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

day at least on that very scaffolding opposite to us. The old fellow, who has his head screwed on the right way, had the very same idea as yours, but he is too old and too stout to do the trick for himself; and, to cut the matter short, he would give five thousand francs to the persons who would carry out his idea. Just think, two thousand francs for a few cuts of a saw!”

The boy was violently agitated, but Tantaine pretended not to notice it.

“First, my lad,” said he, “I must explain to you in what measure the old gentleman’s plans are different from yours. If we did not take care, some other poor devil might break his neck, but I have hit on a dodge to avoid all this.”

“I ain’t curious, but I should like to hear it.”

Tantaine smiled blandly.

“Listen! Do you see high up; that little shed built of planks? That is used by the carvers and stonecutters. Well, this little house, a couple of hundred feet above us, has a kind of a window; well, if this window and the planks below it were cut nearly through, anyone leaning against it would be very likely to fall into the street and perhaps to hurt himself.”

Chupin nodded.

“Now, suppose,” went on Tantaine, “that the enemy of our old gentleman was in that little shed, all at once he hears a woman shriek, ‘Help! It is I you love; help me!’ what would this young fellow do? Why, he would recognize the voice, rush to the window, lean out, and as the woodwork and supports had been cut away, he would⁠—Well, do you see now?”

Chupin hesitated for a moment.

“I don’t say I won’t,” muttered he; “but, look here, will the old chap pay down smart?”

“Yes, and besides, did I not tell you that he had given half down?”

The boy’s eyes glistened as the old man unpinned the tattered lining of his pocket, and holding the pin between his teeth, pulled out the banknotes, each one for a thousand francs. Chupin’s heart rose at the sight of this wealth.

“Is one of those for me?” asked he. Tantaine held the note towards the boy, who shuddered at the touch of the crisp paper and kissed the precious object in a paroxysm of pleasure. He then started from his seat, and regardless of the astonishment of the passersby, executed a wild dance of triumph.

All was soon settled. Toto was to creep into the unfinished building by night, and not to leave it until he had completed his work. Tantaine, who had a thought for everything, told the boy what sort of a saw to employ, and gave him the address of a man who supplied the best class instruments.

“You must remember, my dear lad,” said he, “not to leave behind you any traces of your work which may cause suspicion. One grain of sawdust on the floor might spoil the whole game. Take a dark lantern with you, grease your saw, and rasp out the tooth-nicks of the saw when you have finished your work.”

Toto listened to the old man in surprise; he had never thought that he was of so practical a turn. He promised that he would be careful, and imagining that he had received all his directions, rose to leave; but the old man still detained him.

“Here,” said he, “suppose you tell me a little about Caroline Schimmel. You told Beaumarchef that she said I had made her scream, and that when she caught me, I should have a bad time of it, eh?”

“You weren’t my partner then,” returned the lad with an impudent laugh; “and I wanted to give you a bit of a fright. The truth is, that you made the poor old girl so drunk that she has had to go to the hospital.”

Tantaine was overjoyed at this news, and, rising from his seat, said, “Where are you living now?”

“Nowhere in particular. Yesterday I slept in a stable, but there isn’t room for all my furniture there, so I must shift.”

“Would you like to have my room for a day or two?” asked Tantaine, chuckling at the boy’s jest. “I have moved from there, but the attic is mine for another fortnight yet.”

“I’m gone; where is it?”

“You know well enough, in the Hotel de Perou, Rue de la Hachette. Then I will send a line to the landlady;” and tearing a leaf from his pocketbook, he scrawled on it a few words, saying that young relative of his, M. Chupin, was to have his room.

This letter, together with his banknote, Toto carefully tied up in the corner of his neckerchief, and as he crossed the street the old man watched him for a moment, and then stood gazing at the workmen on the scaffolding. Just then Gandelu and his son came out, and the contractor paused to give a few instructions. For a few seconds Gaston and Chupin stood side by side, and a strange smile flitted across Tantaine’s face as he noted this. “Both children of Paris,” muttered he, “and both striking examples of the boasted civilization. The dandy struts along the pavement, while the street Arab plays in the gutter.”

But he had no time to spend in philosophical speculations, as the omnibus that he required appeared, and entering it, in another half-hour he entered Paul Violaine’s lodgings in the Rue Montmartre.

The portress, Mother Brigaut, was at her post as Tantaine entered the courtyard and asked⁠—

“And how is our young gentleman today?”

“Better, sir, ever so much better; I made him a lovely bowl of soup yesterday, and he drank up every drop of it. He looks like a real king this morning, and the doctor sent in a dozen of wine today, which will, I am sure, effect a perfect cure.”

With a smile and a nod Tantaine was making his way to the stairs, when Mother Brigaut prevented his progress.

“Someone was here yesterday,” remarked she, “asking about M. Paul.”

“What sort of a looking person was it?”

“Oh,