Other People's Money by Emile Gaboriau (ebook smartphone txt) 📕

Nothing was handsome enough and strong enough for him; and he was anxious about the safety-locks, as he had, he said, many objects of value, papers, and securities, to put away.”

“And where did he tell you to send the two trunks?”

“Rue du Cirque, to Mme.—wait a minute, I have the name at the end of my tongue.”

“You must have it on your books, too,” remarked M. de Tregars.

The husband was already looking over his blotter.

“April 26, 1872,” he said. “26, here it is:  ‘Two leather trunks, patent safety-locks:  Mme. Zelie Cadelle, 49 Rue du Cirque.’”

Without too much affectation, M. de Tregars had drawn near to the shopkeeper, and was looking over his shoulder.

“What is that,” he asked, “written there, below the address?”

“That, sir, is the direction left by the customer ‘Mark on each end of the trunks, in large letters, “Rio de Janeiro.”’”

Maxence could not suppress an exclamation.  “Oh!”

But the tradesman mistook him; and, seizing this magnificent opportunity to display his knowledge,

“Rio de Janeiro is the capital of Brazil,” he said in a tone of importance.  “And your relative evidently intended to go there; and, if he has not changed his mind, I doubt whether you can overtake him; for the Brazilian steamer was to have sailed yesterday from Havre.”

Whatever may have been his intentions, M. de Tregars remained perfectly calm.

“If that’s the case,” he said to the shopkeepers, “I think I had better give up the chase.  I am much obliged to you, however, for your information.”

But, once out again,

“Do you really believe,” inquired Maxence, “that my father has left France?”

M. de Tregars shook his head.

“I will give you my opinion,” he uttered, “after I have investigated matters in the Rue du Cirque.”

They drove there in a few minutes; and, the cab having stopped at the entrance of the street, they walked on foot in front of No. 49.  It was a small cottage, only one story in height, built between a sanded court-yard and a garden, whose tall trees showed above the roof.  At the windows could be seen curtains of light-colored silk, —a sure indication of the presence of a young and pretty woman.

For a few minutes Marius de Tregars remained in observation; but, as nothing stirred,

“We must find out something, somehow,” he exclaimed impatiently.

And noticing a large grocery store bearing No. 62, he directed his steps towards it, still accompanied by Maxence.

It was the hour of the day when customers are rare.  Standing in the centre of the shop, the grocer, a big fat man with an air of importance, was overseeing his men, who were busy putting things in order.

M. de Tregars took him aside, and with an accent of mystery,

“I am,” he said, “a clerk with M. Drayton, the jeweler in the Rue de la Paix; and I come to ask you one of those little favors which tradespeople owe to each other.”

A frown appeared on the fat man’s countenance.  He thought, perhaps, that M. Drayton’s clerks were rather too stylish-looking; or else, perhaps, he felt apprehensive of one of those numerous petty swindles of which shopkeepers are constantly the victims.

“What is it?” said he.  “Speak!”

“I am on my way,” spoke M. de Tregars, “to deliver a ring which a lady purchased of us yesterday.  She is not a regular customer, and has given us no references.  If she doesn’t pay, shall I leave the ring?  My employer told me, ‘Consult some prominent tradesman of the neighborhood, and follow his advice.’”

Prominent tradesman!  Delicately tickled vanity was dancing in the grocer’s eyes.

“What is the name of the lady?” he inquired.

“Mme. Zelie Cadelle.”

The grocer burst out laughing.

“In that case, my boy,” he said, tapping familiarly the shoulder of the so-called clerk, “whether she pays or not, you can deliver the article.”

The familiarity was not, perhaps, very much to the taste of the Marquis de Tregars.  No matter.

“She is rich, then, that lady?” he said.

“Personally no.  But she is protected by an old fool, who allows her all her fancies.”

“Indeed!”

“It is scandalous; and you cannot form an idea of the amount of money that is spent in that house.  Horses, carriages, servants, dresses, balls, dinners, card-playing all night, a perpetual carnival:  it must be ruinous!”

M. de Tregars never winced.

“And the old man who pays?” he asked; “do you know him?”

“I have seen him pass,—a tall, lean, old fellow, who doesn’t look very rich, either.  But excuse me:  here is a customer I must wait upon.”

Having walked out into the street,

“We must separate now,” declared M. de Tregars to Maxence.

“What!  You wish to—”

“Go and wait for me in that Café yonder, at the corner of the street.  I must see that Zelie Cadelle and speak to her.”

And without suffering an objection on the part of Maxence, he walked resolutely up to the cottage-gate, and rang vigorously.

At the sound of the bell, one of those servants stepped out into the yard, who seem manufactured on purpose, heaven knows where, for the special service of young ladies who keep house,—a tall rascal with sallow complexion and straight hair, a cynical eye, and a low, impudent smile.

“What do you wish, sir?” he inquired through the grating.

“That you should open the door, first,” uttered M. de Tregars, with such a look and such an accent, that the other obeyed at once.

“And now,” he added, “go and announce me to Mme. Zelie Cadelle.”

“Madame is out,” replied the valet.

And noticing that M. de Tregars shrugged his shoulders,

“Upon my word,” he said, “she has gone to the bois with one of her friends.  If you won’t believe me, ask my comrades there.”

And he pointed out two other servants of the same pattern as himself, who were silting at a table in the carriage-house, playing cards, and drinking.

But M. de Tregars did not mean to