantering tone.

“But we might be discovered.”

“Suppose we are? If the least noise betrays our presence, you have only to advance boldly as a friend come to visit a friend, and, finding the door open walked in.”

But unfortunately the heavy oak door was locked. M. Verduret shook it in vain.

“How foolish!” he said with vexation, “I ought to have brought my instruments with me. A common lock which could be opened with a nail, and I have not even a piece of wire!”

Thinking it useless to attempt the door, he tried successively every window on the ground-floor. Alas! each blind was securely fastened on the inside.

M. Verduret was provoked. He prowled around the house like a fox around a hen-coop, seeking an entrance, but finding none. Despairingly he came back to the spot in front of the house, whence he had the best view of the lighted window.

“If I could only look in,” he cried. “Just to think that in there,” and he pointed to the window, “is the solution of the mystery; and we are cut off from it by thirty or forty feet of cursed blank wall!”

Prosper was more surprised than ever at his companion’s strange behavior. He seemed perfectly at home in this garden; he ran about without any precaution; so that one would have supposed him accustomed to such expeditions, especially when he spoke of picking the lock of an occupied house, as if he were talking of opening a snuff-box. He was utterly indifferent to the rain and sleet driven in his face by the gusts of wind as he splashed about in the mud trying to find some way of entrance.

“I must get a peep into that window,” he said, “and I will, cost what it may!”

Prosper seemed to suddenly remember something.

“There is a ladder here,” he cried.

“Why did you not tell me that before? Where is it?”

“At the end of the garden, under the trees.”

They ran to the spot, and in a few minutes had the ladder standing against the wall.

But to their chagrin they found the ladder six feet too short. Six long feet of wall between the top of the ladder and the lighted window was a very discouraging sight to Prosper; he exclaimed:

“We cannot reach it.”

“We can reach it,” cried M. Verduret triumphantly.

And he quickly placed himself a yard off from the house, and, seizing the ladder, cautiously raised it and rested the bottom round on his shoulders, at the same time holding the two uprights firmly and steadily with his hands. The obstacle was overcome.

“Now mount,” he said to his companion.

Prosper did not hesitate. The enthusiasm of difficulties so skilfully conquered, and the hope of triumph, gave him a strength and agility which he had never imagined he possessed. He made a sudden spring, and, seizing the lower rounds, quickly climbed up the ladder, which swayed and trembled beneath his weight.

But he had scarcely looked in the lighted window when he uttered a cry which was drowned in the roaring tempest, and dropped like a log down on the wet grass, exclaiming:

“The villain! the villain!”

With wonderful promptness and vigor M. Verduret laid the ladder on the ground, and ran toward