The Champdoce Mystery by Emile Gaboriau (crime books to read TXT) 📕

“Won again!” cried Toto; “I laid myself a new hat that you weren’t a fool, and I have collared the stakes.”

“Why do you think I am not a fool?”

“Because a fool would have begun by offering me five francs and gone up slick to ten, while you began at a modest figure.”

The painter smiled.

“But you were too old a bird to be caught like that,” continued the lad; and as he spoke, he stopped, and contracted his brow as if in deep perplexity. Of course he was acquainted with the names, but ought he to give them? Instantly he scented an enemy. Harmless people did not usually ask questions of itinerant chestnut venders, and to open his mouth might be to injure Mascarin, Beaumarchef, or the guileless Tantaine.

This last thought determined the lad.

“Keep your ten sous, my pippin,” said the boy; “I’ll tell you what you want to know all gratis and for nothing, because I’ve taken a real fancy to the cut of your mug. The tall chap was Mascarin, the fat un Doctor Hortebise, and t’other—stop, let me think it out in my knowledge box; ah! I have it, he was Verminet.”

Andre was so delighted that, drawing from his pocket a five-franc piece, he tossed it to the boy.

“Thanks, my noble lord,” said Chupin, and was about to add something more in a similar vein, when he glanced down the street. His look changed in an instant, and he fixed his eyes upon the painter’s face with a very strange expression.

“What is the matter, my lad?” asked Andre, surprised at this sudden change.

“Nothing,” answered Chupin; “nothing at all; only as you seem a decentish sort of chap, I should recommend you to keep your wits about you, and to look out for squalls.”

“Eh, what do you mean?”

“I mean—why—be careful, of course. Hang me if I exactly know what I do mean. It is just an idea that came to me all of a jump. But there, be off; I ain’t going to say another word.”

With much difficulty Andre repressed his astonishment. He saw that this young scamp was the possessor of many secrets which might be of inestimable value to him; but he also saw that he was determined to hold his tongue, and that it would at present be a waste of time to try and get anything out of him; and an empty cab passing at this moment, Andre hailed it, and told the coachman to drive fast to the Champs Elysees. In obedience to the warning that he had just received from Toto, he did not give the name of the café where he was to meet De Breulh, for he made up his mind to be careful, yes, extremely careful. He recollected the two odd whistles which had seemed to make Mascarin wince, and which certainly broke off the conference of the three men, and he remembered that it was after a glance down the street that Toto had become less communicative and had given him that curt warning. “By heaven,” said he, as the recollection of a story he had read not long ago dawned on him, “I am being followed.” He lowered the front glass of the cab, and attracted the coachman’s attention by pulling him by the sleeve.

“Listen to me,” said he, as the man turned, “and do not slacken your speed. Here, take your five francs in advance.”

“But look here——”

“Listen to me. Go as sharp as you can to the Rue de Matignon; turn down it, and, as you do, go a bit slower; then drive on like lightning, and when you are in the Champs Elysees do what you like, for your cab will be empty.”

The driver chuckled.

“Aha,” said he; “I see you are being followed, and you want to give ‘em leg bail.”

“Yes, yes; you are right.”

“Then listen to me. Take care when you jump, and don’t do it on the pavement, for t’other is the safest.”

Andre succeeded in alighting safely, and turned down a narrow court before his pursuer had entered the street; but it was vain for the young painter to lurk in a doorway, for after five minutes had elapsed there was nothing to be seen, and no spy had made his appearance.

“I have been over-cautious,” muttered he.

More than a quarter of an hour had elapsed, and Andre felt that he might leave his hiding-place, and go in quest of De Breulh; and as he approached the spot chosen for their meeting-place, he saw his friend’s carriage, and near it was the owner, smoking a cigar. The two men caught sight of each other almost at the same moment. De Breulh advanced to greet the young man with extended hand.

“I have been waiting for you for the last twenty minutes,” said he.

Andre commenced to apologize, but his friend checked him.

“Never mind,” returned he; “I know that you must have had some excellent reasons; but, to tell you the honest truth, I had become rather nervous about you.”

“Nervous! and why, pray?”

“Do you not recollect what I said the other evening? De Croisenois is a double-dyed scoundrel.”

Andre remained silent, and his friend, putting his arm affectionately through his, continued,—

“Let us walk,” said he; “it is better than sitting down in the café. I believe De Croisenois capable of anything. He had the prospect before him of a large fortune,—that of his brother George; but this he has already anticipated. A man in a position like this is not to be trifled with.”

“I do not fear him.”

“But I do. I am, however, a little relieved by the fact that he has never seen you.”

The painter shook his head.

“Not only has he seen me, but I half believe that he suspects my designs.”

“Impossible!”

“But I am sure that I have been followed to-day. I have no actual proof, but still I am fully convinced that it was so.”

And Andre recounted all that had occurred during the day.

“You are certainly being watched,” answered De Breulh, “and every step that you take will be known to your enemies, and at this very moment perhaps eyes are upon us.”

As he spoke he glanced uneasily around; but it was quite dark, and he could see no one.

“We will give the spies a little gentle exercise,” said he, “and if we dine together they will find it hard to discover the place.”

De Breulh’s coachman was dozing on the driving-seat.