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

“Yes, I know. You will climb the little wall separating the Archangel from the wine-merchant’s yard, and keep along the stationer’s area, until you reach the Rue de la Huchette.”

Poor Joseph looked as if he had just received a bucket of ice-water upon his head.

“Exactly the way I was going, patron,” he gasped out. “I heard that you knew every plank and door of all the houses in Paris, and it certainly must be so.”

The fat man made no reply to Joseph’s admiring remarks. He was thinking how he could catch Clameran.

As to the cashier, he listened wonderingly, watching these strangers, who seemed determined to reinstate him in public opinion, and punish his enemies, while he himself stood by powerless and bewildered. What their motives for befriending him could be, he vainly tried to discover.

“I will tell you what I can do,” said Joseph after deep thought.

“What is it?”

“I can innocently walk out of the front door, and loaf along the street until I reach the Hotel du Louvre.”

“And then?”

“Dame! Clameran will come in and question Mme. Alexandre, whom you can instruct beforehand; and she is smart enough to put any sharper off the track.”

“Bad plan!” pronounced M. Verduret decidedly; “a scamp so compromised as Clameran is not easily put off the track; now his eyes are opened, he will be pretty hard to catch.”

Suddenly, in a brief tone of authority which admitted of no contradiction, the fat man said:

“I have a way. Has Clameran, since he found that his papers had been searched, seen Lagors?”

“No, patron.”

“Perhaps he has written to him?”

“I’ll bet you my head he has not. Having your orders to watch his correspondence, I invented a little system which informs me every time he touches a pen; during the last twenty-four hours the pens have not been touched.”

“Clameran went out yesterday.”

“But the man who followed him says he wrote nothing on the way.”

“Then we have time yet!” cried Verduret. “Hurry! Hurry! I give you fifteen minutes to make yourself a head; you know the sort; I will watch the rascal until you come up.”

The delighted Joseph disappeared in a twinkling; while Prosper and M. Verduret remained at the window observing Clameran, who, according to the movements of the crowd, was sometimes lost to sight, and sometimes just in front of the window, but was evidently determined not to quit his post until he had obtained the information he sought.

“Why do you devote yourself exclusively to the marquis?” asked Prosper.

“Because, my friend,” replied M. Verduret, “because⁠—that is my business, and not yours.”

Joseph Dubois had been granted a quarter of an hour in which to metamorphose himself; before ten minutes had elapsed he reappeared.

The dandified coachman with Bergami whiskers, red vest, and foppish manners, was replaced by a sinister-looking individual, whose very appearance was enough to scare any rogue.

His black cravat twisted around a paper collar, and ornamented by an imitation diamond pin; his long-tailed black boots and heavy cane, revealed the employee of the Rue de Jerusalem, as plainly as the shoulder-straps mark a soldier.

Joseph Dubois had vanished forever; and from his livery, phoenix-like and triumphant, arose the radiant Fanferlot, surnamed the Squirrel.

When Fanferlot entered the room, Prosper uttered a cry of surprise and almost fright.

He recognized the man who had assisted the commissary of police to examine the bank on the day of the robbery.

M. Verduret examined his aide with a satisfied look, and said:

“Not bad! There is enough of the police-court air about you to alarm even an honest man. You understood me perfectly this time.”

Fanferlot was transported with delight at this compliment.

“What must I do now, patron?” he inquired.

“Nothing difficult for an adroit man: but remember, upon the precision of our movements depends the success of my plan. Before arresting Lagors, I wish to dispose of Clameran. Now that the rascals are separated, the first thing to do is to prevent their coming together.”

“I understand,” said Fanferlot, snapping his little ratlike eyes; “I am to create a diversion.”

“Exactly. Go out by the Rue de la Huchette, and hasten to St. Michel’s bridge; loaf along the bank, and finally sit on the steps of the quay, so that Clameran may know he is being watched. If he doesn’t see you, do something to attract his attention.”

“Parbleu! I will throw a stone into the water,” said Fanferlot, rubbing his hands with delight at his own brilliant idea.

“As soon as Clameran has seen you,” continued M. Verduret, “he will be alarmed, and instantly decamp. Knowing there are reasons why the police should be after him, he will hasten to escape you; then comes the time for you to keep wide awake; he is a slippery eel, and cunning as a rat.”

“I know all that; I was not born yesterday.”

“So much the better. You can convince him of that. Well, knowing you are at his heels, he will not dare to return to the Hotel du Louvre, for fear of being called on by troublesome visitors. Now, it is very important that he should not return to the hotel.”

“But suppose he does?” said Fanferlot.

M. Verduret thought for a minute, and then said:

“It is not probable that he will do so; but if he should, you must wait until he comes out again, and continue to follow him. But he won’t enter the hotel; very likely he will take the cars: but in that event don’t lose sight of him, no matter if you have to follow him to Siberia. Have you money with you?”

“I will get some from Mme. Alexandre.”

“Very good. Ah! one more word. If the rascal takes the cars, send me word. If he beats about the bush until night, be on your guard, especially in lonely places; the desperado is capable of any enormity.”

“If necessary, must I fire?”

“Don’t be rash; but, if he attacks you, of course defend yourself. Come, ’tis time you were gone.”

Dubois-Fanferlot went out. Verduret and Prosper resumed their post of observation.

“Why all this secrecy?” inquired Prosper. “Clameran is charged with ten times worse crimes than I was