File No. 113 by Émile Gaboriau (summer beach reads .txt) 📕

Mme. Fauvel so completely in our power that she would not dare speak a word against you; even if she knew the whole truth, what no one but you and I know, she would not open her lips, but be only too glad to hush up matters so as to escape punishment for her fault from her deceived husband and a censuring world.”

“I know we have a secure hold on her,” said Raoul. “I am not afraid of her giving any trouble.”

“Who, then?”

“An enemy of your own making, my respected uncle; a most implacable enemy⁠—Madeleine.”

“Fiddlesticks!” replied Clameran, disdainfully.

“It is very well for you to treat her with contempt,” said Raoul, gravely; “but I can tell you, you are much mistaken in your estimate of her character. I have studied her lately, and see that she is devoted to her aunt, and ready to make any sacrifice to insure her happiness. But she has no idea of doing anything blindly, of throwing herself away if she can avoid it. She has promised to marry you. Prosper is brokenhearted at being discarded, it is true; but he has not given up hope. You imagine her to be weak and yielding, easily frightened? It’s a great mistake. She is self-reliant and fearless. More than that, she is in love, my good uncle; and a woman will defend her lover as a tigress defends her young. She will fight to the bitter end before marrying anyone save Prosper.”

“She is worth five hundred thousand francs.”

“So she is; and at five percent we would each have an income of twelve thousand five hundred francs. But, for all that, you had better take my advice, and give up Madeleine.”

“Never; I swear by Heaven!” exclaimed Clameran. “Rich or poor, she shall be mine! I first wanted her money, but now I want her; I love her for herself, Raoul!”

Raoul seemed to be amazed at this declaration of his uncle.

He raised his hands, and started back with astonishment.

“Is it possible,” he said, “that you are in love with Madeleine?⁠—you!”

“Yes,” replied Louis, sullenly. “Is there anything so very extraordinary in it?”

“Oh, no, certainly not! only this sentimental view of the matter explains your strange behavior. Alas, you love Madeleine! Then, my venerable uncle, we might as well surrender at once.”

“Why so?”

“Because you know the axiom, ‘When the heart is interested the head is lost.’ Generals in love always lose their battles. The day is not far off when your infatuation of Madeleine will make you sell us both for a smile. And, mark my words, she is shrewd, and watching us as only an enemy can watch.”

With a forced laugh Clameran interrupted his nephew.

“Just see how you fire up for no cause,” he said; “you must dislike the charming Madeleine very much, if you abuse her in this way.”

“She will prove to be our ruin: that is all.”

“You might as well be frank, and say you are in love with her yourself.”

“I am only in love with her money,” replied Raoul, with an angry frown.

“Then what are you complaining of? I shall give you half her fortune. You will have the money without being troubled with the wife; the profit without the burden.”

“I am not over fifty years old,” said Raoul conceitedly. “I can appreciate a pretty woman better than you.”

“Enough of that,” interrupted Louis angrily. “The day I relieved your pressing wants, and brought you to Paris, you promised to follow my directions, to help me carry out my plan; did you not?”

“Yes; but not the plot you are hatching now! You forget that my liberty, perhaps my life, is at stake. You may hold the cards, but I must have the right of advising you.”

It was midnight before the accomplices separated.

“I won’t stand idle,” said Louis. “I agree with you that something must be done at once. But I can’t decide what it shall be on the spur of the moment. Meet me here at this hour tomorrow night, and I will have some plan ready for you.”

“Very good. I will be here.”

“And remember, don’t be imprudent!”

“My costume ought to convince you that I am not anxious to be recognized by anyone. I left such an ingenious alibi, that I defy anybody to prove that I have been absent from my house at Vésinet. I even took the precaution to travel in a third-class car. Well, good night. I am going to the inn.”

Raoul went off after these words, apparently unconscious of having aroused suspicion in the breast of his accomplice.

During his adventurous life, Clameran had transacted “business” with too many scamps not to know the precise amount of confidence to place in a man like Raoul.

The old adage, “Honor among thieves,” seldom holds good after the “stroke.” There is always a quarrel over the division of the spoils.

This distrustful Clameran foresaw a thousand difficulties and counterplots to be guarded against in his dealings with Raoul.

“Why,” he pondered, “did the villain assume this disguise? Why this alibi at Paris? Can he be laying a trap for me? It is true that I have a hold upon him; but then I am completely at his mercy. Those accursed letters which I have written to him, while here, are so many proofs against me. Can he be thinking of cutting loose from me, and making off with all the profits of our enterprise?”

Louis never once during the night closed his eyes; but by daybreak he had fully made up his mind how to act, and with feverish impatience waited for evening to come, to communicate his views with Raoul.

His anxiety made him so restless that the unobserving Gaston finally noticed it, and asked him what the matter was; if he was sick, or troubled about anything.

At last evening came, and, at the appointed hour, Louis went to the field where they had met the night previous, and found Raoul lying on the grass smoking a fragrant cigar, as if he had no other object in life except to blow little clouds