The Slaves of Paris by Émile Gaboriau (good book recommendations .txt) 📕

André shrugged his shoulders.

“Then,” said he, “just tell me what you intend to say to Verminet when he comes to you upon the day your bills fall due, and says to you, ‘Give me one hundred thousand francs for these five little bits of paper, or I go straight to your father with them’?”

“I should say, of course⁠—ah, well, I really do not know what I should say.”

“You could say nothing, except that you had been imposed on in the most infamous way. You would plead for time, and Verminet would give it to you if you would execute a deed insuring him one hundred thousand francs on the day you came of age.”

“A hundred thousand devils are all the rogue would get from me. That’s the way I do things, do you see? If people try and ride roughshod over me, I merely hit out, and then just look out for broken bones. Pay this chap? Not I! I know the governor would make an almighty shine, but I’ll choose that sooner than be had like that.”

He was quite serious but could only put his feelings into the language he usually spoke.

“I think,” answered André, “that your father would forgive this imprudence, but that it will be even harder for him to do so than it was to send a doctor to number the hours he had to live. He will forgive you because he is your father, and because he loves you; but Verminet, when he finds that the threat to go to your father does not appall you, will menace you with criminal proceedings.”

“Hulloo!” said Gandelu, stopping short. “I say, that is very poor fun,” gasped he.

“There is no fun in it, for such fun, when brought to the notice of a court of justice, goes by the ugly name of forgery, and forgery means a swinging heavy sentence.”

Gaston turned pale, and trembled from head to foot.

“Tried and sentenced,” faltered he. “No, I don’t believe you, but I hold no honors and will turn up my cards.” He quite forgot that he was in the public street, and was talking at the top of his shrill falsetto voice, and gesticulating violently.

“The poor old governor, I might have made him so happy, and, after all, I have only been a torment to him. Ah, could I but begin once more; but then the cards are dealt, and I must go on with the game, and I have made a nice muddle of the whole thing before I am twenty years of age; but no criminal courts for me, no, the easiest way out of it is a pistol shot, for I am an honest man’s son, and I will not bring more disgrace on him than I have already done.”

“Do you really mean what you say?” asked André.

“Of course I do. I can be firm enough sometimes.”

“Then we will not despair yet,” answered the young painter. “I think that we shall be able to settle this ugly business, but you cannot be too cautious. Keep indoors, and remember that I may have urgent need of you at almost any time of day or night.”

“I agree, but remember this, Zora is not to be forgotten.”

“Don’t fret over that; I will call and see her tomorrow. And now, farewell for today, as I have not an instant to lose,” and with these words André hurried off.

André’s reason for haste was that he had caught a few words addressed by Verminet to Croisenois⁠—“I shall see Mascarin at four o’clock.” And he determined to loiter about the Rue St. Anne, and watch the Managing Director when he came out, and so find out who this Mascarin was, who he was certain was mixed up in the plot. He darted down the Rue de Grammont like an arrow from a bow, and as the clock in a neighboring belfry chimed half-past three, he was in the Rue St. Anne. There was a small wine-shop almost opposite to the office of the Mutual Loan Society, and there André ensconced himself and made a frugal meal, while he was waiting for Verminet’s appearance, and just as he had finished his light refreshment he saw the man he wanted come out of the office, and crept cautiously after him like a Red Indian on the trail of his enemy.

As Verminet swaggered down the street he had the air of a successful man, of a capitalist, in short, and the Managing Director of a highly lucrative concern. André had no difficulty in following his man, though detective’s business was quite new to him, which is no such easy matter, although everyone thinks that he can become one. André kept his man in sight, and was astonished at the numerous acquaintances that Verminet seemed to have. Occasionally he said to himself, “Perhaps I am mistaken after all, for fancy is a bad pair of spectacles to see through. This man may be honest, and I have let my imagination lead me astray.”

Meanwhile, Verminet who had reached the Boulevard Poissonnière, assumed a totally different air, throwing off his old manner as he cast away his cigar. When he had reached the Rue Montorgueil he turned underneath a large archway. Verminet had gone into the office of M. B. Mascarin, and that person simply kept a Servants’ Registry Office for domestics of both sexes. In spite of his surprise, however, he determined to wait for Verminet to come out; and, not to give himself the air of loitering about the place, he crossed the road and appeared to be interested in watching three workmen who were engaged in fixing the revolving shutters to a new shop window. Luckily for the young painter he had not to wait a very long while, for in less than a quarter of an hour Verminet came out, accompanied by two men. The one was tall and thin, and wore a pair of spectacles with colored