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

as you seem a decentish sort of chap, I should recommend you to keep your wits about you, and to look out for squalls.”

“Eh, what do you mean?”

“I mean⁠—why⁠—be careful, of course. Hang me if I exactly know what I do mean. It is just an idea that came to me all of a jump. But there, be off; I ain’t going to say another word.”

With much difficulty André repressed his astonishment. He saw that this young scamp was the possessor of many secrets which might be of inestimable value to him; but he also saw that he was determined to hold his tongue, and that it would at present be a waste of time to try and get anything out of him; and an empty cab passing at this moment, André hailed it, and told the coachman to drive fast to the Champs Élysées. In obedience to the warning that he had just received from Toto, he did not give the name of the café where he was to meet De Breulh, for he made up his mind to be careful, yes, extremely careful. He recollected the two odd whistles which had seemed to make Mascarin wince, and which certainly broke off the conference of the three men, and he remembered that it was after a glance down the street that Toto had become less communicative and had given him that curt warning. “By heaven,” said he, as the recollection of a story he had read not long ago dawned on him, “I am being followed.” He lowered the front glass of the cab, and attracted the coachman’s attention by pulling him by the sleeve.

“Listen to me,” said he, as the man turned, “and do not slacken your speed. Here, take your five francs in advance.”

“But look here⁠—”

“Listen to me. Go as sharp as you can to the Rue de Matignon; turn down it, and, as you do, go a bit slower; then drive on like lightning, and when you are in the Champs Élysées do what you like, for your cab will be empty.”

The driver chuckled.

“Aha,” said he; “I see you are being followed, and you want to give ’em leg bail.”

“Yes, yes; you are right.”

“Then listen to me. Take care when you jump, and don’t do it on the pavement, for t’other is the safest.”

André succeeded in alighting safely, and turned down a narrow court before his pursuer had entered the street; but it was vain for the young painter to lurk in a doorway, for after five minutes had elapsed there was nothing to be seen, and no spy had made his appearance.

“I have been overcautious,” muttered he.

More than a quarter of an hour had elapsed, and André felt that he might leave his hiding-place, and go in quest of De Breulh; and as he approached the spot chosen for their meeting-place, he saw his friend’s carriage, and near it was the owner, smoking a cigar. The two men caught sight of each other almost at the same moment. De Breulh advanced to greet the young man with extended hand.

“I have been waiting for you for the last twenty minutes,” said he.

André commenced to apologize, but his friend checked him.

“Never mind,” returned he; “I know that you must have had some excellent reasons; but, to tell you the honest truth, I had become rather nervous about you.”

“Nervous! and why, pray?”

“Do you not recollect what I said the other evening? De Croisenois is a double-dyed scoundrel.”

André remained silent, and his friend, putting his arm affectionately through his, continued⁠—

“Let us walk,” said he; “it is better than sitting down in the café. I believe De Croisenois capable of anything. He had the prospect before him of a large fortune⁠—that of his brother George; but this he has already anticipated. A man in a position like this is not to be trifled with.”

“I do not fear him.”

“But I do. I am, however, a little relieved by the fact that he has never seen you.”

The painter shook his head.

“Not only has he seen me, but I half believe that he suspects my designs.”

“Impossible!”

“But I am sure that I have been followed today. I have no actual proof, but still I am fully convinced that it was so.”

And André recounted all that had occurred during the day.

“You are certainly being watched,” answered De Breulh, “and every step that you take will be known to your enemies, and at this very moment perhaps eyes are upon us.”

As he spoke he glanced uneasily around; but it was quite dark, and he could see no one.

“We will give the spies a little gentle exercise,” said he, “and if we dine together they will find it hard to discover the place.”

De Breulh’s coachman was dozing on the driving-seat. His master aroused him, and whispered some order in his ear. The two young men then got in, and the carriage started at a quick pace.

“What do you think of this expedient?” asked De Breulh. “We shall go at this pace for the next hour. We will then alight at the corner of the Chaussee d’Autin, and be free for the rest of the night, and those who wish to follow us tonight must have good eyes and legs.”

All came to pass as De Breulh had arranged; but as he jumped out he saw a dark form slip from behind the carriage and mingle with the crowd on the Boulevard.

“By heavens,” said he; “that was a man. I thought that I was throwing a spy off the track, and I was in reality only treating him to a drive.”

To make sure, he took off his glove and felt the springs of the carriage.

“See,” said he, “they are still warm from the contact with a human body.”

The young painter was silent, but all was now explained: while he jumped from the cab, his tracker had been carried away upon it. This discovery saddened the dinner, and a little after ten André left his friend and returned home.