File No. 113 by Emile Gaboriau (classic literature books TXT) 📕

line of conduct; and you would render vain this wise precaution! What does he say to you? Let us read over this note, which is like the testament of his liberty. He says, ‘If you love me, I entreat you, obey.’ And you hesitate to obey. Then you do not love him. Can you not understand, unhappy child, that M. Bertomy has his reasons, terrible, imperious reasons, for your remaining in obscurity for the present?”

Fanferlot understood these reasons the moment he put his foot in the sumptuous apartment of the Rue Chaptal; and, if he did not expose them now, it was because he kept them as a good general keeps his reserve, for the purpose of deciding the victory.

Mme. Gypsy was intelligent enough to divine these reasons.

“Reasons for my hiding! Prosper wishes, then, to keep everyone in ignorance of our intimacy.”

She remained thoughtful for a moment; then a ray of light seemed to cross her mind, and she cried:

“Oh, I understand now! Fool that I was for not seeing it before! My presence here, where I have been for a year, would be an overwhelming charge against him. An inventory of my possessions would be taken—of my dresses, my laces, my jewels—and my luxury would be brought against him as a crime. He would be asked to tell where he obtained so much money to lavish all these elegancies on me.”

The detective bowed, and said:

“That is true, madame.”

“Then I must fly, monsieur, at once. Who knows that the police are not already warned, and may appear at any moment?”

“Oh,” said Fanferlot with easy assurance, “you have plenty of time; the police are not so very prompt.”

“No matter!”

And, leaving the detective alone in the parlor, Mme. Nina hastily ran into her bedroom, and calling her maid, her cook, and her little footman, ordered them to empty her bureau and chests of their contents, and assisted them to stuff her best clothing and jewels into her trunks.

Suddenly she rushed back to Fanferlot and said:

“Everything will be ready to start in a few minutes, but where am I to go?”

“Did not M. Bertomy say, my dear lady, to the other end of Paris? To a hotel, or furnished apartments.”

“But I don’t know where to find any.”

Fanferlot seemed to be reflecting; but he had great difficulty in concealing his delight at a sudden idea that flashed upon him; his little black eyes fairly danced with joy.

“I know of a hotel,” he said at last, “but it might not suit you. It is not elegantly furnished like this room.”

“Would I be comfortable there?”

“Upon my recommendation you would be treated like a queen, and, above all, concealed.”

“Where is it?”

“On the other side of the river, Quai Saint Michel, the Archangel, kept by Mme. Alexandre.”

Mme. Nina was never long making up her mind.

“Here are pen and paper; write your recommendation.”

He rapidly wrote, and handed her the letter.

“With these three lines, madame, you can make Mme. Alexandre do anything you wish.”

“Very good. Now, how am I to let Cavaillon know my address? It was he who should have brought me Prosper’s letter.”

“He was unable to come, madame,” interrupted the detective, “but I will give him your address.”

Mme. Gypsy was about to send for a carriage, but Fanferlot said he was in a hurry, and would send her one. He seemed to be in luck that day; for a cab was passing the door, and he hailed it.

“Wait here,” he said to the driver, after telling him that he was a detective, “for a little brunette who is coming down with some trunks. If she tells you to drive her to Quai Saint Michel, crack your whip; if she gives you any other address, get down from your seat, and arrange your harness. I will keep in sight.”

He stepped across the street, and stood in the door of a wine-store. He had not long to wait. In a few minutes the loud cracking of a whip apprised him that Mme. Nina had started for the Archangel.

“Aha,” said he, gayly, “I told her, at any rate.”