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

that a terrible secret exists with which Croisenois threatens them.”

“Your deduction is wrong, sir,” exclaimed Andre eagerly, “and you are quite wrong.”

“Very good,” was the calm reply. “Your emphatic denial shows that I am in the right. I want no further proofs. M. de Mussidan paid you a visit yesterday, and one of my agents reported that his face was much happier on leaving you than when he was on his way to your house. I therefore infer that you promised to release him from Croisenois’ persecutions, and in return he promised you his daughter’s hand in marriage. This, of course, explains your present disguise, and now tell me again that I am wrong, if you dare.”

Andre would not lie, and therefore kept silence.

“And now,” continued the gentleman, “how about the secret? Did not the Count tell it you? I do not know it; and yet I think that if I were to search for it, I could find it. I can call to my mind certain crimes which three generations of detective have striven to find out. Did you ever hear that De Croisenois had an elder brother named George, who disappeared in a most wonderful manner? What became of him? This very George, twenty-three years back, was a friend of Madame de Mussidan’s. Might not his disappearance have something to do with this marriage?”

“Are you the fiend himself?” cried the young man.

“I am M. Lecoq.”

Andre started back in absolute dread at the name of this celebrated detective.

“M. Lecoq!” repeated he.

The vanity of the great detective was much flattered when he saw the impression that his name had produced.

“And now, my dear M. Andre,” said he blandly, “now that you know who I am, may I not hope that you will be more communicative?”

M. de Mussidan had not told his secret to the young artist, but he had said enough for him to feel that the detective was correct in his inference.

“Surely,” continued Lecoq, “we ought to be able to come to a more definite understanding, and I think that my openness should elicit some frankness on your side. I saw that you were watched by the very person that I was watching. For three days my men have followed you, and to-day I made up my mind that you could furnish me with the clue I am seeking.”

“I, sir?”

“For many years,” continued Lecoq, “I have been certain that an organized association of blackmailers exists in Paris; family differences, sin, shame, and sorrow are worked by these wretches like veritable gold mines, and bring them in enormous annual revenues.”

“Ah,” returned Andre, “I expected something of this kind.”

“Of course, when I was quite sure of these facts,” continued Lecoq, “I said to myself, ‘I will break up this gang;’ but it was easier said than done. There is one very peculiar thing about blackmailing. Those who carry it on are almost certain of doing so with impunity, for the victims will pay and not complain. Yes, I tell you that I have often found out these unhappy pigeons, but never could get one to speak.”

The detective was so indignant and acrimonious withal in his indignation, that Andre could not repress a smile.

“Very soon,” continued Lecoq, “I recognized the futility of my attempts, and the impossibility of reaching these scoundrels through their victims, and then I determined to strike at the plunderers themselves, but this was a scheme that took patience and time. I have waited my chance for three years, and for eighteen months one of my men has been in the service of the Marquis de Croisenois, and up to now this band of villains has cost the government over ten thousand francs. That superlative scoundrel, Mascarin, has put several white threads in my hair. I believe him to be Tantaine; yes, and Martin Rigal too. The idea of there being a means of communication between the banker’s house in the Rue Montmartre and the Servants’ Registry Office in the Rue Montorgueil only came into my head this morning. But this time they have gone too far, and I have them. I know them all, from the chief, Mascarin-Tantaine-Rigal, down to their lowest agent, Toto Chupin, and Paul Violaine, the docile puppet of their will. We will get hold of the whole gang, and neither Van Klopen nor Catenac will escape. Just now the latter is travelling about with the Duke de Champdoce and a fellow named Perpignan, and two of my sweet lads are close upon them, and send in almost hourly reports of what is going on. My trap has a tempting bait, the spring is strong, and we shall catch every one of them. And now do you still hesitate to confide all you know to me? I swear on my honor that I will respect as sacred what you tell me, no matter what may occur.”

Andre yielded, as did every person who came under the influence of this remarkable man and his strange and inexplicable fascination. If he hid anything from him to-day, would not Lecoq be acquainted with it to-morrow? And so, with the most perfect frankness, he told his story and everything that he knew.

“Now,” cried Lecoq, “I see it all clearly. Aha, they want to force young Gandelu to disappear with Rose, do they?”

Beneath his gold-rimmed spectacles his eyes flashed fiercely. He seemed to be occupied in drawing out his plan of campaign.

“From this moment,” said he, “be at ease. In another month Mademoiselle de Mussidan shall be your wife; this I promise you, and the promises of Lecoq are never broken.”

He paused for an instant, as though to collect his thoughts, and then continued,—

“I can answer for all, except for your life. So many are interested in your disappearance from this world, that every effort will be made to get rid of you. Do not cease your caution for an instant. Never eat twice running at the same restaurant, throw away food that has the slightest strange taste. Avoid crowds in the street; do not get into a cab; never lean from a window before ascertaining that its supports are solid; in a word, fear and suspect everything.”

For a moment longer Lecoq detained the young artist.

“Tell me,” said he, “have you the mark of a wound on your shoulder or arm?”

“I have, sir; the scar of a very severe scald.”

“I thought so; yes, I was almost certain of it,” said Lecoq thoughtfully; and as he conducted the young man to the door, he took leave of him with the same words that Mascarin had often used to Paul,—

“Farewell for the present, Duke de Champdoce.”