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

“Now,” he said, “we are coming to the point. You are sure that the theft was not committed by anyone in your house?”

“Quite sure, monsieur.”

“You always kept your key?”

“I generally carried it about on my person; and, whenever I left it at home, I put it in the secretary drawer in my chamber.”

“Where was it the evening of the robbery?”

“In my secretary.”

“But then—”

“Excuse me for interrupting you,” said M. Fauvel, “and to permit me to tell you that, to a safe like mine, the key is of no importance. In the first place, one is obliged to know the word upon which the five movable buttons turn. With the word one can open it without the key; but without the word—”

“And you never told this word to anyone?”

“To no one, monsieur, and sometimes I would have been puzzled to know myself with what word the safe had been closed. Prosper would change it when he chose, and, if he had not informed me of the change, would have to come and open it for me.”

“Had you forgotten it on the day of the theft?”

“No: the word had been changed the day before; and its peculiarity struck me.”

“What was it?”

“Gypsy, g, y, p, s, y,” said the banker, spelling the name.

M. Patrigent wrote down this name.

“One more question, monsieur: were you at home the evening before the robbery?”

“No; I dined and spent the evening with a friend; when I returned home, about one o’clock, my wife had retired, and I went to bed immediately.”

“And you were ignorant of the amount of money in the safe?”

“Absolutely. In conformity with my positive orders, I could only suppose that a small sum had been left there over-night; I stated this fact to the commissary in M. Bertomy’s presence, and he acknowledged it to be the case.”

“Perfectly correct, monsieur: the commissary’s report proves it.” M. Patrigent was for a time silent. To him everything depended upon this one fact, that the banker was unaware of the three hundred and fifty thousand francs being in the safe, and Prosper had disobeyed orders by placing them there over-night; hence the conclusion was very easily drawn.

Seeing that his examination was over, the banker thought that he would relieve his mind of what was weighing upon it.

“I believe myself above suspicion, monsieur,” he began, “and yet I can never rest easy until Bertomy’s guilt has been clearly proved. Calumny prefers attacking a successful man: I may be calumniated: three hundred and fifty thousand francs is a fortune capable of tempting even a rich man. I would be obliged if you would have the condition of my banking-house examined. This examination will prove that I could have no interest in robbing my own safe. The prosperous condition of my affairs—”

“That is sufficient, monsieur.”

M. Patrigent was well informed of the high standing of the banker, and knew almost as much of his affairs as did M. Fauvel himself.

He asked him to sign his testimony, and then escorted him to the door of his office, a rare favor on his part.

When M. Fauvel had left the room, Sigault indulged in a remark.

“This seems to be a very cloudy case,” he said; “if the cashier is shrewd and firm, it will be difficult to convict him.”

“Perhaps it will,” said the judge, “but let us hear the other witnesses before deciding.”

The person who answered to the call for number four was Lucien, M. Fauvel’s eldest son.

He was a tall, handsome young man of twenty-two. To the judge’s questions he replied that he was very fond of Prosper, was once very intimate with him, and had always regarded him as a strictly honorable man, incapable of doing anything unbecoming a gentleman.

He declared that he could not imagine what fatal circumstances could have induced Prosper to commit a theft. He knew he played cards, but not to the extent that was reported. He had never known him to indulge in expenses beyond his means.

In regard to his cousin Madeleine, he replied:

“I always thought that Prosper was in love with Madeleine, and, until yesterday, I was certain he would marry her, knowing that my father would not oppose their marriage. I have always attributed the discontinuance of Prosper’s visits to a quarrel with my cousin, but supposed they would end by becoming reconciled.”

This information, more than that of M. Fauvel, threw light upon Prosper’s past life, but did not apparently reveal any evidence which could be used in the present state of affairs.

Lucien signed his deposition, and withdrew.

Cavaillon’s turn for examination came next. The poor fellow was in a pitiable state of mind when he appeared before the judge.

Having, as a great secret, confided to a friend his adventure with the detective, and being jeered at for his cowardice in giving up the note, he felt great remorse, and passed the night in reproaching himself for having ruined Prosper.

He endeavored to repair, as well as he could, what he called his treason.

He did not exactly accuse M. Fauvel, but he courageously declared that he was the cashier’s friend, and that he was as sure of his innocence as he was of his own.

Unfortunately, besides his having no proofs to strengthen his assertions, these were deprived of any value by his violent professions of friendship for the accused.

After Cavaillon, six or eight clerks of the Fauvel bank successively defiled in the judge’s office; but their depositions were nearly all insignificant.

One of them, however, stated a fact which the judge carefully noted. He said he knew that Prosper had speculated on the Bourse through the medium of M. Raoul de Lagors, and had gained immense sums.

Five o’clock struck before the list of witnesses summoned for the day was exhausted. But the task of M. Patrigent was not yet finished. He rang for his bailiff, who instantly appeared, and said to him:

“Go at once, and bring Fanferlot here.”

It was some time before the detective answered the summons. Having met a colleague on the gallery, he thought it his duty to treat him to a drink; and the bailiff had found it necessary to bring him from the little inn at the corner.

“How is it that you keep people waiting?” said