The Teeth of the Tiger - Maurice Leblanc (feel good books txt) 📗

waiter remembered that a man at the next table, who had entered the café at almost the same time as the inspector, had also asked for writing-paper and called twice for yellow envelopes.

“That’s it,” said Mazeroux to Don Luis. “As you suspected, one letter has been substituted for the other.”

The description given by the waiter was pretty explicit: a tall man, with a slight stoop, wearing a reddish-brown beard cut into a point, a tortoiseshell eyeglass with a black silk ribbon, and an ebony walking-stick with a handle shaped like a swan’s head.

“That’s something for the police to go upon,” said Mazeroux.

They were leaving the café when Don Luis stopped his companion.

“One moment.”

“What’s the matter?”

“We’ve been followed.”

“Followed? What next? And by whom, pray?”

“No one that matters. I know who it is and I may as well settle his business and have done with it. Wait for me. I shall be back; and I’ll show you some fun. You shall see one of the ‘nuts,’ I promise you.”

He returned in a minute with a tall, thin man with his face set in whiskers. He introduced him:

“M. Mazeroux, a friend of mine, Señor Caceres, an attaché at the Peruvian Legation. Señor Caceres took part in the interview at the Prefect’s just now. It was he who, on the Peruvian Minister’s instructions, collected the documents bearing upon my identity.” And he added gayly: “So you were looking for me, dear Señor Caceres. Indeed, I expected, when we left the police office⁠—”

The Peruvian attaché made a sign and pointed to Sergeant Mazeroux. Perenna replied:

“Oh, pray don’t mind M. Mazeroux! You can speak before him; he is the soul of discretion. Besides, he knows all about the business.”

The attaché was silent. Perenna made him sit down in front of him.

“Speak without beating about the bush, dear Señor Caceres. It’s a subject that calls for plain dealing; and I don’t mind a blunt word or two. It saves such a lot of time! Come on. You want money, I suppose? Or, rather, more money. How much?”

The Peruvian had a final hesitation, gave a glance at Don Luis’s companion, and then, suddenly making up his mind, said in a dull voice:

“Fifty thousand francs!”

“Oh, by Jove, by Jove!” cried Don Luis. “You’re greedy, you know! What do you say, M. Mazeroux? Fifty thousand francs is a lot of money. Especially as⁠—Look here, my dear Caceres, let’s go over the ground again.

“Three years ago I had the honour of making your acquaintance in Algeria, when you were touring the country. At the same time, I understood the sort of man you were; and I asked you if you could manage, in three years, with my name of Perenna, to fix me up a Spanish-Peruvian identity, furnished with unquestionable papers and respectable ancestors. You said, ‘Yes,’ We settled the price: twenty thousand francs. Last week, when the Prefect of Police asked me for my papers, I came to see you and learned that you had just been instructed to make inquiries into my antecedents.

“Everything was ready, as it happened. With the papers of a deceased Peruvian nobleman, of the name of Pereira, properly revised, you had faked me up a first-rate civic status. We arranged what you were to say before the Prefect of Police; and I paid up the twenty thousand. We were quits. What more do you want?”

The Pervian attaché did not betray the least embarrassment. He put his two elbows on the table and said, very calmly:

“Monsieur, when treating with you, three years ago, I thought I was dealing with a gentleman who, hiding himself under the uniform of the Foreign Legion, wished to recover the means to live respectably afterward. Today, I have to do with the universal legatee of Cosmo Mornington, with a man who, tomorrow, under a false name, will receive the sum of one million francs and, in a few months, perhaps, the sum of a hundred millions. That’s quite a different thing.”

The argument seemed to strike Don Luis. Nevertheless, he objected:

“And, if I refuse⁠—?”

“If you refuse, I shall inform the solicitor and the Prefect of Police that I made an error in my inquiry and that there is some mistake about Don Luis Perenna. In consequence of which you will receive nothing at all and very likely find yourself in jail.”

“With you, my worthy sir.”

“Me?”

“Of course: on a charge of forgery and tampering with registers. For you don’t imagine that I should take it lying down.”

The attaché did not reply. His nose, which was a very big one, seemed to lengthen out still farther between his two long whiskers.

Don Luis began to laugh.

“Come, Señor Caceres, don’t pull such a face! No one’s going to hurt you. Only don’t think that you can corner me. Better men than you have tried and have broken their backs in the process. And, upon my word, you don’t cut much of a figure when you’re doing your best to diddle your fellowmen.

“You look a bit of a mug, in fact, Caceres: a bit of a mug is what you look. So it’s understood, what? We lay down our arms. No more base designs against our excellent friend Perenna. Capital, Señor Caceres, capital. And now I’ll be magnanimous and prove to you that the decent man of us two is⁠—the one whom anyone would have thought!”

He produced a checkbook on the Crédit Lyonnais.

“Here, my dear chap. Here’s twenty thousand francs as a present from Cosmo Mornington’s legatee. Put it in your pocket and look pleasant. Say thank you to the kind gentleman, and make yourself scarce without turning your head any more than if you were one of old man Lot’s daughters. Off you go: hoosh!”

This was said in such a manner that the attaché obeyed Don Luis Perenna’s injunctions to the letter. He smiled as he pocketed the check, said thank you twice over, and made off without turning his head.

“The low hound!” muttered Don Luis. “What do you say to that, Sergeant?”

Sergeant Mazeroux was looking